Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls Read Online Free Page A

activity in a dim, far corner, and a small white figure ducked out from beneath a pile of clutter.
    â€œRun!” cried Ana as the floor shook again.
    The tiny girl pelted across the floor. Her arms andlegs pumped strongly, her shapeless dress flew out behind her like a flag, and with a last burst of speed Berit crossed the patch of sunlight, skidded against the shelf, and leaped for the ladder.
    There was a shuffling at the door and the metallic sound of a key scraping in a lock. Ana hastily climbed to the second shelf, hooked the shoestring ladder safely out of sight, and flung a leg over the side of a box marked “Wingtips, Black Leather, Size 11B.”
    The doorknob turned. The door to the attic room creaked open. Ana scrambled inside the cardboard box and pulled the lid over their heads with a paper-clip hook.
    All was suddenly dark. There was a smell of shoes. Berit’s gasps were loud in the space as she tried to catch her breath.
    â€œAll right, everyone,” Ana said. “Time to be brave. And don’t forget to act stupid.”
    The girls fell back as the box slid out with a jerk. There was a horrible swaying sensation as it was carried through the air, then downward in a series of bumps.
    â€œIs h-he g-going to dr-drop us?” Merry clutched Ana’s arm.
    â€œH-he has-n’t dropped u-us yet,” whispered Ana, “s-so don’t w-worry.”
    â€œI-I’m n-not wor-ried,” said Lisa. “Are y-you w-worried, L-Lee?”
    â€œHush!” said Ana, as the bumping stopped.
    The box slid onto a hard surface, and was still. One by one, the girls reached for one another’s hands. A reedy, discontented voice from somewhere outside the box said, “Where are my dollies?”
    The lid came off in a blaze of light. The girls, blinking, looked up at two watery eyes and a red-veined nose in a huge, chubby face. A thin white fuzz ringed the sides and top of the old man’s head, giving him the appearance of a large and amiable powder puff.
    â€œHere they are, my little daffodil,” he said, giving the girls a gigantic wink. “All ready to play with Mrs. B.”
    â€œBring them here,” said the voice peevishly. “I want to play beauty parlor. Where’s that one with the long hair?”
    Ana suppressed a violent shudder as she was lifted out of the box and set before a scrawny woman with a neck like a chicken.
    The woman poked Ana in the stomach with a yellowed finger. “Say something!”
    Ana pasted a dim-witted expression on her face. “Hello-my-name-is-Ana,” she said in a monotone.
    â€œHee-hee!” tittered the woman. “She’s not very bright, is she?”
    â€œBut they like to play with you, Addie,” said the old man, who had sat down under a bright lamp and taken out a bit of wood to whittle.
    â€œYou think so?” The woman pulled Ana’s hair into a tight ponytail and let the rubber band snap.
    Ana pretended she was someplace else. She gazed at the dollhouse that used to be their home, now sitting in splendid isolation on a table by the front window of Mr. and Mrs. B’s walk-up apartment. She could see tiny rooms full of delicately carved furniture, and the grand curving staircase down which Merry had loved to slide. It had been a pretty place to live, in spite of the sign over the door that read “Home for Troubled Girls.” Mr. B had created a little world for them on the table—a park with miniature trees, an edged mirror for skating in the winter, a slide and swings arranged on the green velvet “lawn” for summer—but it was still a prison, and on thewhole Ana preferred the attic. In the attic, they had a lot more freedom.
    â€œThis one’s boring ,” said the woman petulantly, slapping down the brush on the tray so that Ana jumped. “Where’s that feisty one? She’s more amusing. Or the little one. Sometimes she even