Iggy Included, page 1
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
For Jordy, always
— D. K.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Reading Log
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Reading Log
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Reading Log
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Reading Log
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Reading Log
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Deborah Kerbel
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
“This must be it!”
My stomach lurched as Dad slowed the car and turned up a narrow driveway. I grabbed onto the back of his seat and tilted my head over baby Bee to catch a glimpse through the windshield. The strap of my seat belt dug into my chest, but I barely noticed. Cole let out a belly-whoop and leaned over Bee too, bonking his head against mine. Normally I’d complain. But right now, I was way too keyed up to care. Twin rows of old, gnarled trees lined the long driveway, crowding our little hatchback from both sides and filtering out the sun with a tangle of leaves.
Thwick! Thwack! Stray branches flicked at our windshield as we passed underneath. I shrank back, ducking my head.
NO TRESPASSING! PRIVATE PROPERTY! warned a pair of rust-eaten signs on either side.
“Are you sure you put the right address in the GPS?” Mom asked under her breath.
“Double-checked before we left,” Dad whispered. “Don’t worry. These grounds just need some love.”
“This must be the longest driveway in the world,” Cole chirped, his eyes wide as ping-pong balls. “Does this mean we’re rich now? Can I help shovel it in winter? Ooooh! Can we maybe get a snow blower?”
Fact: My brother was probably the only kid on the planet who dreamed of having a driveway to shovel. ’Cause driveway = house.
Gravel crunched under our tires as we inched our way forward through the tunnel of trees, towing the rental trailer full of stuff behind us. I turned in my seat and flattened my nose to the window, curious for a glimpse of our new, grand-prize home. Until now, I’d only seen photos of it on Mom’s computer. This would be my first time seeing it in real life. The first time for all of us. Today was closing day. The house was finally, officially, legally ours. Everything about our lives was about to change.
Fingers crossed for the better!
We’d only been driving for five hours, but somehow it felt like I’d been waiting for this moment forever. Up until this morning, my family had lived in a small and squeezy two-bedroom apartment in the city. Now we were moving into a place big enough for all of us to have our own bedrooms. And a backyard all to ourselves. And maybe even room for a basketball net in the front, if I could somehow convince my parents to buy us one. The downside was having to leave behind all our friends in the city. Especially Scarlett and Ruby, my BFFLs. And, of course, our grandparents, Loli and Pop-Pop. But Mom and Dad promised we could go back to visit. And they could come visit sometimes too. And there were always video chats on the computer. Not nearly the same as hanging out together after school, but at least it was something. I pointed out how it would be a lot easier to keep in touch with everyone over text if I had a phone. But Mom and Dad kept saying I wasn’t old enough for one of my own.
“Maybe we can discuss it when you turn thirteen.”
Seriously? That was a whole eleven months away. I wondered if it was really an age thing or if it was a money thing. I was old enough to know that cell phones are expensive. Also old enough to know that asking Mom about money was a surefire way of shutting down a conversation.
Of course moving out here meant we’d be starting all over again at a new school in September. Being the new kid was not something I was looking forward to. Who in the world wants to walk into their first year of middle school with no friends? Sixth grade was hard enough sometimes, even with Scar and Rube by my side. But when I asked Mom if home-schooling was an option, she shook her head and said, “People should do something every day that scares them,” and “Winners can’t be choosers.” I think she probably borrowed those lines from one of her greeting cards, but I can’t prove it.
In case you somehow missed hearing about it on the news, my parents won first place in a nationwide essay contest this past spring.
The prize?
This house.
Mr. Iglesias, the original owner, had lived here his whole life. But he was eighty years old and alone now, and the work and maintenance was too much for him to handle. Hoping to pass it on to a family that would “give it the love it deserved,” he’d created an essay-writing contest. In one thousand words or less, you had to explain why you should be the new owner. The best essay would win the house and property, free and clear.
Lucky for us, my parents were really good writers. Or, as Loli liked to say, they both had “ink running through their veins.” Until he lost his job that winter, Dad had been an editor for our local newspaper, and Mom wrote freelance for a greeting card company. So when the call came that their essay was chosen out of thousands of entries, it felt like we’d won the lottery. Like all our dreams had suddenly come true. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to worry about making rent payments anymore. There’d be more than one shower for all of us to share. And I was finally going to get a room of my own. Which meant personal space. And privacy! Mom and Dad said I could have first pick of the rooms, because I was the oldest by two years. Cole got away with lots of stuff ’cause he was the baby up until Bee came along. But once in a while, being oldest had its perks.
Two months later, the paperwork was done, the boxes were packed, and moving day was finally here. Even though my best friends were five hours away in the city, I was hopeful this move was going to be good for my family. And a fresh start for me. I was officially a pre-teen now, and ready for the best summer ever.
The tunnel of branches around the driveway suddenly thinned, and sunlight flooded the air around us. I stopped breathing as a building slowly rolled into view behind an overgrown field of weeds.
