THIS IS CHAPTER 1 OF THE NEW DANGER GIRL SERIES. IT'S GREAT.
Chapter 1 Welcome to My World!
“You look like a hurricane just blew through and ate you up.” says my Mom, always ready to tell it like it is. Newsflash: I don’t even care. Well, maybe a little, but it is what it is, right? She’s constantly trying to make me feel better when she tells me flat out: “You don’t look too bad, just a little disheveled,” as if that were a compliment. I must admit, I had to look that word, disheveled, up in the dictionary, but that’s the way Mom is. “Learn a word a day, and by the time you’re my age, you’ll be brilliant!” That’s what my Mom tells me all the time. I must be a walking dictionary by now!
I don’t think I’ve ever tried on clothes in a real store, in my entire life! Everything Mom has ordered has come, straight from Amazon, online. Mom doesn’t have time to shop in real stores. She’s says she’s ‘Old School’. Newsflash: Taking your daughter to an actual mall to try on clothes is old-school. You’d think she could at least take a break from her writing and take me to a store, any store!
“I’m on a deadline,” is her standard reply, with that pouty look and her hands gesturing as she pretend-types in the air! I can see it in my sleep. It’s so…not…worth…arguing. Besides, with Mom, I always lose! So, Mom makes me wear everything twice, once regular side out, and the next day, inside out! “No use spending time washing a dirty shirt, when it’s perfectly clean on the other side,” she says, as if that were a brilliant idea.
I have to say, I kind of see her point! Especially since I wash my own clothes now. Actually, I’ve been washing and drying my own clothes for the last two years, ever since I was nine years old! I’m better at it then Mom, but I’d be the last person to tell her that. She’s got a kind heart, but she lectures at me all the time— …on and on…blah…blah…blah…about everything!
She picks on me whenever she sees me, which is not too often, since I try to keep out of her way most of the time. Mom’s a mystery writer, and I’m an only child. Translated: She only has me to pick on since it’s only the two of us. Dad left the minute I was born. And she refuses to talk about him, no matter how many questions I ask her! She replies: “You’re my love child!”
She writes upstairs in her study, with those puky, pea-green, velvet window drapes that go from ceiling to floor. Their old; their dirty! Her desk is centered between the drapes, overlooking Puddledock Pond, a brown sludgy pond with green, slimy stuff floating on top. I call it frog throw-up.
She writes for days at a time! With a bunch of best sellers, and a deadline to get this one done, I feel like she’s living in her own warped version of reality! And I’m not a part of it, not one little bit. Don’t tell her that though. I know she thinks she’s going to win some award for Mother- of -the- year. Newsflash: Just being home every day doesn’t have anything to do with raising kids!
I think she figures, that at my age, I can fend for myself. She would be right about that, since-- as of now-- we’ve moved seven times, once each year of my life, since kindergarten! She says she doesn’t want to ‘disrupt my education’ by moving during the school year. “It’s bad for your brain to disconnect from your school until the end of the school year,” says Mom.
I say back—“Are you freaking kidding me? I’m so disconnected now, I don’t remember what the name of my current school is!” I try to reason with her, but-- nope, there is no reasoning with a crazed Mom! Apparently, her desire to write outweighs my need to have friends and a real home!
“I can’t write my novels if the location is all wrong,” says Mom, always with dramatic gestures, as if she were actually a character from her own novel. “I’ve got to feel the place, the vibes,” she shouts. Translated: She’s feeling guilty about ignoring me. Maybe I’m getting to her. No, she’s too wrapped up in her own imaginary world. No more explanation ever! No matter how hard I plead my case.
Kids cringe when they ask me where I live, so I quit answering that question! Puddledock Road, is a disgusting street with weeds edging the tar and popping up in the cracks where the whole road is disintegrating. This is Mom’s idea of inspiration. This run-down street on the edge of nowhere, with its run-down houses and dead-end street must really inspire her! Her crack-brained schemes inevitably lead to creepy towns where she drags me, her only child, kicking and screaming, alone, without any friends!
I scream out loud, so loudly my brains rattle: “I HATE IT!”
