17.
This must be some sort of joke, Monica thought. She fiddled with her broken nail. It really was singing, she could hear it and feel it as well as she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. “Jenny – you know, my best friend since fourth grade and your eldest child – she convinced me to come to a preview at Darrowwood Preparatory with her.”
“Darrowwood Prep, huh?” Mr. Daniels said, taking up an absentminded pacing once more. “I think I heard one of the boys say something about an old school not too far from here. Burned down in the great fire twenty years ago, I think he said.”
Monica clenched a fist. “That can’t be, I was just there, with your daughter, Jenny, and we’ve been there for two weeks already and we need to get out of here before something really bad happens.”
Mrs. Daniels had closed one suitcase and now returned to place her hand on Monica’s shoulder, speaking quite gently as she looked into the girl’s face. “Dear, you must be confused. We don’t have another daughter, although I have always considered you as one of my own children. Ever since your family has lived next door to us, I’ve considered it a blessing to have some responsible young women like you and your sister look after my kids.”
“I’ve never done that except with Jenny, Mrs. Daniels. Don’t shake your head at me. You’re joking, right? Tell me that you’re joking. My parents, call them. I know they’re on vacation and all that, and they might be mad, but they’ll know what I’m talking about. I haven’t been able to reach them on my phone, so we can try yours to see if there’s any difference.”
She looked right to left at the smooth faces, trying to read the fine lines there.
She looked right to left at the smooth faces, trying to read the fine lines there.
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