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Her strawberry-blond hair was so strawberry that in the sunshine it looked pink. You could imagine Coco crawling out of a daffodil each morning and sipping nectar for breakfast.
“Why?” she asked. Little mouse feet crept up her spine.
Arden is the best at descriptions.
Dad was crafty; he painted and knitted hats and baked. Ollie’s mom liked digging in the dirt and running and flying and adventurous things.
Her mother had been a math professor at Evansburg College. She had taught Ollie math with games. Multiplication, division. Later algebra, and then geometry: symbols like magic spells, written on the skin of the world.
She eyed him. He turned studiously to look out the window. Ollie stared, and then shrugged. Let boys be a mystery for another day; there was the mystery of her book in front of her.
Wherever you go in this big, gorgeous, hideous world, there is a ghost story waiting for you.
