Read Online Words of Stone by Kevin Henkes - Free Book Online Page A

a trip?” Floy asked in a voice thick and raspy with morning, startling Joselle. She shuffled across the floor in her fuzzy slippers.
    â€œNope,” Joselle said, closing the atlas and replacing it on the shelf. “I was just killing time waiting for you to get up. Sleepyhead.”
    Between stretches and yawns, Floy banged around the kitchen making coffee.
    â€œI checked on you five times, you know,” Joselle said. “I wanted to make sure you were breathing.”
    Floy flicked her wrist and glanced at her watch. “It’s only seven-fifteen. This is when I always get up. How long have you been awake?”
    And only then did Joselle realize how early she had gotten up. She figured it had been hours since she awoke. “I don’t know,” is all she said.
    Floy sipped her coffee, savoring every drop, as though it eased some discomfort. Her cup sounded like a tiny bell when it clinked against the saucer. “I thought I’d cut the grass today. If you’re not too busy, I could use some help.”
    Joselle’s chin crumpled. She hated yard work. “Well, actually,” she said, “considering everything that’s been happening to me lately I think I might need time alone today to contemplate my future.”
    Floy only nodded and looked away, her deep-set gray eyes focusing on the coffeepot.
    â€œI’m probably helping you by not helping you,” Joselle offered, her voice confident and round. “I’m usually much more trouble than I’m worth.”
    The lawn mower roared in Joselle’s ears, but she walked right past Floy and toward the hill undaunted. Sometimes she hated herself for the way she treated people, for her selfishness. And yet, she seemed to have no control over her behavior. It’s not my fault I am the way I am, she thought.
    The sky was the blue of a baby’s blanket and the clouds looked like massive heads of cauliflower. Joselle slapped her thigh and whispered, “Orphan.” She couldn’t decide if she should write the new word with stones as she had done with the other words or try something different. She wondered how Blaze Werla had been reacting to her messages. She hoped he was going crazy with confusion. Maybe this time I should write the word and then hide behind a bush and wait till he appears, she thought. Maybe I could see him cry.
    But as it turned out, Joselle’s plan was not workable. She skipped to the top of the hill and stopped suddenly, frozen. Blaze Werla was crouching beside the big tree. And before Joselle could move, their eyes met. And locked together.

13 BLAZE
    T he first time Blaze saw her, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Although the sun was shining, he swore that she had no shadow, and despite the fact that she stood perfectly still and there was no wind, her dangly rhinestone earrings jiggled, making thin music. Her eyes appeared to be entirely black—like hard, shiny pieces of licorice. They were so hypnotic, Blaze had to work at forcing his eyes to break contact with hers. When she came closer he noticed that she smelled dusty, like a ladybug. And then she smiled. Her smile did anything but put him at ease. Her smile was enormous and glassy and sharp.
    â€œBig teeth,” was all he managed to say, walking backward as if in a trance.
    The girl thrust out her hand, her fingers grazing Blaze’s chest. “I’m Joselle Stark,” she announced grandly.
    Blaze’s fingers felt dwarfed and breakable in hers. She had the grip of a man.
    â€œThe old lady that lives over there is my grandmother,” Joselle said, pointing toward Floy Stark’s neat, square house. “I’m staying with her for a bit while my mother explores the Pacific Ocean. She’s kind of a scientist—my mother. My grandmother’s just a grandmother.” While she spoke she tossed her head and flared her nostrils. “So,” she said, “who are