ALSO BY PATRICIA REILLY GIFF
All the Way Home
Eleven
The Gift of the Pirate Queen
Gingersnap
A House of Tailors
Lily’s Crossing
Maggie’s Door
Nory Ryan’s Song
Pictures of Hollis Woods
R My Name Is Rachel
Storyteller
Until I Find Julian
Water Street
Wild Girl
Willow Run
Winter Sky
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Patricia Reilly Giff
Cover art copyright © 2016 by Dawn Cooper
Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Sarah Hokanson
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Wendy Lamb Books, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Wendy Lamb Books and the colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Giff, Patricia Reilly, author.
Title: Jubilee / Patricia Reilly Giff.
Description: First Edition. | New York : Wendy Lamb Books, [2016] | Summary: “Judith stopped talking long ago when Mom left her in the care of beloved Aunt Cora. Going back into a regular fifth-grade classroom won’t be easy, but she has her Dog and new friend who will help her through”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015045694 | ISBN 978-0-385-74486-7 (hardback) | ISBN 978-0-385-74487-4 (lib. bdg.) | ISBN 978-0-385-74488-1 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Selective mutism—Fiction. | Dogs—Fiction. | Mothers and daughters—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Islands—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Family / General (see also headings under Social Issues).
Classification: LCC PZ7.G3626 Ju 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9780385744881
The illustrations were rendered in pencil.
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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Contents
Cover
Also by Patricia Reilly Giff
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Summer’s End
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
School Begins
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Fall
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
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Love and welcome to our darling,
Haylee Elizabeth,
born May 8, 2015,
who listened intently
as I read my first book to her
at age five weeks.
And for her mom, Christine Elizabeth,
who has enriched our lives.
The last day of freedom. School tomorrow!
I sat on the edge of the wharf, legs dangling, holding my pad and pencils.
I drew a kid with red hair and green eyes, brows a little thick. I used quick lines for a pointy nose, and a squirrely nest of corkscrews for the hair.
It was turning out to be a girl like me, Judith Ann Magennis.
I tapped the pencil. What was missing?
Of course, the mouth.
My pencil hovered over the blank space. I tore the paper out of the pad, scrunched it up, and tossed it into the water.
Maybe like a mother who’d toss a kid away.
I hid my pad and pencils under a rock and slid down under the wharf to cool off. Water swished in, and I spread my hands like starfish to capture bits of shells.
Noise exploded above me—pounding on the wooden planks.
“I’m going to get you!” a voice yelled.
Me? I ducked under the water and came up dripping. I listened as feet barreled out to the deep end. Not me after all.
“Yeow!” someone yelled, and there was a huge splash.
I peered out from behind a splintery piling. What was going on?
“Serves you right, Mason!” the voice shouted. “Keep your hands off my books. Fingerprints all over them!”
Mason. I knew who he was. He was always a mess. Once I’d seen him rolling down the hill with his brother. He was on the bottom, then winning, on top, grass stains and mud all over him.
I glanced up through the spaces in the wharf and caught a glimpse of his brother, Jerry, who walked away, acting as if he owned the world.
In the water, Mason was a perfect cartoon, mouth open, sputtering, hair plastered to his head.
He swam around the side of the wharf and scrambled up onto the sand. Then he was gone.
I climbed up to the wharf and shook my hair dry. I loved this island. In the distance I could see the coast of Maine, a misty purple blur. And across from me were wooden walls that creaked and groaned when the ferry edged into the slip.
My mother had left on that ferry when I was a toddler, dropping me off at Aunt Cora’s as if I were a bundle of laundry.
She sent presents at Christmas and cards on my birthday, postmarked Oakdale, or Vista, or even Apple Valley. She signed them Mom, or Mother, or her name, Amber. She didn’t even know what to call herself.
A small boat sped by, sending up a curved wake. A man at the tiller turned off the motor and shouted back at me. “Hey, kid!”
I raised my hand to wave.
“Want a dog?”
Before I could move, he’d picked up a dog and dropped him into the water. “Can’t keep him.” He switched on the motor again and veered toward open water.
The dog struggled, paddling against the boat’s wake.
Poor dog.
Without thinking, I raced along the wharf and dived into the water.
There was a fierce riptide here. It made no difference to me. Gideon, the ferry boat captain, had taught me to swim by the time I was three.
“Swim with the tide, then around it,” he’d told me. “Don’t fight it.”
But the dog was fighting; I could see how tired he was. And soon he’d pass the end of the island and be swept out to sea.
I couldn’t speak, but I could certainly swim! I took long, sure strokes and kicked hard and evenly.
