Dorothy’s Derby Chronicles: Rise of the Undead Redhead

by Meghan Dougherty

  Author/Illustrations Copyright © 2014 by Meghan Dougherty and Alece Birnbach

  Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Rose Audette

  Cover and interior illustrations © Alece Birnbach

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  www.jabberwockykids.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Derby Games

  A sneak peek at Dorothy’s next derby adventure

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  Dorothy and Samantha let out terrified shrieks as Grandma Sally gunned the engine, catapulting the hearse over a speed bump and into the school parking lot.

  “Are you trying to kill us?” Dorothy squealed.

  “Seriously, girls,” Grandma said, touching up her orange lipstick in the rearview mirror while steering with one elbow. “You both act like you’ve never been in a car before.”

  “Watch out!” Sam screamed, pressing her feet into the back of her older sister’s seat. Dorothy looked to the backseat at Sam, who mimed “crazy” by circling her ear with her finger, half smiling.

  Grandma swerved just in time to miss a pair of teachers who sprang out of the way, paperwork and books flying.

  “Get out of the road, nerds!” Grandma yelled as she tucked the capped tube of lipstick back into her bra.

  Grandma’s little dog chimed in with a Yap! Yap! Yap! through the curtains of the rear window.

  “That’s right, Morti,” Grandma said. “You tell ’em.”

  “Look, Grandma. There’s a spot,” Dorothy suggested hopefully. It was a shady space in the back corner of the small parking lot.

  “No chance, Dot. Nothing but valet service for Dead Betty,” Grandma said, patting the checkered dashboard.

  Figures, Dorothy thought. No one ever listens to me. She screwed her eyes shut. Maybe we’ll all die before we get to the entrance. That would teach Mom not to dump them with their nutcase grandma clear across the country.

  The car screeched to a whiplash stop right in front of J. Elway Middle School and Grandma pinched Dorothy’s arm. “Wake up, chicky. We’re here.”

  Rats. Still alive.

  “You can’t park here,” Sam said, pointing to the large NO PARKING sign looming above the hearse.

  Grandma reached into the backseat for her leopard-print purse. “Dorothy and I will only be a minute, hon.”

  “Um…really, Grandma,” Dorothy stammered. “I’m almost twelve years old. I can go by myself.”

  But it was too late. Grandma was already out of the car, yelling like a peanut vendor at a baseball game, “What you lookin’ at?” and, “Take a picture. It lasts longer,” to the students filing out of the school bus that had just parked behind them.

  Grandma knocked at the window with a ruby-eyed skull ring, her shiny black suit reflecting Dorothy’s frizzy red hair through the glass. “Dorothy Moore! Quit fartin’ around and come meet your new friends,” she ordered, gesturing to the kids she’d just yelled at.

  “Please, Grandma.” Dorothy’s heart was racing. “Let’s just go back to the funeral home.” She had been living in an old mortuary since Monday, and the last two days hadn’t made Grandma’s house any less creepy. Still, Dorothy would rather hang out with corpses any day than face the crowd that had formed around the hearse.

  Grandma made a disappointed clucking sound with her tongue and swung the car door open. A chilly September breeze swept over Dorothy’s bare, freckled legs. She gazed out at the sea of shocked and amused faces and realized she’d made another huge mistake. That morning, Grandma had said it would be “groovy” if Dorothy wore the uniform from her old school, a long-sleeved blouse and plaid skirt—at least until they could buy a new one with the money Mom had promised to send soon.

  But these kids weren’t wearing uniforms. They were dressed in jeans, classic rock T-shirts with hoodies, cute cardigans with matching boots. Dorothy stared down at her pleated plaid skirt, yellowing button-up blouse, and clunky black shoes.

  Grandma tapped her fake nails impatiently on the roof of the car. “Look alive, Dorth.”

  Okay. I can do this, Dorothy thought. She swung her backpack up onto her shoulder and stepped out of the hearse. But her left foot caught on the car’s door frame and she fell forward, both knees scraping painfully on the sidewalk. Cackles and delighted hoots erupted from the crowd. “Frappit!” Dorothy cursed. So much for first impressions, she thought, finding her feet and giving the onlookers a little wave and an awkward smile.

  “Atta girl!” Grandma said, slapping Dorothy on the rump.

  Grandma led the way to the stately front entrance, all the way clickety-clacking on high heels the same hot pink color as her short, spiky hair.

  “Why can’t I have a normal grandma?” Dorothy grumbled.

  Grandma laughed. “Normal is overrated.”

  Dorothy glanced back at the car. Morti was now in the front passenger seat licking the inside of the window. From the backseat, Sam shook her strawberry-colored pigtails and smirked devilishly at Dorothy through the tinted glass.

  “You’re next,” Dorothy mouthed. McNeil Elementary was only a couple of blocks away. Sam mimed back, open mouthed, “Nooo!” with her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head vigorously.

