Weinstock had unfairly hinted that she thought Gilda had plagiarized on several occasions. In fact, because Gilda had used vocabulary words like specious and trenchant in some of her assignments, Mrs. Weinstock obviously didn’t want to believe that an eighth grader could write an novel, even if it was Gilda, who had a unique talent for witting in a voice well beyond her years. “Writing a novel is a pretty ambitious plan for a girl your age.” Weinstock regarded most of her comments with a degree of skepticism. Gilda had been known to make up stories in the past, and she knew Mrs. Gilda’s pale, freckled complexion turned pink with embarrassment, and Mrs. “I’ll be writing a novel.” Why did she tell Mrs. “And what will you be doing there? A vacation with your family?” In the first few pages, 13-year-old Gilda’s sitting in the last English class of the year, and her teacher asks her what she’s going to be doing for the summer. That, and she reminded me (very much so) of C. Gilda was funny, sassy, quirky, easy to like. But it’s a lot of fun, for one reason: Gilda Joyce. It’s not deep, it doesn’t aspire to be anything other than a little ghost story with a friendship story thrown in. This book, by Jennifer Allison, is a lot of fun.
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