“Morning!” May said as I practically skipped out of my bedroom. Lately she’d been sleeping over more and more often. The sound of her voice was a major buzz-kill. It reminded me of FloAnn, who sometimes stayed over with her mom.
“Is FloAnn here?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“She’s with her dad. Did I show you my masterpiece? Meet Donatella.”
She presented one of her horrible dolls. I could not believe people on Etsy ordered the creatures she cobbled together. May bought broken vintage dolls, those creepy porcelain things with eyes that opened and shut. Then she restored them, moving body parts from one to another. Frankenbabies, I called them. She’d fixed one that cried when you turned it over, but now it sounded more like a dying pelican. That reminded me… I had better things to do.
“I’ve gotta feed Alabaster,” I said and hurried out as Dad entered.
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