time,”
Lowell said. “You’ll just have to trust me. If you need me, I’ll be right
there.”
Lowell got on his
bike and started peddling fast.
“What’s he doing?”
Abbi asked. She gathered up her pack and took off after him.
Louise struggled
to get out of the spiral tunnel and yelled, “Hey! Wait for me!”
When Abbi reached
the house, Lowell had already gone into the house and had begun playing the
trumpet in the basement, slow and quiet at first, mostly scales. Then, after
his warm-up, while Abbi was still outside, she heard the raucous sound of
Dixieland jazz, Lowell’s favorite music.
The music, or
maybe what someone said, lifted her spirits.
TEN
Abbi walked into
the mudroom and dropped her backpack on a chair in the kitchen. When everyone
left, they had forgotten to turn off the radio and the D. J. said something
about a dance contest. Lowell was playing his trumpet in the basement, so Abbi
closed the basement door and sat close to the radio to hear more. It excited
her. Dancing was her passion!
“Have a cup o’joe
with Jammin’ Jon in the morning! You dancers out there, Lip-Smackin’ Chicken
has a dance contest! You’ve got three weeks to put it together and win the
prize money. Get the downlow after the news or go to our website for all the fantasmic
details. Maybe a chicken dance to strut your stuff? Yeah!”
Why not? Abbi
thought. I think I could win and that would give me money to find my parents.
Louise walked in
and overheard the radio announcer.
Staying with Louise
was almost like having a sister, including the occasional need for privacy. Lucky
for them both, they respected each other’s space. They also appreciated each
other’s company. Their many differences usually balanced them out.
“Abbi, I’ve been
meaning to talk to you.”
“ Louise, I’ve
wanted to talk to you, too!” Abbi said. “Please sit down with me a minute.”
“What’s going on?”
Louise asked, suspiciously. “Our house wasn’t broken into, was it?”
“It looks fine to
me.”
“Thank God! So
spill,” Louise said.
“For one thing,
this dance contest,” Abbi said. “What about you?”
“Tell me about the
contest first,” Louise said.
“Let’s go up to
your room. We can check out the house on the way. Lowell’s in the basement, in
his own little world, so he probably hasn’t noticed if anything was wrong!”
Louise and Abbi
went through the house then upstairs to the room they shared.
Abbi grabbed her laptop from the
cluttered desk.
Louise sat on her
bottom bunk and reached for a half-empty bag of doughnuts. She offered Abbi
one.
“No, but thanks!
Listen to this,” Abbi said.
Abbi sat on the
floor and pulled up the radio station’s website. Winning this dance contest would
bring Abbi a cash prize. Maybe a job offer. More importantly, she could do whatever
she wanted—most especially, find her parents. Now, how to convince the
Pelletiers about what she needed to do.
Even if she didn’t
win this contest, dancing always helped her forget about her frustrations, kept
her from getting overly angry. No one seemed to know why or how her parents
went missing. If Shoe Clerk knew, he wasn’t telling. Maybe someone knew. Lowell’s
behavior, and especially what he said, made her curious. She would talk with
Lowell later and try to find out what Mrs. Hightower had in mind.
Right now, Abbi
wanted an ally, and if that ally came in the form of Louise Pelletier, that
would be perfect.
Abbi downloaded the
contest information. Her hips began swaying to the music. When she turned it up
loud enough to drown out the trumpet, she began picturing the dance. Soon her frustration
was replaced with thoughts of choreography, the dance movements that might
become part of the winning dance.
“Look at this
screen, Louise. The rules for the dance contest are really simple. I’ll need to
send a video of the dance. That’s all. They jury the entries, and then narrow
the search down to
Lowell said. “You’ll just have to trust me. If you need me, I’ll be right
there.”
Lowell got on his
bike and started peddling fast.
“What’s he doing?”
Abbi asked. She gathered up her pack and took off after him.
Louise struggled
to get out of the spiral tunnel and yelled, “Hey! Wait for me!”
When Abbi reached
the house, Lowell had already gone into the house and had begun playing the
trumpet in the basement, slow and quiet at first, mostly scales. Then, after
his warm-up, while Abbi was still outside, she heard the raucous sound of
Dixieland jazz, Lowell’s favorite music.
The music, or
maybe what someone said, lifted her spirits.
TEN
Abbi walked into
the mudroom and dropped her backpack on a chair in the kitchen. When everyone
left, they had forgotten to turn off the radio and the D. J. said something
about a dance contest. Lowell was playing his trumpet in the basement, so Abbi
closed the basement door and sat close to the radio to hear more. It excited
her. Dancing was her passion!
“Have a cup o’joe
with Jammin’ Jon in the morning! You dancers out there, Lip-Smackin’ Chicken
has a dance contest! You’ve got three weeks to put it together and win the
prize money. Get the downlow after the news or go to our website for all the fantasmic
details. Maybe a chicken dance to strut your stuff? Yeah!”
Why not? Abbi
thought. I think I could win and that would give me money to find my parents.
Louise walked in
and overheard the radio announcer.
Staying with Louise
was almost like having a sister, including the occasional need for privacy. Lucky
for them both, they respected each other’s space. They also appreciated each
other’s company. Their many differences usually balanced them out.
“Abbi, I’ve been
meaning to talk to you.”
“ Louise, I’ve
wanted to talk to you, too!” Abbi said. “Please sit down with me a minute.”
“What’s going on?”
Louise asked, suspiciously. “Our house wasn’t broken into, was it?”
“It looks fine to
me.”
“Thank God! So
spill,” Louise said.
“For one thing,
this dance contest,” Abbi said. “What about you?”
“Tell me about the
contest first,” Louise said.
“Let’s go up to
your room. We can check out the house on the way. Lowell’s in the basement, in
his own little world, so he probably hasn’t noticed if anything was wrong!”
Louise and Abbi
went through the house then upstairs to the room they shared.
Abbi grabbed her laptop from the
cluttered desk.
Louise sat on her
bottom bunk and reached for a half-empty bag of doughnuts. She offered Abbi
one.
“No, but thanks!
Listen to this,” Abbi said.
Abbi sat on the
floor and pulled up the radio station’s website. Winning this dance contest would
bring Abbi a cash prize. Maybe a job offer. More importantly, she could do whatever
she wanted—most especially, find her parents. Now, how to convince the
Pelletiers about what she needed to do.
Even if she didn’t
win this contest, dancing always helped her forget about her frustrations, kept
her from getting overly angry. No one seemed to know why or how her parents
went missing. If Shoe Clerk knew, he wasn’t telling. Maybe someone knew. Lowell’s
behavior, and especially what he said, made her curious. She would talk with
Lowell later and try to find out what Mrs. Hightower had in mind.
Right now, Abbi
wanted an ally, and if that ally came in the form of Louise Pelletier, that
would be perfect.
Abbi downloaded the
contest information. Her hips began swaying to the music. When she turned it up
loud enough to drown out the trumpet, she began picturing the dance. Soon her frustration
was replaced with thoughts of choreography, the dance movements that might
become part of the winning dance.
“Look at this
screen, Louise. The rules for the dance contest are really simple. I’ll need to
send a video of the dance. That’s all. They jury the entries, and then narrow
the search down to
Similar Books
