Chapter 8
To get to Judy’s house, we walk three blocks west and four blocks south of school to a dead end. We keep walking. After tromping through the woods, we emerge onto what amounts to a wide dirt lane. Judy points to a house and says, “That’s my place.”
We cross over the dirt lane. The sun-baked earth is packed down hard as concrete.
Judy lives in what I’ve heard people call a “cracker house.” Not fancy, but not a shack, either. Old, but tidy. The green shutters stand out against the whitewashed wooden exterior. A columned porch extends across the front, the tin roof sloping down to shelter a porch swing, a glider, and a wicker rocker. Some people might think it’s corny, but to me, it looks like a cozy place.
I take a deep breath. “What’s that awesome smell?” I ask.
“Heliotrope,”
