Page 24 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
“Do you feel better?”
“Only a little.” Still teary, her big blue eyes find me on her way down. I’m still in the clouds when she adds, “But I am sad that no one likes us.”
“That’s not true.” Now, she’s the one in the clouds, and my gaze is pointing up to her. “What about Annabelle?”
Annabelle—Dollie’s only real-life human friend. I have one, too. His name is Nyx.
“She’s okay, but she’ll be at the party, and if she has to choose, she’ll probably choose the cool kids.”
“Dahlia isn’t cool, Dollie.”
“She thinks she is, and so does everyone else.”
“They’re all wrong.”
Only quiet for a beat, Dollie says, “They’ll have a clown and balloons again.”
She’s told me that probably fourteen times since we left the school, which was only ten minutes ago.
“Clowns and balloons aren’t that great.”
Her gaze flicks away from me.
Scowling, she disagrees.
“Anyway, it’s your birthday soon, and maybe if you ask Dad for something other than a poodle, you can have a party, a clown, and balloons. And you won’t have to invite stupid Dahlia.”
“Mom says I do.”
I shake my head. “I’ll talk to Mom later.”
A raindrop lands on my cheek like a tear.
It’s time for us to go.
Momentum slows around me, the grassy field and trees not moving half as fast as my speed decreases.
“You ready to head home?” Dipping my toes, I position myself to stop, but a pat on my back from what feels like giant hands sends me soaring into the air again.
My sneaker toe scuffs, getting dirty as it catches on the ground. My eyes drop to the blemish for a second, but my focus rushes to the twinge of pain that shoots up my bad leg, and my hands tighten on the chains. I whip around so fast that my neck is now hurting the most.
Was it the wind?
There is nothing but trees behind me, all dark and cast in the shadows of fading daylight. Spring has been rough so far—gloomy every single afternoon. Good, hopefully, justice will be served, and it’ll rain and spoil Dahlia’s party.
“Let’s get moving, Dollie,” I say, unsure if my mind is playing tricks.
My eyes find Dollie in the air, higher than ever. Her head is to the side, and she’s laughing.
And then I see why.
Big, rounded toes come into my view, a weird hobble guiding them. Baggy blue pants with purple stripes lead up to a white shirt tucked in. It has yellow dots stretched out over a large stomach—a design, not stains, though it isn’t the cleanest of shirts. Braces take me to his shoulders, which seem too narrow for his body, and shaggy green hair just about touches them. His face is pale, aside from the cherry red nose and smile, and the black diamonds painted around his eyes.
Air blows from his mouth into a balloon that lengthens in his hands, and it has Dollie slowing. I do the same, anticipating that she’s willing to accept the gift from this stranger—this clown, the second the balloon starts to resemble a dog.
“For me?” Her tiny voice is low as the wind picks up around us.
“Don’t take that,” I warn, remembering how strict my old Irish grandparents were when it came to accepting things from strangers.
