What about Daddy? Does he care about this roulette of bodies? Who is choosing to spin the wheel? I grip the back of the chair I'm sitting on. It's my turn now. I make the rules. I make the chooses. Not John Birch. Not Dad or Georgie. Not my lost memories or guilt or whatever else is taking up space in my soul. It's time for me.
I shut my journal and smooth the words on the front I wrote a few months ago. The words that make FINK an anagram.
The front door slams shut and I hear Dad stomping through the house. The place is creaky enough I feel the floor in my room tremble with each stomp. I open my door and glance at Georgie's. I hope she can sleep through the noise. Dad doesn't give in much to emotions. He hides them well.
I tiptoe into the kitchen where he is searching through the fridge. "Hot dogs for dinner?" he asks. With all the commotion of Georgie being hurt, I forgot about dinner.
"Sure. I'll make a pot of mac n' cheese and we can through them together." I move to make my end of the meal and watch Dad as he savagely slices the tube steaks.
"What's up?" I finally ask. The water boils and I pour the elbow noodles in.
"Someone slashed my tires," he says. He shrugs but I think it's forced for nonchalance.
"Any ideas about who?"
"No." He grabs a packet of powdered drink and makes red berry punch. "It's the second time since we moved here."
This is the first I've heard about it. Why the secrets?
He stares at me. Something else is bothering him. "Have you made any new friends this year?" he asks. I want to look away but I have to hold his gaze. Prove that everything is fine.
"Monica," I answer. I wonder if I should tell the whole truth. Does Aiden count?
"Just one? Like all the other places we've lived?"
What does he mean by that? My heart panics and picks up its pace. "Aiden too." I stutter.
Dad stares at me. "You've talked to him?"
I nod. What is going on?
He turns to the sink and pours the punch out. "We're out of sugar."
I watch him retreat, his shoulders slumped and his walk labored. I hear him enter his bedroom and shut the door.
I don't know what to think. I finish dinner then throw it away.
I shut my journal and smooth the words on the front I wrote a few months ago. The words that make FINK an anagram.
The front door slams shut and I hear Dad stomping through the house. The place is creaky enough I feel the floor in my room tremble with each stomp. I open my door and glance at Georgie's. I hope she can sleep through the noise. Dad doesn't give in much to emotions. He hides them well.
I tiptoe into the kitchen where he is searching through the fridge. "Hot dogs for dinner?" he asks. With all the commotion of Georgie being hurt, I forgot about dinner.
"Sure. I'll make a pot of mac n' cheese and we can through them together." I move to make my end of the meal and watch Dad as he savagely slices the tube steaks.
"What's up?" I finally ask. The water boils and I pour the elbow noodles in.
"Someone slashed my tires," he says. He shrugs but I think it's forced for nonchalance.
"Any ideas about who?"
"No." He grabs a packet of powdered drink and makes red berry punch. "It's the second time since we moved here."
This is the first I've heard about it. Why the secrets?
He stares at me. Something else is bothering him. "Have you made any new friends this year?" he asks. I want to look away but I have to hold his gaze. Prove that everything is fine.
"Monica," I answer. I wonder if I should tell the whole truth. Does Aiden count?
"Just one? Like all the other places we've lived?"
What does he mean by that? My heart panics and picks up its pace. "Aiden too." I stutter.
Dad stares at me. "You've talked to him?"
I nod. What is going on?
He turns to the sink and pours the punch out. "We're out of sugar."
I watch him retreat, his shoulders slumped and his walk labored. I hear him enter his bedroom and shut the door.
I don't know what to think. I finish dinner then throw it away.
