The Accidental Book Club by Jennifer Scott Page A

breathed hard into the phone. “She dumped a gallon of milk on my hardwood floor and left the house for the day. An entire gallon. Ruined the wood. She carved the words
no peace
in the bathroom door with nail clippers. She . . . She just does the most bizarre stuff, and I think it’s me. If I tell her to stay in, she sneaks out. If I tell her to leave the house, she locks herself in her bedroom. Once, I told her to do her homework, and she ate it. Balled it up and stuck it in her mouth and ate it. Then barked at me. And she wouldn’t stop. Just barked and barked and barked until I finally left the room. I can’t ground her. I can’t do anything with her. You punish her, and she either ignores you completely or just doesn’t care. She’s so willful and she hates me.” He let out a flat chuckle. “Her mother is the one putting this family through hell, and it’s me Bailey hates.”
    Jean had left the bar and had gone down to the living room. She sank into the couch, her fingers automatically drifting over to Wayne’s glasses on the end table and running along the cold metal frame.
    “It sounds like she needs help,” she said. “She probably has a lot of anger.”
    “Yes, she does,” he said. “She does need help. And we’ll get her that help as soon as Laura gets out and everything is back to normal, I swear. Until then . . . I’m the one who needs your help, Jean. Please. I need you.”
    Jean felt dizzy and confused. It seemed there were so many questions that weren’t being answered here. So many questions that weren’t even being asked. She was certain there were more, but her mind kept coming up blank. “Laura’s getting out soon? You’ve heard from her?”
    “Well, there’s not a definite date yet, no. But she’ll want out of there as quickly as possible. She’s smart. And she’ll be motivated.”
    “But she doesn’t know about Bailey.”
    “She’s actually the one who suggested I call you. She definitely would rather Bailey be with you than my parents.”
    “Wouldn’t she prefer Bailey stay with you than go anywhere?”
    He paused. “Jean. I need you.
We
need you. All of us. Please.”
    Jean took one last glance around the room, then squinched her eyes shut. This house didn’t know chaos. She didn’t know this child at all—this problem child.
    But Bailey was her granddaughter.
    Her only granddaughter.
    And Wayne would have done it. He wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.
    “Okay,” she said. “When are you bringing her?”

SIX
    Dear Beverly Cleary,
    Hi. I am Bailey. I like to read. My mom gav me one of your books one day when she was cleening out the groj. I don’t rember wich one it was but I think it was ramona the pest. I thot it was going to be boring becos it was wrote a long time ago. But I loved it and I started reading all of your books. I am sometimes a pesk like ramona. I am going to ask for mor books for Crismas. Do you have any sujeshions?
    Bailey Butler
Age 7
    B ailey had been in Kansas City exactly twice in her life. Both times were to visit her grandparents at their house. They kept Lysol on the tops of their toilet tanks. Her mom and dad had made fun of it. Lysol, as decor. Nice.
    Now she was going to be living there? Had the man lost his mind?
    She’d tried screaming, raging. It didn’t work. He’d only continued cramming her things into suitcases—putting his dad hands all over her underwear. Gross. Like he knew what items were important to her. He packed about a thousand pairs of socks, as if she could care, but not one of her books. Left her bookshelf completely alone. Did he really not ever notice that she always had a book in her hand? Did he really think she’d need her snow boots in June, but not one paperback?
    She threw things. She broke the few items in his depressing apartment that looked like they could maybe be considered important. He didn’t care.
    You won’t listen to my rules; maybe you’ll listen to your grandmother’s,
he’d