The cashier leaned over the
conveyor belt. Two of his bottom teeth were missing. “That neighbor of yours is
a witch, or I’m a bull toad.”
Izzy leaned forward, too.
She wanted to make certain she didn't miss a single word.
Her mom put on a polite
smile and zipped up her purse. “I beg your pardon?”
The cashier narrowed his
eyes. “You wanna know what she came in here and bought last week?”
“I can’t ima – “
“Beef tongue. Now I
ask you, what kind of person buys that? Put it in a potion or something, I bet.
Izzy’s mom started lifting
the sacks into the cart. “I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting
Mrs. Malloy yet.”
“Oh it ain’t Mrs. You
think anyone would marry her? Shoot, no. Marian Malloy would sooner put a curse
on a man than say hello. Mind, I’m only tellin’ you this ‘cause you’re new to
Everton.”
Izzy slid over to where her
younger sister eyed the candy. “Hen, tell Mom you need to go to the bathroom,”
she whispered.
“But I don’t,” Hen said.
“I know that! It’s just a
stalling tactic.”
“So why don’t you do it?”
“Because I’m listening! I
want to hear more about the witch.”
This was without a doubt the
most interesting thing that had happened since they moved to Everton. The
possibility of having a witch for a neighbor just might be enough to make up
for living in a town with no movie theater, no swimming pools, and – worst of
all – no library.
But Izzy’s mom didn’t share
her interest, and hurried them out of the store to the parking lot. “Can you
believe that nonsense?” she said as they helped load the bags into the car. “I
don’t know why this has to be the only grocery store in town!”
Izzy stood next to the open
car door, and looked over her shoulder at the faded Piggly Wiggly sign.
From the amount of groceries her mom bought, she could tell they wouldn’t be
coming back for at least a week.
“Hey mom, I think I left
something in there…” She started to jog back across the parking lot toward the
store.
“What? Sweetie, what did you
leave?”
“Um – my lucky bookmark!
I’ll be right back!”
The sliding doors whooshed
open, and Izzy trotted up to the cash register. The cashier’s face was hidden
behind a cheap tabloid newspaper with a cover that read, Elvis spotted at
Tullahoma Waffle House.
Izzy tapped on the counter.
“Excuse me?”
“Whatcha need, sugar?” he
replied, without putting his paper down.
“Was everything you said
really true? About our neighbor being a witch, I mean.”
The cashier crumpled the
tabloid and leaned towards her. “Oh it’s the truth, all right. And you little
girls need to watch yourselves out there.”
Izzy bristled. At twelve,
she was hardly a little girl. She rose up on her tiptoes. “Why? What
could happen to us?”
The cashier’s voice dropped
to a whisper, and his eyes scanned side to side. “Anything goes near her house,
it disappears. Dogs. Pigs. Anything. She says the fairies take ‘em, but
I’ll bet you they all end up in a big, black kettle.”
The front doors of the store
slid open. “Izzy, did you find it?” asked her mom, her hands on her hips. “We
need to get going before the ice cream melts.”
Izzy shuffled her feet as
she followed her mom back out to the car. She took one last look at the rundown
store, and then they started the long, pot-hole-riddled drive out to their new,
old house.
#
Three drizzly, cooped-up
days passed that left Izzy and Hen with nothing to do but help unpack boxes.
The worst part was that all but five of Izzy’s precious books were travelling
by flat-rate post, and wouldn’t arrive for at least another week. She read and
reread those five until she had memorized every sentence. Just when her boredom
reached a level that made her think she’d rather go to school than spend
another day with nothing happening – something happened.
“It’s her, Izzy! It’s
the witch!” Hen pressed her freckled nose against the window that looked down
onto the driveway, and bounced on her toes.
Izzy squeezed in beside her
so she could see out the window. She couldn’t believe their good luck.
But when the old woman
climbed out of her pickup truck, Hen’s face fell in disappointment. “She
doesn’t really look like a witch to me...”
The woman walking up
their porch steps looked more like a farmer than anything else. Her work
clothes were stained with mud, and her short, white hair peeked out from under
a crumpled men’s hat. The only thing remotely witchy about her was that even
though her wrinkles meant she must be at least seventy, she walked fast and
didn’t stoop the way most old people did.
“You can’t tell anything
about her just by looking,” said Izzy. She tried to sound hopeful, but so far
things didn’t seem very promising.
