Dust by Dusti Bowling

Author:Dusti Bowling [BOWLING, DUSTI]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2022-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

As soon as I got home from the dance, I went to my computer and searched for Seattle news stories on the date of Adam’s mom’s death. I didn’t find any mention of a woman’s death. But Seattle had had an unusually bad windstorm that day—so bad it knocked down trees and power lines and blew people’s shingles right off their roofs.

But just as Adam’s mom said—Seattle was too wet for dust.

chapter 20

Solicitation.

S-O-L-I-C-I-T-A-T-I-O-N.

Solicitation.

The air was absolutely terrible the next day.

Luckily it was a Sunday, so I didn’t have to worry about missing school. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Adam and what was going on with him. It was the anniversary of his mom’s death. The air was so awful, though, could something else be going on with him? Or was it only that? Or was I seriously losing it thinking all these things? I wished I could call him, but he didn’t have a cell phone, and I didn’t have a clue how to go about finding his home phone number.

Who did he live with?

Mom, Dad, and I sat at breakfast as we usually did on Sunday mornings. They wanted to know all about the dance, but I didn’t know what to tell them. Last night, I’d been feeling all great about what I’d done, knocking the bowl of dirt out of Bryden’s hands, but it must have been the adrenaline or something because now I felt an awful sense of impending doom—like I was in that room, the one made of glass walls, and the walls were closing in and the dust was growing worse and breathing was getting harder and harder in the tiny space. My stomach got sicker with every second closer to going back to school, and I found myself wishing the dust would stay bad so I could stay home.

“The dance was fine.”

“Just fine?” said Mom. “Did you do any dancing?”

“A little.” I thought of my minute on the dance floor with Adam.

“Did you dance with any boys?” Dad waggled his eyebrows at me.

“No,” I lied. Well, sort of lied. I would hardly call what Adam and I did dancing.

“What about Nan and Dillon?” Mom asked. “Did they have a nice time?”

“It was fine,” I repeated, my voice clipped. Why did they always have to interrogate me about everything?

“Well.” Mom clucked her tongue. “Excuse us for living.”

“Sorry.” To change the subject, I asked Dad, “When are you leaving for San Diego?”

Dad sold marketing software for an “up-and-coming” small business, as he liked to call it. I guess another business in San Diego was interested in using the software, and apparently this business was a big enough deal that the “up-and-coming” business felt it was worth it to send Dad there in person. Or something like that.

“Tomorrow.”

“You going surfing while you’re there?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood, which I’d actually ruined myself.

He chuckled. Dad was definitely not the surfing type. “Not sure I’ll have time for surfing. Parasailing, though—now that’s something I’d like to try.

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