Torn to Pieces

ONE

On the far side of Midland Park, which overlooks a field of cornstalk stubble half buried in snow, I lean against a boulder. Its edges jab my back. I wonder if I've misplaced my brain--no, whether I've ever had one.
How could I have been so stupid?
I take the letter from my jacket pocket. It feels crisp in the dark, a little warm from my body. I can't see it. Don't need to. My mind zigzags through every line like a crazy freeway driver.
This is my first letter. Ever. On paper, that is. Everyone e-mails or text messages. Even my grandma Mim, who has no idea how to turn on a computer or cell phone, knows that. But this letter, the one that changes everything? I'm not ready for it.
The wind comes up. I shiver.

Then . . .
Like the far-off rumble of a train before the whistle sounds, a little crack in the wall of my memory threatens to break wide open. I see an image of a snake. Car headlights. A man's creepy face. The words "You'll be sorry, bitch!"
As fast as one picture flies into my mind, I push it away. Take a deep breath.
What do they mean, these fragments that flash too close and terrify me?
I look up. Watch the moon come out from behind thick clouds. Unfolding the letter from my mother, I flip on my pen flashlight. I've read only half of it so far. But I start over again. It can't be true.
Can it?

Believe me, Anne. I never meant to hurt you. You have to understand that before you read on. . . .
"Mom," I whisper, drawing my fingers over each side of the smooth white pages that feel like shark's teeth, "where are you?"

TWO

Two months earlier my life in Centerville had been normal. For me, that is. School, band, best friend, mother, grandparents, black and white cat. Our home, an old two-story of gray stone with a guest cottage, sat back from the road, hidden behind an orchard of crab apple trees. It had probably been an awesome house at one time, but before Mom bought it, no one had lived in it for years.
I tried to talk her out of moving to Centerville. About as pointless as attempting to slow down a tornado. We had already left three cities before that. Every new place was the same: alien faces and classrooms. Lunch alone. Eventually I'd find a friend or two. Then Mom would fold up the tent, and away we'd all go again.
To add to the misery, I was short and fat, freckled, redheaded, and disturbingly shy. Gramps entertained me by teaching me card games and every song he knew. We played chess. After a while I won a few matches. He called me Champ after that.
Sometimes I sat on the porch swing and practiced Beastie Boy, my silver baritone with the dent in the side, until my lips swelled and went numb. Or until Zorro, my cat, started yowling.
Sometimes I read.
Or waited for Mom.
Who was always, always gone.
For the first three years in Centerville, Mim--real name Miriam--and Gramps stayed in the guest cottage but took care of me in the stone house while Mom traveled. But they had always wanted a place of their own. So when I turned fifteen, they bought themselves a small home a block away with pale green siding and black shutters. Gramps grew tomatoes in the back. Mim made raspberry and blackberry jam from the bushes that lined one side of their lot.
The inside I'd describe as having a gray-blue theme with lots and lots of doilies, flowered pillows, curtains. The kitchen, though, had bright yellow wallpa

Share your thoughts on the Torn to Pieces ebook with other internet viewers!

Title of ebook: Torn to Pieces
Reading level: ages 12 to 17
ISBN: 9780375891113
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Internet download file size: 1099 kb
Pages: 272
Released online for download: 09-09-2008
Author of eBook: Mcdonnell, Margot

Format

Sku

ISBN

File size

Security

Printing

Copying

Read aloud

Digital Editions

0375891110

9780375891113

1099 KB

n/a

Not allowed

No

Sys Requirments

Download reader

Microsoft

5551887677

9780375891113

291 KB

n/a

Not allowed

No

Sys Requirments

Download reader

eReader

5551887685

9780375891113

173 KB

n/a

Not allowed

No

Sys Requirments

Download reader

Torn to Pieces

Chapter One

ONE

On the far side of Midland Park, which overlooks a field of cornstalk stubble half buried in snow, I lean against a boulder. Its edges jab my back. I wonder if I've misplaced my brain-no, whether I've ever had one.
How could I have been so stupid?
I take the letter from my jacket pocket. It feels crisp in the dark, a little warm from my body. I can't see it. Don't need to. My mind zigzags through every line like a crazy freeway driver.
This is my first letter. Ever. On paper, that is. Everyone e-mails or text messages. Even my grandma Mim, who has no idea how to turn on a computer or cell phone, knows that. But this letter, the one that changes everything? I'm not ready for it.
The wind comes up. I shiver.

Then . . .
Like the far-off rumble of a train before the whistle sounds, a little crack in the wall of my memory threatens to break wide open. I see an image of a snake. Car headlights. A man's creepy face. The words "You'll be sorry, bitch!"
As fast as one picture flies into my mind, I push it away. Take a deep breath.
What do they mean, these fragments that flash too close and terrify ... read full excerpt from Torn to Pieces ebook