the pads right off.
The next time she got on her bike, I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh out loud, but I couldn’t help it, especially when she crashed into a tree. She screamed so loud. There was blood
running from her leg. Served her right for being such a show-off.
Later, Nana figured out what happened. She found the pads in the pocket of my pants. She and Grampy say they don’t know what to do with a kid like me who’s always causing
problems.
My mother didn’t know what to do with me either. When my grandparents weren’t home, she’d lock me in the laundry closet and then blast the TV really loud so she didn’t
have to hear me screaming.
Joke’s on her, though, because she’s the one who’s locked up now. I guess living here is better than living with her, but not by much.
“I VY !” G RETCHEN SHOUTS.
I pocket my cell phone, beyond excited that Taylor changed her mind.
“I needed that cheese omelet ten minutes ago,” she says. “And where’s my blueberry pancake?”
I pour egg mixture on one side of the griddle and pancake batter on the other. It’s only four and there’s already a morning rush. Orders line up like soldiers on the turnstile.
“You forgot the fruit cup on this one,” Miko says, nodding to a bowl of oatmeal.
Over the past six hours, I’ve also screwed up on a pasta plate, the meatloaf special, and two French toast orders. Miko’s been double-checking my work all week. Gretchen’s been
giving me the cold shoulder all night. My mom’s been dropping in unannounced all month, no doubt in response to a pile of complaints about me. If I weren’t the boss’s daughter, I
wouldn’t have a job.
Finally, at six, my shift ends. I hang up my greasy apron, take a mug of dandelion tea into the far corner booth, and gaze out the window in search of a dark blue pickup. I’ve told
Gretchen, Miko, and the others to be on the lookout, but the boy who called me princess hasn’t been here since.
A clank sound startles me. I look up.
Miko’s there, standing at my booth. “Sorry,” he says, in response to my jolt. He places a plateful of waffles down in front of me. “Your favorite. Stuffed with strawberry
goodness.”
“Wow,” I say, taken aback by his kindness. “Thanks. You’re way too good to me.”
“I know, but I’ll let you make it up to me.” He smiles, sliding into the seat across from mine. “So, is everything okay with you?”
“Fine, why?” I take a healthy bite.
“
Fine? Why
?” He gives me a pointed look.
I peer over my shoulder at Gretchen, who’s spying on us from the front counter. She’s been crushing on Miko for months now, but he doesn’t have a clue.
“You just seem really out of it,” he says.
“You know who seems out of it?” I nod toward Gretchen. “I’ll bet she could use a plateful of waffles too.”
“I’m serious, Ivy. If we’re going to continue working together—”
My phone vibrates. “Hold that thought.” I pull my cell phone out of my pocket to check the screen.
An e-mail.
From the same Gmail account.
“This seriously can’t be real,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“What can’t?” Miko asks.
The e-mail appears to have come from the same Gmail address as the Nightmare Elf’s original account—even though that account was shut down. The subject line: Nightmare Elf
e-Newsletter, Issue #208. The last e-newsletter I received—
pre
–Dark House weekend—was #206.
“Ivy?”
I click it open.
Dear Dark House Survivor,
Ready for the sequel?
Your leading man is too.
Best not to keep him waiting.
Click this link , see what to do.
To Be Continued,
—The Nightmare Elf
A curtain drops down inside my head, behind my eyes, making the room spin.
“What is it?” Miko asks.
Something touches my hand, and I startle. It’s Miko—his warm fingers against my icy skin. There’s a choking sensation inside my throat.
“It’s happening,” I tell him.
“What is?
Ivy?
”
I grab the knife from my
The next time she got on her bike, I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh out loud, but I couldn’t help it, especially when she crashed into a tree. She screamed so loud. There was blood
running from her leg. Served her right for being such a show-off.
Later, Nana figured out what happened. She found the pads in the pocket of my pants. She and Grampy say they don’t know what to do with a kid like me who’s always causing
problems.
My mother didn’t know what to do with me either. When my grandparents weren’t home, she’d lock me in the laundry closet and then blast the TV really loud so she didn’t
have to hear me screaming.
Joke’s on her, though, because she’s the one who’s locked up now. I guess living here is better than living with her, but not by much.
“I VY !” G RETCHEN SHOUTS.
I pocket my cell phone, beyond excited that Taylor changed her mind.
“I needed that cheese omelet ten minutes ago,” she says. “And where’s my blueberry pancake?”
I pour egg mixture on one side of the griddle and pancake batter on the other. It’s only four and there’s already a morning rush. Orders line up like soldiers on the turnstile.
“You forgot the fruit cup on this one,” Miko says, nodding to a bowl of oatmeal.
Over the past six hours, I’ve also screwed up on a pasta plate, the meatloaf special, and two French toast orders. Miko’s been double-checking my work all week. Gretchen’s been
giving me the cold shoulder all night. My mom’s been dropping in unannounced all month, no doubt in response to a pile of complaints about me. If I weren’t the boss’s daughter, I
wouldn’t have a job.
Finally, at six, my shift ends. I hang up my greasy apron, take a mug of dandelion tea into the far corner booth, and gaze out the window in search of a dark blue pickup. I’ve told
Gretchen, Miko, and the others to be on the lookout, but the boy who called me princess hasn’t been here since.
A clank sound startles me. I look up.
Miko’s there, standing at my booth. “Sorry,” he says, in response to my jolt. He places a plateful of waffles down in front of me. “Your favorite. Stuffed with strawberry
goodness.”
“Wow,” I say, taken aback by his kindness. “Thanks. You’re way too good to me.”
“I know, but I’ll let you make it up to me.” He smiles, sliding into the seat across from mine. “So, is everything okay with you?”
“Fine, why?” I take a healthy bite.
“
Fine? Why
?” He gives me a pointed look.
I peer over my shoulder at Gretchen, who’s spying on us from the front counter. She’s been crushing on Miko for months now, but he doesn’t have a clue.
“You just seem really out of it,” he says.
“You know who seems out of it?” I nod toward Gretchen. “I’ll bet she could use a plateful of waffles too.”
“I’m serious, Ivy. If we’re going to continue working together—”
My phone vibrates. “Hold that thought.” I pull my cell phone out of my pocket to check the screen.
An e-mail.
From the same Gmail account.
“This seriously can’t be real,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“What can’t?” Miko asks.
The e-mail appears to have come from the same Gmail address as the Nightmare Elf’s original account—even though that account was shut down. The subject line: Nightmare Elf
e-Newsletter, Issue #208. The last e-newsletter I received—
pre
–Dark House weekend—was #206.
“Ivy?”
I click it open.
Dear Dark House Survivor,
Ready for the sequel?
Your leading man is too.
Best not to keep him waiting.
Click this link , see what to do.
To Be Continued,
—The Nightmare Elf
A curtain drops down inside my head, behind my eyes, making the room spin.
“What is it?” Miko asks.
Something touches my hand, and I startle. It’s Miko—his warm fingers against my icy skin. There’s a choking sensation inside my throat.
“It’s happening,” I tell him.
“What is?
Ivy?
”
I grab the knife from my
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