Chapter 1
Abby sat at the kitchen table enjoying her cranberry oatmeal while Grandpa talked about The Folk. This morning he spoke about a trickster…a crocodile to be exact.
Abby took another bite of her cranberry oatmeal when Grandpa smiled, twisted in his chair, and motioned with his hand. “They’re all out there in the forest, a whole lotta folk.”
Dean, Abby’s little brother, chuckled. “Crocodiles don’t live in North America, Grandpa.”
Abby tilted her head to the left to see the forest beyond the sliding-glass door. She had never heard of The Folk before coming to live at Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Washington. Grandpa hadn’t said much to the kids when they’d visited before, but now that they lived together, Abby was discovering just how kooky Grandpa really was.
It had been three weeks and four days since Abby reluctantly took that last cardboard box out of her purple room that she had lived in for as long as she could remember. Mom and Dad didn’t say much to her or her little brother Dean about the move. All they said was, “Sorry, but we’re going to have to move in with Grandma and Grandpa.” Mom had looked like she might cry, but she didn’t—she’s strong like that.
“And another thing, Abigail,” Grandpa said. “Don’t ever eat anything The Folk offer you, okay? You can break bread with them but make sure it’s from your own brown bag.”
Abby straightened her back, looked at Grandpa, and asked, “Why?”
She reached for the last piece of toast that sat on a small, white plate with delicate pink and yellow flowers painted on the rim, but the plate was yanked out of her reach.
“Dean! That’s my piece!” Abby yelled.
“You ate all your pieces, I counted. This one’s mine,” Dean said.
“No, it’s not,” Abby said, as her little brother shoved half of the toast into his mouth. She wanted to kick him. Why is he always so unfair? She thought.
“Want mine?” Grandpa asked her.
Abby did, but she felt bad taking it. “That’s okay, Grandpa.”
“I’m full. It’s all yours if you want it.”
“I want it!” Dean said.
“Dean!” Grandma exclaimed from inside the kitchen where she was pouring tea for her and Grandpa.
Dean grinned. “I’m just playing, Grandma.”
Grandpa reached across the table and placed the half-piece of toast on the napkin next to Abby’s bowl. “Just in case you change your mind.”
Abby happily scooped it up and took a bite.
It was the first day that both Mom and Dad had to go to work. It was also the last day of summer vacation. Abby started to worry about what she would wear to school tomorrow. She wished she could have at least seen the way the other kids dressed. Did they carry backpacks, sling bags, or totes?
This town was a lot smaller than her old one. The only thing she thought she had going for her was that she was from California. According to Grandpa, the kids around here thought that if you’re from California then you lived in Hollywood and hung out with movie stars or surfed every day. Which of course is true for some Californians, but those must be the ones Abby hadn’t met—she didn’t know anyone who surfed and hung out on movie sets. Abby’s hometown, San Bernardino, was an hour drive from the beach. San Bernardino was known mostly for its colorful mural on the famous Route 66.
