Caught in the Middle
Chapter Thirty-One
Stuck in the Middle
“I was wondering how long you’d be pacing that ever-loving street before you decided to come inside,” says Miss Flora Mae. “I’ve been gone for three weeks and you’ve already taken up my spot as town eccentric.”
“Eccentric?” I ask.
“Weirdo,” she supplies. “They can’t get enough of my advice, but just about the whole lot of them think I’m storing bodies in the basement.”
“But you don’t even have a basement,” I say.
“Not that you know of.” She winks. “Have a seat on the couch. I’ll get us some lemonade.” She calls over her shoulder, “Though by the looks of it you much prefer my ginger ale.”
Eeek!I wonder what other little differences she noticed around the house. I sit down on the couch, and even though I’ve gotten quite used to this place, I suddenly feel like a guest.
She returns with two glasses. After handing me one, she sits in the armchair across from me.
I feel my secret about answering some of her letters crawling up my throat. Like I’ve swallowed a grasshopper and the poor fella survived the whole ordeal, but he’s still gotta find his way out.
“You ready to tell me what’s the matter?”
“It’s my parents,” I huff. “And my friends. Particularly my best friend.” I almost let it slip that one of the letters I answered for her backfired on me in a major way. “And then there’s Kiera, who suddenly wants to be my friend again, but I think I messed that up, and now I’m doubly friendless. Plus this whole business with my parents trying to live practically next door to each other.” I keep going, because now that I’m talking, I can’t stop. I tell her all about school today and getting in trouble and Oscar joining the wrestling team and Dad getting all these phone calls from a bank in Connecticut and Mom dating, which is still so gross to me.
“Sounds like you got a lot on your mind.” The words drawl out slowly as she balances a pencil between her fingers.
A lot on my mind? Uh, yeah. To say the least! “Well, maybe if you’d read the letters I sent you over the last few years, you might have known that.” I immediately regret my decision to say that out loud.
“Hmm,” is all she says.
I take a huge gulp of lemonade, because I don’t know what else to do with this cringeworthy silence.
Finally, Miss Flora Mae asks, “And none of this has anything to do with the letters you answered in my advice column?”
I spit the lemonade back into the glass. “What? What are you talking about?” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I know playing innocent is the wrong move. Miss Flora Mae might be an odd one, but she’s smart as a whip.
“Don’t you play the fool with me, Sweet Pea.”
Something about her using my nickname instead of Patricia makes me a little less anxious. I set the glass back down and am actually kind of sad that I’ve ruined a perfectly good glass of lemonade. Crossing my arms, I let out a loudhmph. “How’d you know?”
“Well, I’d planned on reading the papers when I returned home, but when Mr. Joe emailed me the proofs, I noticed letters I hadn’t written. I may be old, but I’m no sucker.”
My. Mind. Is. Blown. “You haveemail?” I ask, shocked.It’s like someone’s just proved the Earth is actually flat. I can’t believe it.
“Dear, I’m all over the interwebs.”
“B-but why would you make me do all that busywork sending you your letters when Mr. Joe could have just emailed you?”
“First off, nothing about what you did was busywork. And like I said, I’ve got a routine.”
I shake my head. “But am I in trouble for answering the letters?”