  The gawking mob had grown, and Grandma began waving like she was the float queen in a two-person parade. “Friendly folks,” she said, pushing open the heavy front door. “I think you’re going to like this school.”

  Dorothy could already hear the jokes spreading. Kids were whispering things like, “Crazy Granny drives a cursed hearse,” and “Watch out for falling redheads!”
>
  As she stepped into J. Elway Middle School, the doors to Dorothy’s own living nightmare banged shut behind her.

  Chapter 2

  “I am the unluckiest person on the planet,” Dorothy muttered.

  Locker #13 just stared back at her with six pairs of adorable unblinking eyes. The door was decorated with sparkly stickers: a seahorse in an evening gown, a unicorn blowing heart-shaped bubbles, an otter dripping with jewels, a lollipop licking its own eye, a centipede in high heels, and a penguin wearing a “Mr. Pretty” sash. And all of them seemed to be saying, “Sorry! Too busy being cute to care!”

  Dorothy dumped her backpack to the ground and looked down again at the handful of admission paperwork. She reentered the locker combination, and the latch made a clicking sound, but the door wouldn’t open.

  Rats! No wonder this thing is available!

  “Yo, Hearse Girl!”

  “Eyaaack!” Dorothy screeched, tossing her papers everywhere at the loud, whispering, baritone voice at her ear. She whirled around and got a face full of curly brown hair in the process.

  “Watch the fro,” exclaimed a girl in a denim jacket. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate. “My hair isn’t cotton candy, you know.”

  Dorothy fell backward and gasped for air.

  The girl propped her fists on curvy hips that looked out of place on her otherwise skinny body. “I didn’t scare you, did I, Hearse Girl?”

  Dorothy shook her head. “No. That’s okay. I was, um, actually just getting ready to scream and throw my papers into the air.”

  The girl laughed. “You’re funny, Hearse Girl. I’m Gigi Johnston. And you’re Dorothy Moore, right?”

  Dorothy frowned. “You knew my name and still called me Hearse Girl?”

  “Just messin’ around,” Gigi said. “Here, I’ll make it up to you.” She gave Dorothy’s locker a solid punch right next to the combination dial. The door made a popping sound and opened.

  “Wow. Thanks!” Dorothy peered inside the locker. She was greeted by a large, lip-shaped sticker that said, “Hugs ’n’ Kisses!”

  “Excuse me,” said a soft voice. Dorothy turned to see a petite Asian girl appearing from behind Gigi’s halo of brown curls. She was clad entirely in black and looked like a girly ninja, except for the combat boots and pink highlights in her hair. “I think these are yours,” she said, handing Dorothy her paperwork arranged in a neat little pile.

  Gigi bumped the girl with her hip. “So, you going to ask her, or should I?”

  “Shut it,” the girl whispered, returning a bump so forceful that Gigi lost her footing for a moment. “I told you I’d ask her myself.”

  Gigi snorted. “Whatever, Jade. I got her for you, didn’t I?”

  “Hey. Ask me what?” Dorothy said.

  Jade blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and looked casually back over both shoulders. “It’s about the hearse,” she began mysteriously. “It’s just…I’m dying to know. Was there a corpse in there?”

  Dorothy felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “No, not this morning there wasn’t. But my grandma did say she was giving Uncle Dirt Nap a ride later today.”

  “Who’s Uncle Dirt Nap?” Gigi asked.

  “It’s a nickname for a dead person,” Jade said, a childlike grin spread across her heart-shaped face. “It is a real hearse.”

  Gigi shrugged. “All righty, Goth Girl. Now you know. Time to get to class.”

  “Oh, right. Me, too,” Dorothy said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She shoved the stack of papers from her backpack into her locker and shut the door—right on her fingers. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” Dorothy yelped, trying to pull her hand free.

  In a flash, Gigi grabbed the bottom corner of the locker door and pried it open as Jade removed Dorothy’s trapped hand, one finger at a time.

  “Th-thank you,” Dorothy stuttered, caressing her throbbing fingers. Her throat stung and she willed herself not to cry, but tears began to tumble down her cheeks anyway.

  “Oh, honey,” Gigi cooed, folding Dorothy into her arms. “You poor thing.”

  Dorothy couldn’t believe she was crying now. She could have cried a million times during the move, but she hadn’t. Not once. She had to be strong for Sam now that Mom wasn’t around. But here Dorothy was, sobbing into the jean lapel of some crazy-haired girl she had just met.

  “Oh, dear,” Jade said. “How bad are your fingers?”

  Dorothy wiped her eyes and held out her hand.

  “Uh-oh,” Gigi said, turning the hand over in hers. “Looks like you’ll be the next person getting a ride in the back of that hearse.”

  Dorothy laughed through her tears. “Just pinched, I think.”

  A warning bell rang.

