Outside In by Sarah Ellis Read Free Book Online Page A

like nothing.
    Blossom led the way through a labyrinth of pillars and pipes.
    â€œWatch your head.”
    Then they came to a blank white wall. As Blossom pressed on it and it began to slide open, the story in Lynn’s head changed again. How Nancy Drew was this?
    As the wall opened, it was like the curtain parting on a set that was a combination of trailer, tent, kid’s hidey-hole under the dining-room table, animal den, garage sale and attic junk room.
    Everything was layered. Rug on rug. The walls were a collage of pictures, maps, charts and small shelves covered in little creatures made of nuts and bolts. There were five or six chairs that seemed to be made of slotted-together cardboard, piled with cushions. The walls were a patchwork of doors.
    There were strings of Christmas lights looped around. A shaft of sunlight reflecting off a mirror set into a big pipe in the ceiling made a spotlight on the floor. A table, three doors long, was covered with tools and tin cans full of bits of things, and a big pile of empty toilet-paper rolls. Stalagmites of books grew up from the floor. Wire baskets hanging from the ceiling held fruits and vegetables, packets and packages. In one corner five bicycles were neatly parked.
    â€œWhere are the plants?” said Lynn.
    â€œWhat plants?”
    Recalculating! Nothing to do with a grow-op. “Um, house plants?”
    â€œOh. There isn’t really enough light for plants inside. We have a garden, though. Some day we’ll take you there. Do you have plants at your house?”
    Lynn did not get a chance to explain the skeleton fig tree in their living room, because one of the doors — the doors that seemed like a wall — opened. A boy and a dog stepped into the hodgepodge room. The dog looked like a map of an island world, white with precise black patches. He stood knee-high next to the boy and seemed to be smiling.
    The boy had long, fine, curly, glass-colored hair and a pale face with a high forehead. There was something familiar about the face but Lynn couldn’t place it. He was hard to read.
    How old was he? Younger than her or older? He was taller, but plump like some of those short boys at school who hadn’t stretched out yet. There was something about the way he stood that wasn’t like a boy, yet not like a girl, either. He hunched his shoulders and stared at the floor like a shy kindergartener, but he was dressed like a man, in a suit, a rumpled shirt and a bright tie with slashes of color.
    Blossom put her hand on his shoulder. “Larch, this is my friend Lynn.”
    The boy nodded. “The visitor. Welcome. When we have a visitor we tidy up before she comes, we welcome her, we introduce Artdog, this is Artdog, who is named Artdog because he looks like a piece of op art, short for optical art, which is a style of art mostly in black and white, we offer her something to eat and then we talk.”
    Artdog whapped his tail on the floor and Larch reached behind one of the many curtains and brought out a plate. He handed it to Lynn.
    Neatly arranged were a package of raisins, a carrot, a piece of lettuce, a chocolate cream puff and a small lime yogurt.
    â€œThere is construction on the Mary Hill Bypass. What does the visitor think about that?”
    All the time he looked away, into the distance or down to the floor.
    Lynn bit into the carrot and glanced at Blossom, who gave her a small nod.
    â€œThank you, Larch. Um, about the Mary Hill Bypass. I don’t know too much about it. What are they constructing?”
    Larch stood considering. “The traffic report didn’t say. The traffic report said that traffic is congested back to the Delta Works Yard and drivers are advised to use Highway 10 instead. What do you think? Is this a good conversation for a visitor?”
    Lynn was stopped in her tracks before she realized that the question was directed at Blossom.
    â€œYes, it’s up-to-date and you asked the visitor’s