#33 I, Isabel Scheherazade, am sorry I talked so tough to Pop and Mimi, but, um, I don’t think they get what’s at stake here, as they say in the movies.
I’m sorry, Pop. I shouldn’t have said that.
Although, you know, I sort of think that they DO forget. They don’t forget that Mom and Dad are dead, but they forget that they were KILLED.
Killed by this guy.
Pop gets up from his side of the breakfast nook and comes over to my side. Even though I’m not wanting him to hug me, I let him. I think it makes him feel better. I wriggle away after a bit. I don’t want to get softened up.
Pop says, We’ll get through this, Isabel. Don’t worry.
Get through this? I think. I don’t want to get THROUGH this. I want–what is it I want? I know. I want to GET this guy and put him in jail–forever. He’s a murderer. I hate him.
I probably should say this out loud to Pop, so he understands where I’m at. But something holds my tongue, and all of a sudden I feel tired. My sad heart takes over for my mad heart. Mad gives me energy. Sad makes me tired.
Uh, Pop? I sound muffled because he’s pressing me against his side again. I think he might be crying. Pop? I have homework to do. With Olivia.
I head out the door, forgetting to take any books or papers–I’m still new at being a liar. When I go by the breakfast nook window I see Mimi and Pop just sitting there and hugging. They don’t seem to notice I don’t have school stuff with me.
Like I said, they’re not used to being parents of little kids again.
Isabel Scheherazade–sorry and sneaky story teller