Mom’s famous, pretty-much everywhere in the country! She’s been on the New York Times best seller list a gazillion times. Translated: That means dragging me on book tours all over the country, mostly during the school year. Not to brag or anything, but I’ve got the highest IQ of anyone in the seven schools I’ve attended in the last six years. But even I need to attend enough days to pull off an “A”. Which, by the way, I could do in my sleep! No bragging or anything: Just fact!
Puddledock is a totally small town with absolutely nothing going on! “Better to go where I’m not recognized,” says Mom. “That way I can concentrate without a bunch of paparazzi lurking around every bush!” Now, that’s creepy. And don’t think I haven’t seen my share of crazy people lurking in bushes, waiting for a chance to take her picture and upload it to Instagram, Snapchat, you name it!
All in all, weird as she is, in some ways, she’s a pretty cool person. She calls herself eccentric. “You take after me,” she insists. At first, I thought that was gross, just plain crazy! Her style of parenting, if you can even call it that—well, it’s odd! But now, I see the resemblance. I might be eccentric too. I get it! I’m willing to concede that. Time will tell!
Unfortunately, and I say that emphasizing unfortunately, I live right next door to snoop doggy-dog, my creepy neighbor, Viola Viviano. Viola is really, really old and I mean, maybe 60 years old! She peeks out from behind those lace curtains of hers and lurks in the shadows where she thinks nobody can see her. But I’ve caught glimpses of her long, crooked nose with those two large nostrils that flare up like a balloon—in and out —whenever she gets excited about something, which is all the time! Flap…flap…flap…faster…faster…faster! Newsflash: I swear she’s going to explode some day! I sure don’t want to be around when that happens!
Lurking in the shadows isn’t enough for Witch Viola which is what I call her now. When you hear more creepy stuff about her, you’ll understand why! She plops herself right down in front of the window to watch everybody’s every move in our neighborhood! And believe me, there’s not many people in this neighborhood. Which makes me wonder just why she lives here. And it’s pretty creepy the way she stares at my Mom and me! It creeps me out. Not Mom; she smiles like she has pity for her or understands her, or something.
Witch Viola even watches dogs and their owners who walk down this dead-end road, to make sure the owners pick up their dog’s poop! Viola is obsessed about poop! Viola is the poop patroller who screams out her window when the dogs poop all over the place. “Pick up your dog’s poop or I’ll call the police,” she screams out the window in that raspy, low voice.
Newsflash: They never do-pick up the poop--, ‘cause nobody cares about dogs crapping on Puddledock Road. There’s poop positively everywhere I step!
I can’t get away with anything when Viola’s home, and that’s most of the time since she has some sort of a disorder going on. Mom just shakes her head and says: “Be kind, Veronica Danger Powers. Someday you might be just like her, too.” Mom is too kind and understanding. She seems to actually like Witch Viola. I’ll never know why! Unless Viola is going to be a character in her next book!
“No chance,” I scream back. I don’t want any kind of a disorder. I think hers is all in her brain, which is why I keep my distance. Besides, rumors about her may be true: They say she’s a witch! No kidding! I’m not the first one to notice that. Cross my heart, on my grandmother’s grave. That is…if I had a grandmother.
I mean, Viola is a card-carrying, bonafide witch! She’s got a collection of brooms, really! You couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried! Which (no pun intended) she keeps in plain sight on her porch. I know for sure. I’ve seen shadows at night outside my bedroom window; something or someone floating by, crossing the moonlit sky, over Puddledock Pond. Brooms and all! And that’s why I keep my bedroom door and windows locked at all times! Newsflash: No one, and I mean no one, is getting into my room in the middle of the night!
My best friend this year is Lily-Lou. The Lou stands for Louise. To avoid snoop doggy-dog, we sneak around the back of Viola’s house to the blind spot, where she doesn’t have any windows. That must drive her nuts! Then we stick to the shadows through the bushes to get to my house.
