Fifteen Point Nine by Holly Dobbie

Author:Holly Dobbie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cormorant Books Inc.
Published: 2018-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

t’s Vivaldi! The symphony!” Jane yells.

She found a toddler-friendly pink bunny-armed turntable at Spendapenny. We had the exact same one when I was five years old. The two of us would listen to records all the time together and do the hokey-pokey and shake it all about, but this record is so scratched that it sounds like a dog’s funeral.

“Yeah, that’s great! I have to go!”

“What? Where? No! Come dance!”

“I have to go to Susan’s! To work on something!”

“What? Susan works?”

I lift the paw-needle off the record and speak calmly and without emotion. The gin-bottle encounter on the front lawn gave Jane a good reason to further her paranoia.

“I need to go to Susan’s to work on a project.”

“No. I want you home tonight.”

Jane replaces the paw and dances on the spot like she’s at a grand ball. When she gets to this point, there’s nothing I can say to bring her back to the land of the living. The only way that I can leave now is to sneak out. I have to yell again, “Okay, fine. I’m really tired, anyway. I think the best thing is for me to go to bed early!”

“What?”

“I’m going to bed!” Jane continues her ghost-partner waltz — not an easy undertaking considering there’s no room to move. She’ll knock something over and it’ll be my fault. “Good night!” No reply. I can’t leave until I know that she’s heard me, otherwise, she’ll check on me before she goes to bed. “GOOD NIGHT!”

She snaps out of the place where garden gnomes rule the earth and yells, “You don’t have to yell!”

“I’m going to bed! Good night!”

“You’re ruining the moment! For Pete’s sake, good night!”

She’s heard it. I go to my room, climb onto a pile of boxes stacked beneath the window, hold my breath, and jump.

I’ll stop by Carson’s on the way to Susan’s. Maybe Mrs. Turndale will help me hire a garbage truck to come and clean out The Dump. I hate Jane more now than ever. I’m going to surround myself with friends instead of garbage. The only thing worth keeping is Joanie’s giraffe.

Carson’s gate is closed. I press the buzzer. Nothing. I press again. A quiet voice trickles through the microphone, “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Aggie, is that you, Mrs. Turndale?”

“Carson’s grounded.”

“Oh, yes, I know. I’m actually here to see you.”

“Not tonight. We have … guests. Another time. We’ll talk another time.”

And that’s it. I’m not invited in, the gate doesn’t open, not a cupcake in sight.

I look over my shoulder every twenty-three seconds on the way to Susan’s. I carry them with me — Those Girls.

I tap-tap-tap the Buddha-head knocker on Susan’s purple front door. Susan’s mother is dressed in a velvety yoga ensemble.

She lets me in and whispers, “Welcome to our refuge, a house of quiet. Please, when here, no one speaks above a sigh.”

Wow. Susan could have warned me. No wonder her dad wants to sleep all the time; the place is one big bedroom. No real furniture, just piles of enormous embroidered pillows, dark candles, and exotic incense.

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