Driving With Dead People by Monica Holloway Read Free Book Online Page A

was added. The last tractor still moving at the end would be the winner.
    Papaw had four trophies with tiny gold tractors on top sitting above his television already, and it looked like he was headed for his fifth.
    Jamie and my cousin Paul were perched on a white wooden fence, watching the competition.
    “That’s my brother, Jamie, over there,” I said, pointing.
    “He’s cute,” Julie said. I was startled by this, so I didn’t say anything. Finally, Julie asked, “Where do you live?”
    “Galesburg,” I said.
    “You live really far from me,” she said. “I live in Elk Grove.”
    I felt my face flush. I wanted to live in Elk Grove too—especially in the funeral home.
    “Let’s go on a hayride,” I suggested, changing the subject.
    We climbed down and ran toward the hay wagon, sawdust blowing around our bony ankles. It was a perfect day.
     
    After the trophies were awarded (Papaw got second place) and the homemade ice cream was served and eaten, it was time to get into the station wagon and head home.
    Dave Kilner patted my back. “You’ll have to come to the house one of these days,” he said. I was giddy with excitement, picturing myself playing Twister in the mortuary.
    “I would love to,” I told him.
    “Well, see ya,” Julie said, shrugging her shoulders.
    “See ya,” I said as I climbed into our station wagon next to Becky. There was no way I was getting a window seat.
    As we drove off, Dad gave a “great guy” wave to his friends. We’d barely pulled onto Highway 64 when he growled, “Quit kicking my goddamn seat.” I wasn’t kicking his seat, but I smiled anyway. I’d just met the undertaker-father of my dreams, and his family.
    Dad wasn’t going to ruin my day.

Chapter Five
    The night before I started fourth grade, I couldn’t sleep because I was worried about my new classroom. Fourth grade was in a bigger building with a pink steel tube snaking out of the second floor and slithering to an end on the asphalt playground. If there was a blaze, I worried that teachers would toss us headfirst into that dark, winding fire escape and we’d zip to the bottom, landing in a huge pile of skinned knees and chipped teeth on the blacktop.
    In fourth grade I’d have to change classrooms for the first time in my life. I was supposed to stay in Mrs. Eaton’s room all day until two p.m., and then I had to walk next door to Mr. Nash’s class for science. After that, it was back to Mrs. Eaton for homeroom. I would never remember it all.
    I was so worked up during breakfast, Jamie offered to walk me up there.
    “I won’t hold your hand, though,” he said.
    “Don’t hold mine either,” I snapped over my shoulder as I got up to get dressed.
    That morning I didn’t even watch Sam Lunsford get on the bus. I leaned my forehead against the window and worried.
     
    After Wanda had thrown up and Dad had passed us at Liddy’s house, Jamie escorted me to fourth grade. As we clomped up the stairs, Jamie said, “I don’t know why you’re gettin’ all worked up. I’m the one who has to take algebra.”
    “Because I’m the one who has to be in a new place,” I said.
    “I’m the one who has to take shop with Mr. Smythe, the dictator,” Jamie continued.
    “I’m the one who barely survived Mrs. Baker’s class last year,” I said, “since she hated me.”
    “She liked you, but you wouldn’t stop talking,” he said. I rolled my eyes.
    We rounded the corner on the top floor and I saw her—my salvation—my chance at a new family, a family that lived in a mortuary, where the dead side of me would be welcomed. Julie Kilner was standing right beside the doorway to room 214, Mrs. Eaton’s room.
    She was wearing a bright red cotton jumper with a blue-and-white-striped turtleneck and wire-rimmed glasses shaped like two octagons. I ran to Julie.
    “Are you going to be in my class?” I asked.
    “I guess so,” she said.
    “I’m Monica. Remember me?” She looked vague. “We rode in the hay