Mom sure outdid herself, when she leased this two-story Victorian house straight out of a horror movie, on Puddledock Road, the most deserted, scariest, spookiest road on the planet. She says in order to write her mystery novels she needs a run-down house in a run-down neighborhood for inspiration! Jackpot! I know it sounds strange but, trust me, there have been worse places we have lived before Puddledock Road!
All the houses on Puddledock Road face the pond, a dark black scummy, slimy pond. I’m not allowed to swim there because of the high algae count, or to play on the docks since they’re all splintered and rotting. Newsflash: I do anyhow.
Mom doesn’t have a clue what I’m up to once she starts writing her mystery novel. But that’s nothing new. The same thing happens every single year. Talk about predictable! She’s really into the novel now, and her hands are just flying over the keyboard a mile a minute. But, sometimes she asks me for help! I give her clues to help her create her plot. She’s impressed with my creativity and my wild imagination. Newsflash: Most of my ideas come from real life. No joke! Mom doesn’t even know the half of it!
Rumor has it, at Lincoln Middle School, where I go, that Puddledock Road is haunted! Everybody knows it! Whenever I tell the kids where I live, well, they whisper to each other so I can’t hear them. They just can’t believe anybody would let their only child grow up there. They don’t realize that everything in our lives depends upon when Mom finishes her novel. We’re half-way there now! Next year, a new location.
Now, to the greater question! My name! I can’t figure out why Mom named me Veronica Danger Powers. I’ve been stuck with it for 11 years now, And, she won’t tell. Says she wants to forget her past. Mom says she loves the name Veronica! “It just rolls off your tongue,” she keeps telling me. “It’s almost musical,” she says. “Can’t you just hear the musical tones,” she says, not really asking, ‘cause she already knows the answer. I hate it!
My friends used to call me Ronnie, since that didn’t seem as bad to me. In fact, I insisted. But my mom had a fit. It’s not worth listening to her lecture, so back to Veronica! And Danger is really my middle name! Cross my heart! Mom says it’s a family name. How can I be sure? She never does talk about my grandmother or any other relatives, no matter what. Newsflash: She’s not talking! But someday, I’ll find out!
I suspect she makes up all those stories about me, because, maybe she has something to hide. Translated: I’ll find out someday, Mom! Just you wait! You can’t keep secrets about who I am to yourself. But I never say that out loud to Mom. It would devastate her!
Just like all her fiction books with the weird character names! Her name probably isn’t really Mom! She’s probably some stranger who snatched me from a polluted river somewhere and just took me home! This novel Mom’s writing has a character named Viola Powers. A little like our last name, too? A little like Witch Viola Viviano? Coincidence? I don’t know for sure.
It’s the Powers I can’t deal with. Did she make our last name up, too? I don’t know if she’s actually living in my world any more. It’s starting to creep me out. Hopefully, this mystery novel she’s working on, will be done by the end of the school year, and we can stop this “make-believe” stuff! And since her novels are about danger, well, it kind of does fit pretty well that she would stick me with that middle name. Newsflash: Thanks a lot, Mom! I’ll figure out what you’re hiding.
And I really hate to admit it, but my stupid name really makes me sound more authentic when I’m solving cases. I’ve got this sixth sense about stuff, maybe ‘cause I’m a genius. I’m the one who solves real life mysteries. Mom solves the ones made up in her own head. Veronica Danger Powers, it is! Everybody takes me seriously. My name has a really ferocious sound, and yet musical at the same time. Good God. I’m beginning to sound just like Mom now!
YOU CAN CONTINUE THIS STORY OF OUR HERO, VERONICA DANGER POWERS WITH ITS ALL ITS TWISTS AND TURNS EITHER BY GOING TO AMAZON.COM AND SEARCHING MARGARET DESJARDINS OR EMAILING ME DIRECTLY AT MARGARETSVIEWS1@GMAIL.COM AND WE WILL INVOICE YOU BY A RETURN EMAIL SHOWING YOUR 30% DISCOUNT AND FREE POSTAGE. WE WILL SEND YOU YOUR COPY WITH SAME DAY MAILING (NO POSTAGE OR TAX TO YOU). EASY-PEASY.
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