Home And Other Big Fat Lies – Jill Wolfson

“What”—she took a deep inhale—“is”—then she exhaled —“that stuff?” “Bones,” I said. She grabbed my hand. “Human?” “Too small, I think.” “What about toes? Toe bones are small.” She shuddered. “What do you make of this stuff?” I pulled her a little closer to the tree. “Why would someone stick feathers there? Is it some kind of signal?” We inched closer. “And a candle.

Quick, make a note!” “I don’t have anything to write with!” “Make a note in your brain. Clue number one: same bones as I saw before and the same feathers. Only now there’s a different candle.” “Noted,” she said. “What do you think it is? Voodoo?” “Maybe that. Maybe a psycho killer. Or maybe it’s some kind of vitual.”

“Ritual?” When I shook my head no, she tried “vigil?” That’s it. “A vigil. Definitely.” I paused. “What is a vigil, anyway?” “When someone keeps watch over something.” “Yeah, a vigil.” “So what’s being watched over?” We crept closer. She said, “Psychology has a lot to say about a person who would make something like this.” She reached down. “Don’t touch anything,” I hissed. “Why not?” “Because someone else is here.” Her hand froze in place. Then her whole body jumped back. She grabbed my arm.

“Who?” she whispered. “Where?” “Everywhere. It’s everywhere.” I put my finger to my lips and then to my ear. I pointed to my back, which meant that I wanted her to cover it. She nodded. I began tiptoeing around the tree. By the time I got back to her, I realized that I didn’t have that creepy, looked-at, spied-on feeling. It was the first time I’d been near the tree without feeling it. A big bird—but not as big as a turkey, more like a parrot—with black and blue feathers landed by the vigil and made a loud shock-shock-shock sound, which reminded me of foster father number six when he was scolding me.

The bird was already checked off on my list, and his name was Steller’s jay. “Ah-ha,” I said. “Ah-ha what?” There was panic on Honeysuckle’s face. “Ah-ha, relax. The other thing isn’t here.” “What other thing?” “The thing that hides and spies.” “Is it human or otherwise?” “I don’t know,” I admitted.

“But it’s not here now, so this is our chance. Take something.” “Why?” “For scientific purposes.” “Are you nuts?” I shooed away the jay and picked up one of the bones. It felt so alive, I swear my fingers tingled. Next I picked up a feather and slipped both of them into my pocket. OceanofPDF.com fifteen By the time we got out of the woods and Honeysuckle went home, I was late for dinner again, this time really late.

No one was around.

To Alex, who climbed to the top of our backyard redwood; to Gwen, who always asks for a story when hiking in the forest OceanofPDF.com One Let’s say you’re a kid who’s small for her age and some other kids who are way overgrown decide it would be the most hilarious thing in the world to shove the new kid in the house into the clothes dryer and slam it closed.

I can tell you how to get out of that dryer by kicking and screaming bloody murder so that the foster mom with the bald spot on the top of her head rescues you in front of the entire snickering ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha house full of kids. I can also give you the complete rundown on the most common varieties of foster parents you’re likely to run into. Like the look-on-the-bright-side ones who go on and on until your head is ready to explode like a potato in a microwave about how lucky you are that you weren’t born a foster kid in 1846.

Or the one I nicknamed Miss Satan because she was so evil, and I bet she’s still alive because everyone knows you can’t kill pure evil. Or the one who won’t like you screaming bloody murder even when the family dog sticks its nose in your crotch and who says things like, “A little, bitty dog never hurt anyone.” Oh yeah, well, what about the Demon Dog from Hell?

Man-oh-man, I can tell you other things too. Important things you need for survival, not baby stuff. Like how to jump down from and then shimmy back up to a second-story window. And how to kick heart disease in the butt. Scary thought, right? But I have the scar right down the center of my chest to prove it. I can tell you how to slip some quote-unquote souvenirs from a foster home into your pocket without anyone noticing a thing missing.

But there are a few things I don’t know much about. I admit it. Trees are one.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 561c7ebcb9c7224c
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,960,913 bytes (1.87 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 177
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 272.15 minutes
• Total Words: 54,430
• Total Characters: 297,197
• Average Words per Page: 307.51
• Average Characters per Page: 1679.08

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