“Look!” I shouted, rising up as far as my seat belt would allow. “There it is!”
Dad stomped on the brakes, and the hatchback’s tires skidded across the gravel. Mom gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Bee let out one of her signature dolphin-like squeals and yanked on one of my pigtails.
“Ouch!”
“Wait. That’s not our new house, is it?” Cole asked, pointing a trembling finger toward the building.
“Is it?” I echoed, my gaze jumping between my family’s shocked faces and the structure in front of us.
For the first time in the brief history of my life, my parents had no words.
CHAPTER 2
One by one we snapped off our seat belts and stepped out of the car. Dad unbuckled Bee and gathered her into his arms. None of us said a word for the longest time. After what felt like the Grand Canyon of silence, Mom finally spoke.
“This must be a mistake, Shawn. This … this can’t be ‘Iggy’s Manor.’”
Dad passed Bee over to her, then clutched his forehead.
“It’s … ah, I think … there must be … um …”
Balancing Bee on her hip, Mom dug around in her purse, then pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and held it up. I recognized it immediately — it was the photo of “Iggy’s Manor” from the original contest page Mom had printed. If you squinted hard, you could see they were the same house. Except the real-life version standing in front of us looked like it had recently lost an argument with a wrecking ball. The paint was peeling, some windows were cracked, and others were boarded up. Weeds and moss were growing on the roof, and a chunk of the red brick chimney had completely fallen down.
“Is this a prank? Or some kind of wild reality show?” Cole asked, glancing around, like maybe there was a hidden camera.
“Maybe the inside is better?” I suggested, trying hard to stay positive.
Just then, the front door opened with a loud creak, and a woman stepped out onto the sagging porch. She wore large, square-shaped glasses and a navy-blue business suit. She was carrying a file folder in one hand and tugging on what looked to be a leash with the other.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she said, spotting us across the lawn. “It’s so late, I was getting worried you’d changed your mind. Come, let me get you all settled up.”
Our family picked our way across the weedy yard in stunned silence while the lady wrestled with whatever was on the other end of the leash.
“Please, please be good. And no farting, for once. Okay?” I could hear her begging as we neared the house.
A moment later, with a woof of protest, the biggest dog I’d ever seen sauntered through the doorway and plopped down onto the dusty porch. Its black coat was shaggy and streaked with grey and it had glistening ropes of slobber hanging down from its mouth. With an explosive fart, the beast closed its eyes, flopped onto its side, and started to snore.
The lady placed the other end of the leash down gently and backed away, like she was afraid to wake it up. Once she seemed sure her dog was actually asleep, she tiptoed down the steps and reached out to shake Mom and Dad’s hands.
“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Coopersmith. I’m Karen Johnson, legal advisor for Mr. Iglesias’s estate.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mom said with a weary smile. “These are our children, Paige, Cole and Beatrice. Sorry we’re late. We had to make a few unscheduled rest stops,” she added, tipping her head subtly in Cole’s direction.
My brother had a temperamental digestive system. Car rides were always full of drama.
“No worries,” Karen said with a wave of her hand. “And congratulations again on your big win. I was on the essay selection committee. Your entry was far and away the most impressive.”
“Aw. Well, thanks,” Dad said, beaming proudly.
“Ah-gah!” added Bee.
Karen smiled.
“Mr. Iglesias used to teach English back in the day, so he was very picky about these essays. That poem you included at the end?” She clasped a palm over her heart. “Oh, the feels!”
Cole tugged at Mom’s sleeve. “That dog looks like a bear. Can I go pet it?”
“No! Let it sleep,” I said, watching the sleeping animal nervously. A puddle of drool was starting to form under its mouth. Ick.
“Excuse me, Karen?” Mom shook Cole’s hand from her sleeve and opened her purse. “But this house looks a bit … um, different. You know? From the photo we saw online?” She held up the contest page and waggled it for emphasis. “Are you sure they’re the same?”
Karen smiled brightly.
“Yes, of course. Although that photo was taken many years ago. It’s from Mr. Iglesias’s personal archive. Didn’t you read the caption?” She pointed to the date listed in tiny print below the image. “See? It's right there.”
Mom pulled her reading glasses out of her purse and peered at the numbers.
“So it is,” she said softly.
Karen opened the file folder and took out a large brown envelope.
“I’m afraid we won’t have enough time for me to show you around. So, let’s get down to business. Here’s your deed to the property along with your official copy of the signed contract.”
She handed the envelope to Dad. Maybe I was imagining things, but he looked almost reluctant to accept it.
“Can we first ask—”
“And here are your keys,” Karen continued, handing a ring with two large, silver keys on it to Mom. “Oh, and Mr. Iglesias has also written up a handy list of instructions to help you out,” she added, pulling out one more envelope and passing it to Dad.