When I was close to him, I grabbed the narrow blue collar around his neck, but it came apart in my hand. I gripped a handful of his thick fur; then, with one arm around his neck, I swam back to shore.
We lay there on the warm sand, Dog’s great dark eyes on me. When his fur was dried and combed, it would be close to the color of my hair, only lighter. Now he was shivering and cold, but more than that, he was afraid. I rolled in close to him, hugging him to me, warming him.
Did I want a dog? Oh, yes! And I was sure
Aunt Cora would be glad to let me have him. I put my mouth against that matted fur and whispered, “You’re home, Dog. You’ll never have to see the terrible man on the boat again.”
He couldn’t hear me. There was only one place I could speak loud enough to be heard, and it was all the way up the hill, deep inside Ivy Cottage. But I felt the syrup of happiness being with this dog. He was feeling it too.
Then I remembered. Aunt Cora had sat next to me at breakfast this morning. In her slow, deliberate way, she’d begun: “You’ll be in a new class this year, a regular fifth grader, with thirteen boys and girls.”
No more special class? No more Mrs. Leahy and four other kids?
“Why shouldn’t you be in a regular class?” Aunt Cora said. “Because you don’t speak? You do other things.” She counted on her fingers. “You’re a great reader. You do math problems faster than I can. Your cartoons are spectacular.” She gave me a quick hug. “And most of all, you’ll be with more kids. You’ll make friends, Jubilee.”
That’s what she called me: Jubilee. “You’re a celebration!” she always said.
Some celebration!
Mrs. Leahy, my old teacher, called me Judy. Gideon, the ferry captain, called me Red because of my Pippi Longstocking hair. And Sophie’s five-year-old brother, Travis, called me No-Talk Girl.
Sophie.
Before first grade, Sophie and I were best friends. We dug tiny gardens together. We gathered stones and built houses that toppled into each other and made us laugh.
But one day, I’d heard Jenna ask, “How can you be friends with a weirdo like Judith, who doesn’t talk?”
So no more building, no more friend.
I stood now and squeezed water out of my shorts. Dog stood next to me, shaking himself, drops of water flying.
It was time to look at that fifth-grade classroom. I pulled my pad from under the rock, then started toward Shore Road.
Dog didn’t follow. His tail wagged uncertainly.
I went back and ran my hands over his head, down his back. We belonged together. I wanted him to know that.
I walked a few feet, and still he watched. Then, at last, he took a step toward me. A moment later, we loped along the road together.
In back of the school, I raised myself on tiptoe to see inside my new room. Desks were scattered every which way, and the chalkboard was dusty.
A new teacher danced across the front, her sandy hair in ringlets. She glanced toward the window, then went to the chalkboard and wrote her name: Ms. Quirk. Underneath she wrote WELCOME.
Had she seen me? I raised my hand to wave, but a ball smashed into the windowsill, just missing me. It bounced back against the cement and rolled away across the yard.
I turned. Mason! Why would he try to hit me? No wonder his brother was after him.
I gave Dog a pat, and then we ran past the school and tore up the dirt road toward Windy Hill and Ivy Cottage.
It really wasn’t a cottage anymore. The roof had caved in and vines covered the whole thing, so no one else knew it was there. It was almost mine.
Halfway there, Dog paused, nose twitching, tail high. What had he heard?
Was Mason following us? Then I saw what Dog had spotted on the ground: old branches were piled together with a row of stones in front.
Someone’s hiding spot.
A very messy one.
A face peered out at me: a mop of pale hair, blue eyes, and more freckles than I could count. It was Sophie’s little brother, Travis. He grinned, showing a missing front tooth. With a rustle of leaves, he disappeared again.
Dog sat in front of the hiding spot, whining in a let’s play voice, until Travis poked his head out again. His finger went to his lips. “Shhh.”
I nodded. He’d escaped from Sophie. He did that all the time. I’d hear her calling, her voice loud, then whistling shrilly. Sometimes I’d hear him laughing.
“You can come in, No-Talk Girl,” he said. “It’s my best place. But it’s a secret. Sophie will make me go home and wash my face and say my numbers. She’s a bossy girl, and I’m not a baby, you know.”
Dog and I crawled inside. Next to Travis was a book with a torn cover, a bag of half-chewed orange slices, and a pencil and paper. “You can draw me while I read,” he said.
I smoothed out the paper and drew a cartoon—a boy with a swirl of a hair, laughing eyes, and an upside-down book—while he made up a story about a girl who didn’t speak.
Dog’s head went up again. Travis put his hand over his mouth.
Mason walked by, his feet crunching on old leaves. If he’d looked down he’d have seen us, but he kept going.
Why had Mason thrown the ball at me? Just mean, maybe. I’d stay away from him.
