Read My Life in Dioramas Online
Authors: Tara Altebrando
My Life in Dioramas
Praise for
THE BATTLE OF DARCY LANE
by TARA ALTEBRANDO:
“Readers searching for something similar to Beverly Cleary or Judy Blume should look no further.”
â
Booklist
“Nice girls, mean girls, in-between girlsâthis is a friendship story like no other.”
âLauren Myracle,
New York Times
bestselling author of The Winnie Years series
“It's a smart, sensitive portrait of an age when change is in the air.”
â
Publishers Weekly
“A compassionate and honest look at the heart and mind of a twelve-year-old girl and the battleground of middle-school friendship.”
âNatalie Standiford, author of
The Secret Tree
and
Switched at Birthday
“[A] charming and authentic first purchase.”
â
School Library Journal
“Sweet humor, deftly written characters, and a realistic plot make this a great story.”
â
Children's Literature
“This book would be a safe read for girls on the verge of adolescence or struggling with friendships.”
â
VOYA
“The summer doldrums, the buzzing of the seasonal cicada swarm, and the angst and rivalry of adolescence converge in this story told through elegant prose and authentic dialogue.”
â
ForeWord Reviews
Text copyright © 2015 by Tara Altebrando
Illustrations copyright © 2015 by T.L. Bonaddio
“Semi” copyright © 2004 by Nick Altebrando.
Lyrics used with permission.
All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions
Printed in the United States
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.
Books published by Running Press are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the United States by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail
[email protected]
.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014949682
E-book ISBN 978-0-7624-5682-6
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Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing
Cover and interior design by T.L. Bonaddio
Edited by Lisa Cheng
Typography: Museo Sans, Museo Slab, Bahiana, Helvetica Neue, Emmascript, Extreme, and Archer
Published by Running Press Kids
An Imprint of Running Press Book Publishers
A Member of the Perseus Books Group
2300 Chestnut Street
Philadelphia, PA 19103â4371
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FOR ELLIE AND VIOLET.
AGAIN
.
In fact, I now fear you will never let me dedicate a book to anyone else.
CONTENTS
“Come on!” I said.
“Come
on
!”
The school bus groaned to a halt in front of Big Red, which was what everybody called my house, because it was big and you guessed it. I got up and bolted down the aisle, throwing my backpack onto one shoulder and calling out, “See ya!” to Stella and Naveen and anyone else who was listening, and “Thanks” to our driver, Gus. Then I jumped down onto the gravel driveway and went through the gate of the white picket fence, which we always left open, and up the three steps to the front porch and through the front door, which had an anchor knocker that no one ever used. I went straight into the old bathroom and was careful to close and lock the door because otherwise it opened on its own, which meant the mailman could see you through the window next to the front door.
A stinkbug sat perched on top of the T.P. roll so I shrieked, took off my shoe, whacked it, and yelled, “URRRRRGH!” Then I scooped it into the trash with a big wad of paper. I flushed just as the stinkbug, true to its name, started to make the room smell sour.
Back in the foyer, I grabbed my backpack and hurried through the dining room and into the kitchen, where I stopped to pet our very old, very big, very white dog, Angus, who was lying in a heap by the kitchen table, where my parents were sitting.
“How's my favorite daughter?” my mom asked.
“Still your
only
daughter!” I said.
I went through the doorway into the newer section of the house, then upstairs and across the loft that looked down onto the kitchen. I said, “Oh, and Dad, I killed a stinkbug and it's stinking up the bathroom trash.”
“Kate,” my father moaned. “You're not supposed to kill them!”
“I know,” I said. “But I was peeing and I panicked!”
I went into my room, where I put my backpack on my desk chair. Lately my mother had been making a fuss about my leaving stuff everywhere and how she wasn't my servant and on and on. I was making an effort.
I ran back downstairs and through the kitchen and out the screen door in the dining room to the back porch, where I tapped my mother's wind chimes to wake their sounds, then took the stairs down to the yard
slowly
, like I had ever since
I'd fallen down them when I was seven and needed seven stitches on my forehead. Past the pear tree and around the vegetable garden toward the barn, the stream was loudâthe last snow of the season had finally melted last weekâand it sounded excited. Like even
it
knew that the kittens were here.
For social studies homework,
we were supposed to make a shoebox diorama of a scene from our life. I'd thought about doing a little scene of me sitting on the old metal bench down by the stream, where I liked to race boats or look for frogs and tiny fish. But I was really hoping that Pants had come through for me because a diorama of me and Pants and kittens in a barn would be awesome. I wasn't sure Mrs. Nagano and the rest of the class would appreciate my current first runner-up ideaâa little scene of my mom and dad fighting about money at the kitchen table while Angus and I looked down from the loft.