one
Some people say I look just like my mother, but I wouldn't know; she's been dead since I was a kid and my dad's girlfriends don't ever let him keep any of her pictures around. I take that to mean she was pretty, at least pretty enough that they don't want to see her face.
That's unfortunate for me.
"Lizagetdownhererightthisinstant!" Janelle's banshee-like screech is followed by hollers from her equally demonic twins. I can just picture how the scene must look: Janelle still in her pajamas, filthy three-year-olds clinging to her, her with her cellphone perched between her chin and shoulder blade, cigarette just missing the screen.
"Liza!" Her voice has risen an octave, which means I have exactly three minutes before she decides to get off her ass and come look for me. Too bad for her I'm an expert in leaving in two.
I pull my hood over my head and tuck the books into my duffle thanking God that my dad stuck me in the only downstairs bedroom.
Maybe he does give a damn.
The front door just grazes my butt as Janelle lets out the loudest blood-curling screech of them all. One minute too late, just like always.
YOU ARE READING
The Reader
Short StoryStrange things happen to Liza Brown. Buildings fall down. Libraries start on fire. But the strangest of all is him--the phoenix who expects her to drop everything and follow him.
