Fortune's Magic Farm Suzanne Selfors (best books for 20 year olds txt) 📖

she finished putting together the breakfast tray. And, since she had taught the song to the other tenants, they snickered while she hummed.

The Mama Lu Song

All day long she sits in her chair,

in her fuzzy bathrobe and striped underwear,

yelling and hollering and making up rules,

telling us we’re stupid, calling us fools.

What can we do about Mama Lu?

We could

push over her chair,

stick slugs in her hair,

flush all of her cheese down the toilet.

Sneeze in her face,

track mud in the place,

take her bathrobe and boil it!

We could

dump gruel on her head,

put slugs in her bed,

fill both of her slippers with gutter sludge.

Give her a cold,

flick her with mold,

serve her slug poop and tell her it’s fudge.

“Stop yer humming!” Mama Lu shouted. “Humming and singing all the time. Acting different and special all the time. Growing that stuff on yer head because ya thinks yer more important than anyone else.”

Isabelle didn’t think she was more important than anyone else, but she certainly knew that she was different—and that was a good thing, especially if it meant being different from Mama Lu. She picked up the breakfast tray and hurried from the kitchen, stepping over a new pile of salt. A brown puddle bubbled at the center of the pile.

Poor little slug.

One day, Isabelle hoped, the slugs of Runny Cove would rise up, form an army, and bury Mama Lu in a pile of slime so enormous that a person could dig for days and never find her.

Back upstairs, Isabelle decided not to wake her sleeping grandmother, so she set the tray on the bedside table, quickly warming the teacup in her hands. After checking on the barnacle, the slugs, and the potato bugs, she retrieved her apple. Using the spoon, she cut another chunk and left it on the breakfast tray. Then she cut four more chunks—one each for Bert, Boris, Leonard, and Gwen—and stuffed them into her shirt pocket. All that remained was the apple’s core, which she ate in two bites, stem and all.

Take that, Mama Lu! I don’t need your lumpy porridge.

As she chewed, something caught between her front teeth. She picked out a glossy black seed. How interesting.

BAROOO! The factory’s horn rang across the village, warning workers that their shifts would begin in half an hour. Isabelle would have to wait to examine the seed—maybe during her lunch break. She tucked it into her sock so she wouldn’t lose it along the way.

“Don’t be late,” Grandma Maxine muttered, opening her eyes.

“Are you feeling better?” Isabelle asked. “Do you need my help with the spoon?”

Grandma Maxine reached out her hand, which Isabelle took. “Yes, I’m feeling better. Go now or you’ll be late.” She closed her eyes again.

Her grandmother had never lied to her before. So, if she said she was feeling better then she must be, which was very good news. And yet, she looked as gray and shrunken as ever. “Be sure to eat all of it,” Isabelle said, just before rushing out the door.

Boris and Bert sat on the entryway bench, pulling on their rubber boots. Mama Lu, still in her observation chair, was building a cheese tower, so she didn’t notice when Isabelle slipped the apple chunks to the twins. Their blue eyes ignited mischievously. “Thank you,” they whispered, happily gumming the fruit.

All along Boggy Lane, workers emerged from their boardinghouses. Slickers zipped to their chins, hoods tied securely, they formed a human stream. Fighting a strong headwind, they pushed their way through the village tired step after tired step, past the boarded-up schoolhouse and past the old fish market with its collapsed roof. They pushed past a vacant café and a vacant hardware store, ghosts from a time that only the old ones remembered. In the distance, the factory’s cement towers pierced the low-hanging clouds.

Isabelle scanned the street, hoping to see the stranger so she could find out who he was. If he came from far away he might know about Nowhere. But alas, no sign of him.

Gwen waited outside Gertrude’s Boardinghouse like she usually did. She and Isabelle walked behind the other workers so they wouldn’t be overheard. “You won’t believe what happened to me yesterday,” she said, hooking her arm through Isabelle’s. They pressed close, whispering beneath the rain’s clatter.

“I know all about it. Gertrude brought your apple to Mama Lu’s last night.”

“She did?” Curls of gray hair fell across Gwen’s sad eyes. She wiped her runny nose. “I hate Gertrude. I didn’t get any breakfast because she said that I stole the apple. I didn’t steal it.” Her lower lip began to quiver. “I feel even sadder than I usually feel.”

“I know you didn’t steal the apple. But don’t be sad. It turned black when Gertrude tried to eat it.”

“Really? It turned black?” Gwen’s mouth fell open.

“Yep. It exploded right in her face.” Both girls giggled, a rare sound in Runny Cove. “But there’s more good news. Look.” Isabelle reached beneath her slicker, into her shirt pocket, then handed Gwen a chunk. “I got an apple too, but mine didn’t explode.”

Gwen didn’t bother asking questions. She eagerly popped the chunk into her mouth. “It’s sooooo good.”

As they walked, and as Gwen chewed, Isabelle told her about the sea monster with the dangly nose and about Leonard’s cat.

“That’s so weird,” Gwen said.

“It’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened.”

“Except for you being left on a doorstep.”

“Yeah. Except for that.” Isabelle wiped rain from her eyes. “We need to talk to Leonard. Maybe he knows something we don’t.”

They turned off Soaked Street and started up the steep gravel road that led to the factory. Suddenly, an eerie sensation crept over Isabelle, tickling the back of her neck, but not in a nice way. Why did she feel as if someone was watching her?

“Gwen?”

“Yeah?” Gwen wiped a slug from her sleeve.

“There was this man wearing a cape, standing on Gertrude’s porch last night. Does she have a new tenant?”

“No. Maybe she has a new boyfriend.” Gwen rolled her eyes and pretended to upchuck.