Read Online Perfume by Caroline B. Cooney - Free Book Online Page A

did not go into buttonholes and the blouse did not tuck in and the pocket would not lie flat and the sneaker would not lace. Dove’s fingers were stiff and uncoordinated. She could not blame that on Wing. They were still her fingers; Wing had not taken them over. Not yet, anyway. But her fingers felt the fear and shrank back.
    The double beat in her heart returned.
    Who is me? thought Dove. Is Wing me? Am I me?
    Her head had lost its balance. Her thoughts were tipping over. She had to hold onto the banister to get down the gray-carpeted stairs. Otherwise her body would have lost its balance, too.
    She did not pause for breakfast. It would be Wing’s appetite she catered to, Wing’s stomach she filled. She, Dove, would go right on being hungry and dizzy.
    Instead she hoisted her book bag, unable to recall if she had done her homework, and dragged herself outside. I’ll feel normal outside, she told herself. Outside there will be sunshine and neighbors, school buses and delivery trucks, red lights and coffee shops.
    But outside, the fog crouched thick, ready to pounce, like a world-sized Dry Ice. Pushing at its gray veils, Dove staggered through. “Hello?” she called out. “Hello?”
    Nobody answered.
    Did anybody else live in these condominiums?
    Did even Dove live here?
    Why was it so silent? So terribly silent?
    Fragments of buildings loomed up in front of her and fell away behind her. The sound of car engines rumbled in the distance, but no headlights and no vehicles appeared. It could have been thunder, a storm miles away. But no. The thunder was inside her head.
    “Wing, please,” mumbled Dove. “Stop it. Please, please, please stop it.” Wing was doing something different, something heavy and cruel, as if she had boulders in there, and could block openings of caves with them. My head, thought Dove, my poor head. I can’t keep carrying it around if all these things are going to go wrong up there.
    “Hi, Dove Bar!” shrieked Luce.
    Dove stared.
    “My car wouldn’t start,” yelled Luce. “We’re taking the bus this morning, too. Isn’t that the pits?” Luce, hurling her book bag onto the pavement, bounded up to Dove. “I mean, aren’t there just some days where you just absolutely positively cannot believe that this is your life?”
    Dove’s laugh was hysterical. “Frequently,” said Dove. She went on laughing, and the laugh became normal and stopped at the right time. Dove felt as if she might have another chance at being human. She laughed again, testing, and the laugh worked. Dove tried a joke line. “I hope there was nothing breakable in your book bag, Luce.”
    “No. I always throw it down instead of setting it down. I’m trying to destroy the bag so I have a reason to buy a new one, but it’s one of those incredibly strong poly-something fabrics that stand up to arctic winds and tiger teeth. My great-grandchildren will probably carry their books in it.”
    Dove had hoped too soon for normalcy. Wing had been making preparations. She was flying around in the mind with such strength that she was going to take off. Dove’s head felt as if it were detaching.
    Dove set down her book bag more carefully than Luce had and locked her fingers together, resting the weight of her hands and arms on the top of her hair. Otherwise, my head will come off, she thought.
    “You haven’t called me up in days,” said Luce. “What’s the matter with you, Dove Bar? There’s so much to talk about. What do you think about Timmy? I think Timmy likes you. I think he’s going to ask you out. He was sort of flirting with you.”
    Hands were not heavy enough. Dove set her book bag on top of her head, like an African woman carrying water from the well. There. That felt much better. Even Wing could not conquer such weight. “Dove,” said Luce, giggling, “has anybody ever told you that you are getting very weird these days?”
    “No,” said Dove. She tried balancing the book bag without holding onto it. But