The old woman didn’t have
any of the standard witch traits. And Izzy should know. It was safe to say that
she had read every fairy or folktale concerning witches. In fact, she was
almost sure she had read every fairytale in existence, and the nine boxes of
books in route to their house were proof. She knew that witches came in one of
two varieties: hunchbacked hag, or cruelly beautiful sorceress. That’s just the
way things were.
“Izzy! Hen!” their mother
called from downstairs. “Girls, come down here, please. We have a visitor!”
The sisters exchanged quick
looks, and then hurried out of their room and down the stairs. The old woman
stood at the front door, dripping muddy water onto the rug.
“Marian, these are my girls,
Isabella and Henrietta,” their mom said brightly.
Marian kept her hands in her
pockets and nodded at them.
“Won’t you come sit down?” said
their mom, leading the way toward the kitchen. “I’ve just made a pot of tea. My
husband works late at his new job with the county, and I’m not used to living
so far from any other neighbors. It will be nice to have another adult to talk
to.”
“Humph,” said Marian,
sitting down at the table. “Far as I’m concerned, the best thing about living
way out here is not having folks to talk to.”
Izzy’s mom laughed as if
Marian had made a joke. “And you are certainly welcome to join us for dinner,
if you like.”
Hen’s eyes grew wide as pancakes.
One corner of Marian’s mouth
turned up a little before returning to a scowl. “No, I’ve got to get home to my
own supper. I only came over because I was driving past your house, which I
normally don’t do. I think it’s best that neighbors meet face to face. Prevents
problems later on.”
Izzy and Hen pulled out
chairs for themselves on the opposite side of the table. Izzy looked at the old
woman’s fingernails and wondered if they were stained green from pulling weeds
or making potions.
Her mom came to the table
carrying a teapot and two cups. “I didn’t realize it rained so much here. The
girls start school next week, and I’m sure they’ll be glad to get out of the
house.”
Marian drummed her fingers
on the tabletop. “Everton Elementary is run by a bunch of incompetent gossips,”
she grumbled.
“Really?” said their mom,
sliding a teacup across the table. “I thought it seemed like a very good
school.”
“What’s ‘incontinent’ mean?”
Hen asked loudly.
“Actually, I won’t be at the
Elementary school,” said Izzy, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m in sixth
grade.”
The old woman scanned Izzy
up and down. “Sixth grade? You’re no bigger than a chipmunk.”
This is so fantastic! I don't normally read MG, but this story sucked me right in. The dialogue is really well done, and the voice of the characters and the writing match so perfectly. I definitely get that small-town feel, and I get so much of Izzy's personality. Just two small things: I understand there's a word count limit, so maybe not here, but jumping right into the dialogue was a little jarring. Just a bit. Especially because the cashier was missing teeth and leaning over the belt, I suddenly thought he'd just been attacked. But! That could just be me. In its own way, it does also work that it jumps right in. The other small thing: Izzy asked Hen to stall, and Hen asked why, but after than nothing came of it. Did Hen try and their mother ignored her? Did Hen refuse out of spite?Was Hen too shy?
ReplyDeleteOther than that, though? Seriously, this is great. Good look with all your writing aspirations, and thanks for sharing! :)
*Good luck
DeleteI really like the voice in this story. It really solidified for me once the dialogue stopped. I think the beginning is missing some context. To care about the conversation with the cashier I think we need to hear from Izzy why they're in the store and maybe a line about how they'd moved. It might even work to move up this paragraph: This was without a doubt the most interesting thing ..." and skew it to work as an opener. That way some introduction to the setting and characters sets up the dialogue.
ReplyDeleteThe dialogue and pacing are great. Nice work :)
Honestly, I'm not coming up with much to say - for me, that's practically earth-shaking. Of course my eyes aren't fresh anymore so your new commenters will be more valuable to you.
ReplyDeleteOne tiny: the (cool) observation of the witch's green nails would make more sense at the point the witch is drumming her fingers. The movement would draw Izzy's attention.
Good luck!
Stephsco, I like your suggestion of how to start. I agree that jumping right into dialogue has been giving me some problems. I'll just have to keep playing with it.
ReplyDeleteI really appreciate everyone's very thoughtful feedback. This has been an incredible experience that has been invaluable at strengthening these first few pages. Thank you, Adventures in YA, for giving writers this opportunity!
I love it. I really do. I agree that the opening could use a little padding - just a line or two to put us in context. And with your amazing voice, I know you'll come up with a great first sentence to lead us into this story. Great work!
ReplyDelete