The Girl On Cinnamon Street

Chapter 1

Through the window, I can see South Pottsboro is frozen solid. Its icy and windy out there. In this case, the word south is misleading. I don't see any palm trees. Dumpy, boring  Pottsboro is more like it. There is another snowstorm on the way and gran is having an indoor yard sale in the foyer of our condo building. A yard sale during a snowstorm?                                                               

My gran is like, "Blah blah blah. We're the first people this season to have a sale. We'll be swamped." 

My grandpa is all huffy because he doesn't want to put his slippers in the sale. He's wearing them to keep them safe, which is totally embarrassing because those slippers look like road kill. Seriously. And the lady down stairs already had plenty against my grandpa, because he does noisy limbering-up exercises in our living room and then that lady starts pounding on our door. My gran is very two-faced at these times. She's so sweet to that lady then, but later, in the middle of the night, I can here my grandpa and gran laughing and giggling and calling her a big jerk. 

In the middle of the night through the walls, I hear them talking about other things too. Sometimes they're talking about me. Sometimes my gran starts sobbing and grandpa goes, "Baby doll, give her more time, she just needs more time. Relax. Relax." And then the room goes stone silent like they both died in there.

Right now my grandpa and I are going outside to the steps to put up a sign on the front door. It says YARD SALE TODAY: BOOKS, EXERCISE BIKE, DISHES, AND A VOLLEYBALL NET. Okay. The volleyball net is mine. I used to be in volleyball until about a month ago. Okay. It was my life. I spent a million hours a week with that thing. But it was my idea to sell it. 

Its cold out here. My grandpas scarf (which he calls a muffler) blows around in the wind. My grandpa blows around in the wind. When he leans over a silver letter opener falls out of is pocket onto the snow. "Hey," he says. "nobody was going to buy a letter opener anyway right? Nobody writes real letters anymore right pal?" "Whatever, grandpa." I say.  Kenna says that hikers freezing to death on Mount Everest don't feel a thing. She says they think they're falling asleep next to a warm fire when actually they're laying in the snow, their body temperatures falling to below zero, while they slowly become blocks of ice.

Right now I want to hit a volleyball, but I can't. This feeling wells up inside me constantly, the same way breath comes out of me. I used to play volleyball like the way you say yes and no. Volleyball used to be my yes and no. From here I can see my net. Its like its waiting there excitedly for me to run towards it. I turn away. My gran was like, "Are you sure you wanna sell this Quinn?" I didn't answer her.

Soon enough the front door opened and a whole herd of revved-up South Pottsboro shoppers pour in. "Bingo!" says my gran, twinkling at all the customers. I swear she came out of The Wizard Of Oz. This includes munchkin vocabulary. "She's a pro. Your gran's no space cadet thats for sure." says grandpa, swinging his arms around.

Now people start picking up things: my grandpas ripped magazines, grans sweaters, beat up rusty pots and pans. Theres a row of old shoes under the table and I see a pair of my moms. They're kind of worn to the side and you can see where her toes rested against the soft leather. They're sky blue and each shoe carries with it the shape of my moms foot and the whole shift and feel of her weight. A little girl is jumping around holding them now because she wants the for her dress up box. "Okay," Says the lady with her, "We'll buy them." When the lady hands my gran two dollars, gran looks down. Her face gets lost and blurry and she holds the shoes just a second to long.

I look up and Mrs. Stevenson is sitting on my volley ball net. She's Terry Stevenson's mom. "Sold," she says, getting up and glaring a someone walking by. "Sold." She says again when they turn around. "How much is the volleyball net? I'd like to buy it for my daughter. You're not part of the team anymore Quinn?" She looks over at me with a blank smile, the kind of empty, almost hurt smile other peoples parents give you, as if they cannot bear to to give any part of a real smile to anyone but their own child. I didn't answer her. I don't feel like answering anyone today. 

My net is one of the first things to sell, but one of the last to leave. It sits in the foyer late into the afternoon. Then the snowstorm gets worse and the electricity goes out. its all shadowy and dark down there. Its a good thing that net is pushed over to the side, because someone could easily trip over it and get really hurt. You can tell how much Mrs. Stevenson wants the net, because she sends over two high schoolers from North to come get it during the worst part of the storm.

As of today, 11/15/16, the first chapter of The Girl on Cinnamon Street is UP AND READY TO READ!! As usual, comment, vote, and follow me for more!