Falling In Read Online Free PDF

the walls of the Beans’ house remained bare of paintings and photographs. And no one ever got upset about a vase being broken by an errant baseball, because there were no vases, or any potted plants, ceramic ashtrays, glass figurines, antique lamps, or gilt-framed mirrors for a baseball to demolish.
    But Isabelle had never minded. Her imagination was so lavishly decorated she didn’t need inspiration from framed prints and hand-painted pillows. She had only minded the dark, especially in the winter months, when the days ended early, finding Isabelle alone in the house, the light slipping out the windows.
    Now she wished she’d had time to leave a note before she’d left home.
You’ll find my books in a pile in my closet,
she’d have written.
Please let your real daughter read them! Also: The bathrooms should be painted another color. Industrial gray is depressing! And buy more fruit! Children need fruit!
    The thought of strawberries and bananas made Isabelle hungry. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast,and then only half an English muffin with a dab of apple butter. Her stomach had felt funny that morning, and now Isabelle wondered if she hadn’t somehow known that today was the day when she’d be returned to her true home.
    A large, smooth rock, the size and the shape of a beanbag chair, presented itself in the middle of the path, and Isabelle sat down on it. If she didn’t eat something soon, she’d get a pinched feeling between her eyes, a feeling that could only be gotten rid of by taking two headache pills and placing an ice pack on her forehead for thirty minutes. If the headache wasn’t treated immediately, the pain grew larger and began to squeeze Isabelle’s head from either side, as if Isabelle were an orange and somebody wanted a glass of juice. Isabelle needed to eat.
    She closed her eyes and held out her hands. If this were an enchanted forest, as Isabelle hoped it was, then maybe all she had to do was wish for food.
Don’t be greedy,
she told herself as she composed her lunch order. A little cup of blueberries would do nicely, as would a turkey sandwich—though, didthey serve turkey sandwiches in enchanted forests? Turkey sandwiches seemed so . . . unenchanted. A dripping honeycomb, that’s what she should wish for, though Isabelle didn’t really like honey, except in tea. Too sticky sweet.
    Porridge! A steaming bowl of porridge! Of course. The exact right thing. Isabelle lifted her hands a little higher and wished for a bowl of porridge, not knowing if she should wish out loud, so she didn’t.
    She waited to feel the weight of the bowl in her hands. After a few seconds, her hands still empty, she opened her eyes. A girl, no more than eight or nine, stood in front of her.
    “Yes?” Isabelle asked, trying not to sound impatient even as the hunger gnawed at her belly. “What do you have for me?”
    The girl stepped back, shaking her head, her eyes wide with fright. “I don’t have nothing for ya, miss. Begging your pardon, miss.”
    “That would mean you have something,” Isabelle pointed out. Was this girl a fairy, trained to speak inriddles and double negatives? She looked a little grubby and plump for a fairy, her cheeks altogether too tear streaked, but still, you never knew. “If you don’t have nothing, that means you have something.”
    The girl straightened and took a deep breath. “I have two loaves of bread with butter what Mam gave me for the journey,” she said, presenting a small burlap bag for Isabelle’s view. “I’ll share of ‘em if you’ll walk with me.”
    Isabelle searched her imagination for stories about fairies who shared food or took journeys, but couldn’t find any. “Walk to where?”
    “The camps in the woods,” the girl replied. “Where the other children from Corrin went. We was walking on our way this morning when I had to stop a moment to—” She nodded toward the ground, and Isabelle understood that the girl had needed to relieve herself. “I