Children's Fiction
Kittens have tiny claws, but they're really, really sharp. Seymour was making YEOWCH faces even though he was trying not to flail around and hurt either of them. I lifted Alaska from his back and set her on the floor. T-Rex came over to check out what was happening. That's when they noticed the spare room.
It was weird how it happened. They just turned around and kind of froze in one spot. They sat down. They stared into the spare room.
"Hey," said Seymour. "Neat!"
"Neat what?" I asked.
"They're watching the ghost."
IQ stands for intelligence quotient—that's something I do know. I've done the pop-up tests on the Internet. The tests show my IQ is—ta-da!—incredibly average.
Seymour went into deep-think mode. One eyebrow went up and one eyebrow went down. Mr. G. looked at me for a translation. I had no idea what was going on in Seymour's head. When it came to football, things were definitely weird.
Every morning when she woke, the little girl stretched and said Good Morning to the sun, the trees and the wind. Then, with hope swelling her heart, she said to the bird, "Today, maybe he'll come."
Who? The bird didn't know. And neither did the little girl. But as surely as the sky is blue and the sun is yellow, she knew she was waiting for someone.
