Never mind.”
“Okay, well, I’ll get the gate. Thanks for the ride.”
He nods, but he looks at me a second longer than necessary and then turns and heads back to the truck.
He honks his horn once as he pulls out onto the street, and I swing the gate shut so hard and fast it rattles the hinges.
And then I inhale deeply and for the first time in half an hour, I no longer feel short of breath.
10
WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, I open just one eye, slowly, and look around the room. After that pony . . . and then the gumballs . . . I feel like I’m about to be ambushed.
But the gumballs have not reappeared. Thank the lucky stars for that. I don’t know what he did with them, but my brother followed through on something for once in his life. And a glance out the window reveals that there is no pony eating our perfectly green grass. Life is blissfully normal.
As I head toward my bedroom door, I hear a noise.
Coming from my closet.
Seriously! If my brother has done one more thing . . . one teensy, tiny little thing, I am telling Mom. Life has been insane since he moved back and it’s all his fault.
I march over to my closet and yank the door open.
My heart lurches to a stop as I stare into a pair of wide green eyes framed by long, curly lashes. There is a girl I have never met in my life sitting in my closet. For real. I scream and jump backward, dashing over to my computer chair and shoving it between us, as if it’s going to double as a weapon.
Death by rolling chair.
I realize that the chair is going to do little to protect me, and I frantically reach toward my desk to produce . . .
A ruler. I stand there with it out like a sword, still hiding behind the chair. Maybe if I’m really lucky, I can make some throwing stars out of paper clips.
The strange girl is just chilling on the floor, cross-legged, wearing the most hideous outfit I’ve ever seen: red-and-white-striped tights, a blue cotton dress, and a white apron. Her strawberry hair is curly and loose, tumbling halfway down her back in big frizzy curls, pieces of it sticking out all over. She has a smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose and lips so full they don’t look natural.
She looks to be around my age. Except she doesn’t look the least bit concerned to be caught in my closet.
If this is my brother’s long-distance girlfriend, he has seriously bad taste. Then again, she is dating him, so maybe she’s the one who needs help.
“Who the heck are you ?” I ask, backing toward the door as if she’s a rabid dog. I am filled with an irrational fear that she’s going to spring to her feet and leap onto me, like a jumping spider or something.
“Ann,” she says, her voice tentative, barely above a whisper.
“Okay, Ann , what are you doing in my closet?”
“Sitting,” she says, as if it should be obvious. She blinks a few times and stares at me in the oddest way, as if it’s me who shouldn’t be standing in my own bedroom.
“Yes, but why are you sitting in my closet?”
“I’m your best friend. I live here!” she says, her voice sort of solidifying, becoming less of a whisper. She has an odd, proper sound to her words. It’s not an accent per se. But it reminds me of the way someone pronounces a word they just learned five minutes ago. The cadence is slightly off.
“No you don’t,” I say, stepping forward. She needs to get out of my closet. Now. What does she think this is, Narnia?
“Yes I do.”
“ No , you don’t.”
“ Yes , I do.”
I clench my teeth. She is seriously annoying. “Right. And who are you?!”
“Ann,” she says again.
“Ann who?”
“Just Ann.”
“There is no just Ann.”
She stares at me. I blink a few times, hoping she disappears. There’s something oddly familiar about her. I step out from behind the chair to get a better look at her, still holding the ruler out.
If all else fails, I can measure her to death.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” My voice
“Okay, well, I’ll get the gate. Thanks for the ride.”
He nods, but he looks at me a second longer than necessary and then turns and heads back to the truck.
He honks his horn once as he pulls out onto the street, and I swing the gate shut so hard and fast it rattles the hinges.
And then I inhale deeply and for the first time in half an hour, I no longer feel short of breath.
10
WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, I open just one eye, slowly, and look around the room. After that pony . . . and then the gumballs . . . I feel like I’m about to be ambushed.
But the gumballs have not reappeared. Thank the lucky stars for that. I don’t know what he did with them, but my brother followed through on something for once in his life. And a glance out the window reveals that there is no pony eating our perfectly green grass. Life is blissfully normal.
As I head toward my bedroom door, I hear a noise.
Coming from my closet.
Seriously! If my brother has done one more thing . . . one teensy, tiny little thing, I am telling Mom. Life has been insane since he moved back and it’s all his fault.
I march over to my closet and yank the door open.
My heart lurches to a stop as I stare into a pair of wide green eyes framed by long, curly lashes. There is a girl I have never met in my life sitting in my closet. For real. I scream and jump backward, dashing over to my computer chair and shoving it between us, as if it’s going to double as a weapon.
Death by rolling chair.
I realize that the chair is going to do little to protect me, and I frantically reach toward my desk to produce . . .
A ruler. I stand there with it out like a sword, still hiding behind the chair. Maybe if I’m really lucky, I can make some throwing stars out of paper clips.
The strange girl is just chilling on the floor, cross-legged, wearing the most hideous outfit I’ve ever seen: red-and-white-striped tights, a blue cotton dress, and a white apron. Her strawberry hair is curly and loose, tumbling halfway down her back in big frizzy curls, pieces of it sticking out all over. She has a smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose and lips so full they don’t look natural.
She looks to be around my age. Except she doesn’t look the least bit concerned to be caught in my closet.
If this is my brother’s long-distance girlfriend, he has seriously bad taste. Then again, she is dating him, so maybe she’s the one who needs help.
“Who the heck are you ?” I ask, backing toward the door as if she’s a rabid dog. I am filled with an irrational fear that she’s going to spring to her feet and leap onto me, like a jumping spider or something.
“Ann,” she says, her voice tentative, barely above a whisper.
“Okay, Ann , what are you doing in my closet?”
“Sitting,” she says, as if it should be obvious. She blinks a few times and stares at me in the oddest way, as if it’s me who shouldn’t be standing in my own bedroom.
“Yes, but why are you sitting in my closet?”
“I’m your best friend. I live here!” she says, her voice sort of solidifying, becoming less of a whisper. She has an odd, proper sound to her words. It’s not an accent per se. But it reminds me of the way someone pronounces a word they just learned five minutes ago. The cadence is slightly off.
“No you don’t,” I say, stepping forward. She needs to get out of my closet. Now. What does she think this is, Narnia?
“Yes I do.”
“ No , you don’t.”
“ Yes , I do.”
I clench my teeth. She is seriously annoying. “Right. And who are you?!”
“Ann,” she says again.
“Ann who?”
“Just Ann.”
“There is no just Ann.”
She stares at me. I blink a few times, hoping she disappears. There’s something oddly familiar about her. I step out from behind the chair to get a better look at her, still holding the ruler out.
If all else fails, I can measure her to death.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” My voice
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