“I know,” I’d said, hoping she’d let it go.
She didn’t get it.
She’d always been a free spirit. Growing up with her as a mom, I used to love that she encouraged us to be weird. “Being different makes you special, my darling girls,” she’d say.
But I’d learned the hard way that being weird didn’t make me special. It just made me an outcast.
Now, with those thoughts weighing me down, I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light. After a quick glance in the mirror to inspect the light bruise forming on my cheek, I turned on the shower until my view turned foggy, then stepped under the hot stream of water and let the tears fall.
Twenty minutes later, I snuggled up in bed under my cozy purple comforter and grabbed a book off the stack on the nightstand. I settled in with a happy sigh, ready to forget the park and the stupid boys... all of Selmo, really. If only I could live in this book instead. A goodPride and Prejudiceretelling always trumped reality.
When I heard Mom come through the front door, I briefly considered calling out to let her know I was home.No.Knowing her, she might do something crazy, like march down to the park and give the boys a piece of her mind, and that’d just make it worse. I’d much rather think about fictional problems right now.
The shower turned on a second time, and I got lost in the story.I barely heard the water shut off or Mom briefly using the hair dryer. I was so immersed in the story that I startled when the back doorknob jiggled in the otherwise silent house.
It was loud enough for me to hear even with my door closed.
The back door squeaked as it opened.
I frowned. Were Rissa and Olive already back from the movies? I must’ve been reading longer than I’d thought. Searching for my phone to check the time, I sighed when I remembered I’d left it in my coat pocket so I wouldn’t have to look at the cracked screen.
I turned the page, unwilling to put my book down to check. I was at the best part, where the girl caught herself wanting to be around the guy she supposedly couldn’t stand, making excuses to see him.
Mom’s voice rose suddenly—not enough for me to make out what she was saying, but her tone had me swinging my feet over the side of the bed to stand.
What on earth?
A sharp male voice made me pause with my hand on the doorknob.
That wasn’t Dad.
Another even deeper voice muttered something. It made my hackles rise. I wished suddenly that I hadn’t left my phone by the door, though who knew if I’d even be able to dial 911 on that screen.
I opened my door as silently as possible.
From my angle, all I could see was the fridge.
I scooted forward to peek around the wall.
I didn’t know what I expected to find, but the two costumed people in the kitchen weren’t it.
The closest one stood taller than the back door he was closing and equally as wide. Thick muscles corded as he crossed his arms, which were dark blue. Actually, all of him was blue, except where black paint streaked his face and the tips of his pointed ears.
Beside him was a little kid, maybe seven or eight. He had pointy ears too. He wore a fuzzy green cap and a vest that matched. They looked straight out of a play in those costumes. Weird.
Though I knew everyone from school, the library, the theater, the gas station, Mom’s work, the grocery store, and the neighborhood, they weren’t familiar. Even if I crossed paths with someone I didn’t know in Selmo, I usually still recognized their face. So, what were two strangers doing in our house?
“You signed the contract,” the deep voice said.
I did a double take—that voice was coming from the kid.
Squinting, I studied him closer. Did he have a bit of a beard? And was his hat made of actual moss?
Maybe the snowball earlier had given me a concussion.
I scrubbed at my eyes and looked again, but it didn’t change.
“I thought I’d have a little more time,” Mom said, which confused me further. She was acting like she knew them.