“Instructions?” he repeated, lifting the flap and peeking inside.
“Yes. Care and maintenance and such.”
“Okay, well since you brought up the subject of maintenance,” Dad said, closing the flap, “I’m not sure we expected the house to be so …” His voice trailed off as he searched for a polite word.
Cole jumped in to help. “Trashed?”
I jabbed him with my elbow. “Don't be rude.”
“I'm just being honest,” he shot back.
Karen peered at us over the rim of her glasses. “I promise, there’s nothing in this house that a bit of tender loving care can’t fix.”
“Are you sure about that?” Mom mumbled under her breath. I reached for her hand and gave it a “hurry up” tug. I was curious to see inside. It had to be in better shape than the outside … right?
“It’s okay,” I said, hoping to rush this part along. “Winners can’t be choosers. Right, Mom?”
Mom closed her eyes and let out an exhausted sigh, like she was ready to crawl into the nearest bed and pull the blankets over her head. “Right,” she said meekly.
Karen flashed me a grateful smile.
“Right,” she said, closing the folder and tucking it back under her arm. “The house has been sitting empty for several months now. Iggy will be very happy to have a family living here again.” She clapped her hands. “I’ll leave you all to it.”
“Wait.” Dad held up a hand to stop her. “Just … ah, I think we’d like to speak with Iggy, please.”
Karen shot a quick glance over her shoulder. “Iggy’s, um … indisposed at the moment.”
“Well, can you get him on the phone? Before you leave? I’d really like to speak with the previous owner myself.”
Karen let out a surprised chuckle. “I’m sorry, but there’s been some confusion. Iggy’s not the name of the previous owner.”
My parents stared at her like she was suddenly speaking in a foreign language.
“Sorry. Then who exactly is Iggy?” Mom demanded.
Karen turned around and whistled. The giant dog on the porch peeled open one droopy eye but didn’t budge. With a sigh, Karen marched over to the steps, picked up the end of the leash, and gave it a tug.
“Iggy? Come. Meet your new family.”
With a grunt, the dog heaved itself up onto its paws and plodded over to where we were standing. I ducked behind Mom as it approached. This dog was bigger than me, Cole and Bee all rolled together.
Dad’s jaw dropped so wide I could count the fillings in his molars. “This is Iggy?” he gasped.
Karen handed him the leash and nodded grimly.
“The one and only.”
CHAPTER 3
Iggy let out another fart as Dad took hold of the leash. Cole stifled a giggle. I pinched my nose to keep out the smell while I struggled to figure out what was happening. What did all this mean? Did our family win an old dog? Or an old house? Or … or both?
“Diggory Iglesias the Third — Iggy for short — comes with the manor. It is not negotiable,” Karen explained firmly, sounding just like Loli when she’s trying to get us to eat our asparagus. “Surely you read that part of the contract?”
“Hold up!” Cole yelped. “Iggy’s included?”
Mom’s eyes grew big and wide, like she’d just seen a ghost. Bee was wriggling in her arms like a giant worm. The contest form Mom had been clutching wafted to the ground.
“No, no, no,” she gasped. “I’m sorry, but we absolutely cannot accept. We’re not dog people. We … we wouldn’t even know how to care for one.”
Karen’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“I’m afraid you have no choice. Mr. Iglesias has already moved into a retirement residence where pets aren't allowed. The contract you signed stipulates that Iggy stays here. Iggy’s an older dog. Rehoming isn’t an option. The fine print of clause twelve, subclause D in the contract was very clear about this.” With a shake of her head, she added under her breath, “Why, oh why don't people ever read the fine print?”
My thoughts flashed back to a conversation I’d overheard between my parents a couple months earlier. It was about hiring a lawyer to help them go over the contract and explain what all the clauses and subclauses meant. Dad had pushed for it, but Mom worried it would be too expensive.
Had that been a mistake?
Cole piped up: “My sister’s afraid of dogs.”
“Am not!” I huffed, feeling my cheeks go warm. I flicked his ear in retaliation. “Besides, you’re afraid of lightning. And tomatoes. And your socks stink. And you get diarrhea more than anyone—”
Before I could finish, Karen glanced down at her phone and gasped. “I’m so sorry, but I have another appointment to get to and I’m already running late.”
With a final round of handshakes and a ruffle of Iggy’s ears, she strode across the yard to a small red sports car parked on the other side of a particularly large thicket of weeds.
“My business card’s attached to the contract. If you have any further questions, just shoot me an email. Good luck with the house! And with Iggy!”
And then, with a rev of her engine and a spray of gravel, she was gone. My parents stood there with their mouths gaping. They didn’t move for so long, I started to worry. Is it possible for humans to faint with their eyes open? Should Cole and I call 911? I glanced over at the old, tumbledown house. Did it even have a phone?
Finally it was Iggy who got my parents moving again when he let out a trickle of pee on the crumpled contest form lying on the ground.
