This is the 21st installment of the book I am currently writing. It is Sci-Fi/Adventure for young adult. It is not part of the Oz Chronicle series. The first draft is completed, and it is currently under review by my agent, so the final version of the book will most likely look a bit different than what you read here, but I thought you might like to see a work in progress. Happily my agent is busy with another one of my projects at the moment, and she hasn’t been able to give me feedback on “Lost Day”s as of yet. Click on the “Lost Days Book” category on the right to read from the beginning. Or you can click here.
I walked into the glass-walled room and stepped up to the counter. Mrs. Jolly struggled to lift herself from her chair. She peered at me over her bifocals as she swept her gray hair off her forehead. She placed her hands on her chunky hips and said, “What’s your business?”
I chewed on my lower lip before I spoke. “I’m supposed to get Ginger Starling’s address.”
“Supposed to, why?”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m with the Spanish club. We wanted to send her family some flowers… you know for her mother.”
Mrs. Jolly pursed her lips together and examined me with a suspicious eye. “Spanish club, you say.”
She walked over to a folder on the counter and opened it up. “French club was in here a minute ago looking for the very same thing.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
“Guess she’s a multilingual little gal.
She found a business card in the folder and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Family doesn’t want flowers. They want you to send donations there.”
I looked at the card and read it out loud. “Illinois Bird Watch, Protecting Threatened and Endangered Birds in Illinois since 1954.” It had an address and phone number.
“Birds,” she squawked. “People dying of diseases left and right and the Starlings want to save some lousy birds in honor of their dearly departed. Doesn’t seem right.”
“But we already bought the flowers,” I said.
“What’cha do that for?” she asked.
“Can’t I please have the home address? It would mean so much to Ginger.”
Mrs. Jolly thought it over and then finally agreed. She shuffled to a filing cabinet and rifled through some files. She chose one, pulled it out and carried it to the counter. I watched her every move. She jotted the address down on a notepad, ripped off the sheet of paper, and handed it to me, “Better than giving money to some god awful birds.” I snatched the paper from her hand and left the office as quickly as possible.