that liking the idea of something and dealing with the reality of it are two very different things. What if Amber is more of a burden than a help? What if she never gets the hang of being quiet? What if she can’t deal, turns schizoid, and kills us in our sleep? I stop and take a breath. Amber doesn’t really seem like the murdering type.
Baby is in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. It is one of those energy-efficient ones my dad insisted on, which works out great because it runs super quiet. I think of Amber and realize how easy I have it. It is the end of the world and we have a dishwasher, not to mention all the other appliances I take for granted. Sometimes if it hasn’t rained in a while we have to go without washing clothes or taking showers, but never for very long.
Even though I don’t make a noise, Baby senses me behind her and turns.
What do you think? I ask her.
She’s so . . . Baby thinks for a moment. She shakes her head. She’s so loud! She throws her arms up to illustrate her point.
I know. We have to show her how to be silent .
Baby grins and I notice one of her baby teeth is missing, the front one that was loose. She must have lost it during the commotion. No tooth fairy for her, though. She wouldn’t understand.
Can she stay? Baby asks.
We don’t have a choice . But we do have a choice. We can send Amber packing. Good-bye and good luck. Don’t let the electric gate hit you on the way out. She can stay , I decide.
Fan . Baby holds her hand up to her face and waves, overjoyed.
I smile at her enthusiasm, but I can’t help but think, Fan-fricken-tastic. Please, don’t make me wrong about Amber .
CHAPTER TEN
I’m unsure about Amber at first, mainly because everything about her annoys me. She is the kind of girl I would have never been friends with Before. My friends and I competed in class. We went to poetry readings and volunteered for political candidates we were too young to vote for. We ran track and thought it was the only acceptable sport. So much of who I used to be was about being good in school and having friends who were also good in school. We were, to put it simply, arrogant little know-it-alls. But I miss that.
Amber, on the other hand, is the girl who hung out with the football players. She is the one who squeaked by with a D average and was thrilled to get the occasional C. She didn’t think about college, and probably never faced the eventuality that high school would one day end. I would have made fun of her behind her back, while I secretly envied her popular, carefree life.
But we aren’t in high school, and having to deal with a self-centered dimwit can have deadly consequences. I have to make her understand.
The first thing I show Amber is the electric fence and warn her not to touch it. I am a bit dramatic with that, pointing at the fence and then clutching my hands to my neck, my tongue hanging out. I am pretty sure she gets the idea. Then I show her the small area around the lock where it is safe to touch.
In actuality, the fence won’t kill her, or anyone. The shock isn’t pleasant, and if you hang on for long enough it will take you out of commission and leave you unconscious. I tested it out once when I was twelve and my arm was numb for a couple of hours. My dad totally freaked out on my mom then, told her he didn’t want us living in a “gold-plated prison.” I thought for a little while they were going to get divorced over it, but they made up eventually, like they always did.
The fence’s real purpose was to stop people from trying to break in. It was hooked up to an alarm system that alerted the police if someone touched it. There is no one to come running now when They try to get through, but the shock seems to stop Them, move Them on their way. Unless, of course, we are standing right in front of the creatures’ beady yellow eyes; then nothing can break their focus. I don’t want to test just how much damage the fence can take, so I
Baby is in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. It is one of those energy-efficient ones my dad insisted on, which works out great because it runs super quiet. I think of Amber and realize how easy I have it. It is the end of the world and we have a dishwasher, not to mention all the other appliances I take for granted. Sometimes if it hasn’t rained in a while we have to go without washing clothes or taking showers, but never for very long.
Even though I don’t make a noise, Baby senses me behind her and turns.
What do you think? I ask her.
She’s so . . . Baby thinks for a moment. She shakes her head. She’s so loud! She throws her arms up to illustrate her point.
I know. We have to show her how to be silent .
Baby grins and I notice one of her baby teeth is missing, the front one that was loose. She must have lost it during the commotion. No tooth fairy for her, though. She wouldn’t understand.
Can she stay? Baby asks.
We don’t have a choice . But we do have a choice. We can send Amber packing. Good-bye and good luck. Don’t let the electric gate hit you on the way out. She can stay , I decide.
Fan . Baby holds her hand up to her face and waves, overjoyed.
I smile at her enthusiasm, but I can’t help but think, Fan-fricken-tastic. Please, don’t make me wrong about Amber .
CHAPTER TEN
I’m unsure about Amber at first, mainly because everything about her annoys me. She is the kind of girl I would have never been friends with Before. My friends and I competed in class. We went to poetry readings and volunteered for political candidates we were too young to vote for. We ran track and thought it was the only acceptable sport. So much of who I used to be was about being good in school and having friends who were also good in school. We were, to put it simply, arrogant little know-it-alls. But I miss that.
Amber, on the other hand, is the girl who hung out with the football players. She is the one who squeaked by with a D average and was thrilled to get the occasional C. She didn’t think about college, and probably never faced the eventuality that high school would one day end. I would have made fun of her behind her back, while I secretly envied her popular, carefree life.
But we aren’t in high school, and having to deal with a self-centered dimwit can have deadly consequences. I have to make her understand.
The first thing I show Amber is the electric fence and warn her not to touch it. I am a bit dramatic with that, pointing at the fence and then clutching my hands to my neck, my tongue hanging out. I am pretty sure she gets the idea. Then I show her the small area around the lock where it is safe to touch.
In actuality, the fence won’t kill her, or anyone. The shock isn’t pleasant, and if you hang on for long enough it will take you out of commission and leave you unconscious. I tested it out once when I was twelve and my arm was numb for a couple of hours. My dad totally freaked out on my mom then, told her he didn’t want us living in a “gold-plated prison.” I thought for a little while they were going to get divorced over it, but they made up eventually, like they always did.
The fence’s real purpose was to stop people from trying to break in. It was hooked up to an alarm system that alerted the police if someone touched it. There is no one to come running now when They try to get through, but the shock seems to stop Them, move Them on their way. Unless, of course, we are standing right in front of the creatures’ beady yellow eyes; then nothing can break their focus. I don’t want to test just how much damage the fence can take, so I
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