  “What’s your first class?” Jade asked.

  Dorothy snuffled. “Gym.”

  “Seriously?” Gigi said. “Did you break a mirror or walk under a ladder or something?”

  Jade waved Gigi away. “Just ignore her. You’ll be fine. I have homeroom gym, too. Ms. Nailer’s class. You can go with me, if you want. I still have to put on my tattoos before class starts.”

  Tattoos? Dorothy wondered.

  “Give the Pompoms a smooch from me,” Gigi said, popping in a pair of earphones. She flashed the peace sign and then cranked up the volume on her player—loud enough that Dorothy could feel the reggae bass line pulsating in her teeth. Gigi bounced, jiggled, and shimmied her way over to a line of lockers a few rows away.

  “Who are the Pompoms?” Dorothy asked, gingerly pulling her backpack over one shoulder. Her fingers were still throbbing.

  “They’re just a club of pretty, blond, popular girls,” Jade said, merging into the hallway traffic with Dorothy trailing behind.

  “What kind of club?” Dorothy asked, catching up.

  “Pompoms Cheer for a Better Planet!” Jade said in an animated, high-pitched voice. Then, her voice turning sour, “But it’s all a bunch of crap, if you ask me.”

  Jade weaved smoothly through a pack of chattering students. Dorothy tripped and bumped her way through the same group and was elbowed and yelled at more than once.

  The hallway became less crowded as they passed a cafeteria that already smelled like burnt meatloaf.

  “You see that organic garden?” Jade asked, pointing through a picture window. It looked out onto a small plot of ground with rows of cornstalks and tomato plants and other leafy greens Dorothy didn’t recognize.

  “The Pompoms did that?” Dorothy asked, impressed.

  “Nope. Gigi and I planted that garden. We asked the Pompoms to help, but they said they were too busy chopping down trees for the Save-the-Forest Bonfire.”

  Dorothy gasped. “But that’s like killing trees to save trees.”

  Jade nodded her head. “That’s what I said.”

  Dorothy and Jade walked a few more minutes in silence and then stopped in front of a door that read Girls’ Locker Room.

  “Something else before you meet the Pompoms,” Jade said. “Whatever you do, be sure to avoid Alex. She’s the snobbiest and prettiest Pompom and loves to target the mutants who bring the school down, like me and Gigi.” Jade pushed her shoulder against the door. “She’ll hate you, too, of course.”

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “You’re calling me a mutant?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Jade said sarcastically as she held the door open for Dorothy. “I guess it must be normal where you come from to ride around in a hearse and wear a kilt to school.”

  Dorothy sighed. “Okay. I guess you have a point.”

  As Dorothy stepped into the locker room, she took some comfort knowing that in a few short minutes she would be wearing her navy gym shorts, white T-shirt, and worn Converse sneakers. It would be nice to be dressed in something normal for at least one class that day—even if she was starting to think that the weirdos
at this school might be good company.

  Chapter 3

  Once she’d changed, Dorothy trudged after Jade into the brightly lit gymnasium. The room was abuzz with girls giggling and talking, which fortunately drowned out the high-pitched squeaks Dorothy’s shoes made on the shiny linoleum.

  “So much for wearing something normal,” Dorothy grumbled, looking down at the sparkly tiger-striped jumpsuit she had found in her backpack. Her regular gym clothes had disappeared, replaced with the jumpsuit and a note that read, “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Love, Grandma.”

  “I think it’s kind of cool,” Jade said.

  “Really?” The outfit looked like something Dorothy had seen an aerobics instructor wear on a TV show called “Groovin’ with the Geezers.”

  “Sure,” Jade said with a smirk. “You look…GRRRrrreat!”

  Dorothy groaned.

  Jade came to a sudden stop. “The Pompoms are at it again,” she said, nodding in the direction of two pretty girls in cheerleader outfits, each with a blond ponytail sticking out of the top of her head like a tree. One of them had dazzling white teeth and the other had shiny, lip-glossed lips. They were throwing a book over the head of a very tall girl with braces and thick glasses.

  “Give me back my Space Fleet manual!” the tall girl pleaded, waving her skinny arms awkwardly above her head.

  “No way, geek!” the lip gloss Pompom said, lobbing the book back to her grinning friend.

  “As an official Federation Science Officer, I order you to return my manual!” the geek shouted desperately.

  “Or what? You’re going to zap us with your photon torpedoes?” Both Pompoms laughed devilishly.

  “Wait here,” Jade said. She crouched and approached the Pompoms, silently springing up, intercepting the book as it sailed through the air. Jade placed the manual into the geek’s shaking hands and strolled calmly back to Dorothy.

  Wow. Nice move, Dorothy thought.

  “You’re a good Earthling, Jade,” the geek called, holding the manual to her chest as she skittered away.

  “And a dead one,” the Pompom giggled.