It was a rambling old Queen Anne with a wraparound porch and, Bay's favorite thing about it, a single, lovely turret. But, as soon as she passed, their thoughts quickly drifted back to where they'd been before-what was for dinner, why was a husband so moody lately, could a load of laundry wait another day.īay sped up as she approached the Waverley house. We need to set things in order, they all thought as Bay ran down the street every afternoon after school. The neighborhood homeowners always knew when she ran by, because they suddenly felt the desire to organize their sock drawers and finally replace those burned-out lightbulbs they'd been meaning to. Bay Waverley-Hopkins raced down Pendland Street, her backpack bouncing and her dark hair flying behind her like blackbirds.
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