by Sybil Lamb
“Oh, great,” said Wren. “You probably made her go try to get a job at the pillow factory.”
They both laughed. But then they walked up and down the train tracks for the seventh time, kicking rocks and looking for any kind of clue. Wren didn’t know what to think. She just hoped Grack was right because he knew what he was talking about. Probably? Right? Right?
After a week of searching, Grack and Wren climbed to the roof of the carpet factory and nailed Eggs’s little birdhouse back together, just in case.
Ever since then, Grack has been leaving bags of old hot dog buns up there. He hasn’t seen Eggs, but every week, he finds the coop full of crumbs and all the bags torn open and eaten. Even though money is tight, and neither Wren nor Grack can offer a prize bigger than hot dogs or knit socks, they can guarantee that any information on her whereabouts will also be rewarded with fantastically wonderful Eggs.
Splendid Wren suspects Eggs must have gone south for the winter. She asks everyone she knows down there in attics and tall buildings to keep an eye on ledges, roofs, awnings, and thick phone wires. Wren recommends leaving brightly coloured food on ledges in open windows to try to catch Eggs long enough to convince her to take care of herself and do healthy things. And to please pass Eggs the message that whatever happened, her friends can’t wait to see her again, whenever that is. And wherever Eggs is now, she’s not alone.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My gushing love for my forever partner in mostly totally legal crimes, CASEY PLETT. Not only would this book have stayed in a drawer forever without her and her weeks of editing and revising, but her ultra-deep understanding of complex, nuanced characters saw past my nonsense and nurtured furious rusty mangled heart laugh cry and love again.
To my genius artist little sister, Diddi, and my gang of nieces, Hails, Madeline, and Chelz, who give me an up-close perspective on what preteens know that adults have no idea about. And to Mom ’n’ Dad for being proud of how their punk rock trouble magnet kid turned out, and for feeding me and buying me clothes for years, even though it was obvious from a very young age that eight percent of my brain is used for drawing weird pictures and telling wild stories.
Also, thanks to Team Topside, Cat Fitzpatrick, who taught me how to control and organize my chaos, and even Tommy LaGuerre for “discovering” me. (Though, technically, I rode Imogen’s coattails into Topside’s lap, so let this be a big-deal overdue thanks to Immy Binnie for trail-breaking my way in! )
But most of all, thanks to the thousands who have been following me on bloggo social media, encouraging my stories ’n’ pictures hijinks for years! Your likes and shares encourage me to make books ’n’ stuff! Thanks :D!
SYBIL LAMB’s writing and art have appeared in books, magazines, comix, alleys, and tattoos. Her novel I’ve Got a Time Bomb was published by Topside Press. sybillamb.com
