The Infinite Questions of Dottie Bing: Chapters 1–17

Dottie didn’t mind who Grandpa Walter surprised as long
as he didn’t interfere with her plan.

By the time Dottie reached the stairs, Grandpa Walter was
already halfway up them—a second later, though, he stumbled
and tripped.

The cans held marbles, pennies, and plants. One sat next
to the stove for fat drippings. Kitchen utensils filled another,
while others held pens and pencils, rubber bands, and even
decks of cards.

Dottie’s room was the smallest in the house. There was just
enough space for a tiny desk, a bureau, and a bed.

The alligator stretched out in her throat. Dottie swallowed hard, trying to get it to move along. It didn’t listen,
which annoyed her and explained the ferocity with which she
unpacked Grandpa Walter’s clothes. (Ferocity was Sam’s word.)
Dottie couldn’t recall what it meant but it sounded exactly how
she felt.

Whenever she came to stay, she insisted on
playing cards, just the three of them.

“It’s perfect.” Dottie beamed.

“Give me one reason why we
can’t build the tree house in it.”
“Because it doesn’t belong to us.”
Dottie sighed. Sometimes Sam was so sensible.

“It’s not big enough.”
“It is,” Sam Batty said.
“The branches are puny,” Dottie said.

“I abdicate.” Sam had just
turned eleven but had the vocabulary of a ninety-seven-year-old.
"Abdinate?" Dottie asked. "What does that mean?"
“Ab-di-cate,” Sam repeated. “It means I give up!”

She was on a mission and failure was not
an option.

They drew a tower, then stopped, scrutinizing it again.

Dottie knew the word majesty because it was used to talk
about kings and queens, but she didn’t know majestic.
“Majestic means ‘awe-inspiring,’” Sam explained.

“Let me make dinner.” Dottie’s dad stood next to Grandpa
Walter looking helpless. “You’ve just arrived,” he pleaded to
his own dad.

When they were done, Grandpa Walter said, “Dinner is
served.” And everyone sat down. Everyone except Grandpa
Walter, who hustled back into the kitchen and returned with
the Chock full o’Nuts can, placing it beside him.

MacFurry was a pillow-sized fur-ball of a cat, whose sweet
look hid the heart of a warrior cat.
Pugnacious. That was Sam’s word. It was fun to say, but it
meant he liked to fight.

Sure, he
and Ima brushed and flossed their teeth together and they were
often heard singing sea shanties in the bathtub, but taking the
Chock full o’Nuts can in with him?

That was surprising. Or as
Sam would say, flabbergasting. That was a fun word.

She
also liked how every day Ms. Agna greeted each student as they
walked in.
Months ago, when school first started, Sam Batty told
Dottie that Ms. Agna was exemplary.

Dottie was the first to admit that for all her years at Abrams
Elementary School, lunch was a problem.

“Dottie! Sam!” Mr. Shark loomed over them. “Is there a
problem?”

Ima loved Truth or Fake, but Grandpa Walter
called it hogwash.

Just after Grandpa Walter trudged upstairs, Dottie's mom,
dad, and Jazzy arrived home.

“You’re building a tree house?” her dad asked, surprise
written all across his face. “And you weren’t going to tell us?”
Dottie nodded as Sam stood sheepishly next to her.

“That’s wonderful,” Dottie’s mom said.
“I like your initiative,” Dottie’s dad added.

“What are we going to do until Grandpa Walter wakes
up?” Dottie asked, pulling at the grass.
It was very exasperating. Exasperating was Sam’s word for
being mad. It was impossible to spell but so fun to say.

They started off by rummaging in their own homes. In
Sam’s basement they found old clothes, toys, and a broken
scooter.

“We need to forage,” he finally said.
“What’s foraging?” Dottie asked.
“It’s scavenging.”
“What’s scavenging?”
“It’s searching,” Sam explained. “We need to search the
neighborhood. See if anyone left anything out.”

Foraging and scavenging sounded like a treasure hunt.

Dottie’s stomach churned as the alligator and porcupine stomped around, making a fuss.

The search still felt futile (Sam’s word for
hopeless).

The first two questions were answered quickly by Sam,
who instead of bounding down the street like Dottie was thinking about, waved to Miles and said, “Hey.”

Then he elbowed
Dottie, who grudgingly mumbled, “Hey Miles.”

“What’s it to you?” Miles asked.
“Nothing,” Dottie said. Why did Miles have to be so argumentative?

“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing with it all?”
Miles shouted after Dottie.
Evasive was the word Sam used when he and Dottie wanted
to avoid anyone knowing what they were up to. And evasive
was what Dottie wanted to be now.