Читать книгу The Original Ginny Moon - Benjamin Ouvrier Ludwig - Страница 24

17

EXACTLY 3:05 IN THE AFTERNOON, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21ST

I am at the kitchen table eating nine grapes for my afternoon snack.

“Ginny, we have to talk about the computers at school,” my Forever Mom says. “We know about Gloria’s Facebook page and her blog. She’s been pretty quick to delete the comments you left for her, but we know the two of you have been in touch.”

I put the first grape in my mouth and wait for her to keep going.

“The police can’t make her shut the pages down, but we’ve been watching to see what she posts. The police have, too. So you can’t talk with her that way anymore.”

I don’t know if she read any of my Comments. I don’t know if Gloria had a chance to read it and delete the last one. I don’t know if my Forever Mom knows that I told Gloria to come to the Harvest Concert.

“Ginny?”

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, how do you feel about it?”

I think hard and make sure my mouth is shut. I want to be good and tell her but I can’t.

“How did you feel about the apple cider farm?” she says. “And how about the fact that you’re in a safe place and have plenty to eat? How do you feel about knowing that no one is going to hit you? And what about becoming a big sister and staying at the same school for two years in a row? Or staying at the same house?”

She isn’t yelling but her voice is getting louder. Plus she asked five questions all at once. I don’t say anything. I eat two more grapes and wait.

And then she yells.

“Why the hell are you doing this, Ginny? Why the hell are you telling Gloria to keep coming back? She beat the hell out of you! You had a fractured arm and were starving! You almost died! I’m supposed to have a baby in two weeks—we can’t have this kind of insanity in the house with a newborn baby! Ginny, don’t you see? This all has to end! We can’t—”

She stops. I squeeze my eyes shut just in case. Then I hear her walk out of the kitchen. I hear the bathroom door close. She is crying.

Which means I’m not going to get hit.

I take a deep breath and finish my grapes. The last six.