I signed the cartoon Judith Magennis, handed it to Travis, and went with Dog to hang out at Ivy Cottage.
We waded through mounds of weeds, and in front of us, the cottage steps gaped like Travis’s missing tooth. I could put my fists through the holes in the walls.
I pushed open the door, feeling the chipped paint under my fingers, and went into the living room.
Dog raised his head, sniffing at this new place. He wasn’t a puppy, but he wasn’t fully grown either. Where had he been? How could his owner have let him go?
I went toward the bedroom, my hands trailing along the buckling hall walls. The bed was still there, with a flowered spread that had tiny bites along the edge. Maybe the missing pieces were in mice beds deep in the house.
I sank down in front of the old mirror. It had a silvery look to it, and a crack that ran down one side. I could almost see myself.
“Hey.” My voice sounded rusty. Maybe because I could speak only here.
I grinned. “Who’s the fairest of them all?” I asked, remembering the evil queen in Snow White.
“Not the fairest, not even close,” I answered.
Dog padded into the room and sat close to me.
I leaned my head against the mirror, carefully, so I didn’t knock it over. No wonder Sophie thought I was weird. Something had to be crazy about a girl who talked to a mirror instead of people, a girl whose mother took off and left her.
But Mr. Kaufmann, the school psychologist, thought I was fine; so did Aunt Cora. I put my hand on Dog’s soft muzzle.
“I love you, Dog,” I whispered, surprised that I was able to talk to him. “You don’t think I’m weird, right?”
He gave my wrist a quick kiss.
I looked closer into the mirror and began to sing like Gideon did, in a deep voice but with no words. I’d forgotten them. “La, la, tra-la.”
Dog squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe he thought I was the worst singer he’d ever heard?
I snapped my mouth shut. Opened it again. “Please,” I said to the mirror. “Let me be a regular kid.”
Next to me, Dog’s flat tongue was out; he was panting. He must be thirsty. I was really thirsty too.
We walked down the hall with its broken tile floor. Outside, we jogged around the back of the pond. I waited so Dog could drink; then I bent over, holding my hair back with one hand, and slurped in that cool clear water.
Afterward, I sat cartooning while he chased a butterfly, and then we headed home to see what Aunt Cora would say about him.
I woke to hear Aunt Cora calling, “Everything’s laid out for you, Jubilee.”
I opened my eyes. Next to me, on the bed, Dog stretched. Yesterday afternoon, we’d walked into the kitchen together, and Aunt Cora had knelt on the floor to pat him. “Yes,” she said. “I should have known we needed a dog.”
I drew the man on the boat for her, and her eyes widened. “Who could do such a thing!” she said, rubbing Dog’s ears.
She filled a bowl with leftover meat loaf and we watched while Dog scarfed it up. He was hungry, starving. If only I had known that!
But now, this morning, I looked at the clothes on my dresser: new jeans and a purple shirt with matching hair clips.
I climbed out of bed and knelt on the floor next to
Dog. His tail wagged; he was happy. How could he know this was a sad day for me?
I dressed and grabbed my cartoon pad. You’ll be fine, I told myself.
That’s almost what Aunt Cora said as she put a plate of pancakes with blueberry smiles in front of me. “You’ll be amazing, Jubilee.” She leaned forward, smelling like the roses in her garden. “It’s just today. You’ll have the whole weekend before it begins again. A huge scoop of time.”
Dog came into the kitchen, and Aunt Cora bent down to pet him. “A perfect dog, a perfect pet,” she said. She stood and dropped two more blueberries on my plate. “Two wishes.”
I held up two fingers, reached for my pad, and drew a dripping wet boy with a turned-down mouth and nasty eyes. I put an X right down the middle of him.
“A mean boy?” Aunt Cora guessed.
I picked up my spoon and dripped a perfect blob of maple syrup over his head to make her grin.
Aunt Cora was waiting, so I drew in a fat fish with googly eyes. “Ah, fishing,” she said. “I wish we could do that today.”
She popped a blueberry into her mouth. “My wishes: A new kitchen floor. A motorcycle.”
I grinned. I couldn’t imagine Aunt Cora riding a motorcycle. Maybe she had secret wishes too. But she went on. “I’d like to be fast instead of slow, instead of thinking things over. I’d race around the island—” She broke off, both of us laughing now.
After breakfast, I tucked my pad in my pocket and searched the closet for a plaid blanket I’d had when I was little. It would be fine for Dog today. I put it in my backpack with a bottle of water and a plastic bowl.
“You’ll love your new class,” Aunt Cora called after me. “Wait and see.”
I wasn’t great at waiting. But I pictured Ms. Quirk, and the yellow WELCOME on the board. Maybe it would work out.