The Ghost in the swing [antikvár]

Joan Clayton sat quietly next to her father in the front seat of the car and watched the warm summer countryside whiz by. Now and then a fluffy white cloud covered the bright sun, darkening the patchwork landscape. Joan hadn't seen a house for miles, and a feeling of loneliness was beginning to creep up her spine. It was a feeling almost strong enough to make her wish her little sister were in the backseat, even if Sara might be blowing bubble gum bubbles close to her ear. But then Joan remembered a tearful session at the beauty shop. If it hadn't been for Sara and her bubble gum, Joan would have had the longest hair in the seventh grade. Mr. Clayton was talking, but Joan hardly paid any attention. Her father was using his "pretend-happy" voice, but his eyes didn't shine and his hands were tight on the steering wheel. No one 1