The Dollhouse

Chapter 26

RIDDLED with guilt, I hadn't told anyone about what I'd read in Rudy's journal.

I had scoured the house for clues. Every inch of the smooth flowery wallpaper, felt the upholstery in case of other books hidden among furniture, and stared at the photographs until my eyes blurred.

There was no record that Sherri had ever existed. But Rudy couldn't have invented her - surely? But the household was too complicated already, as both he and Violet hadn't pointedly spoken for a second solid week.

"So you can't come?"

The school hallways were frigid with cold. The rattle of pipes behind walls announced struggling radiators, which in their condition didn't seem capable of doing much except giving us carbon monoxide poisoning. People stirred grumpily during lessons. Ms. Appleby even scheduled us a lesson in the library, a brick-built building with extra insulation - which my friends wasted, hiding behind bookshelves and creating bad origami. 

"Not really, I can't do Thursday," Betsy heaved a sigh, throwing down a crooked swan. "I checked, but I've got commitments that night."

No one bothered to ask what these commitments might be.

"Right," Nick jerked his shoulders. "Never mind. It's only dinner. Whatever. It's just, I told my parents you were all coming."

"Have you got permission?" Sam asked.

It took me several seconds to register he was speaking to me.

"Oh, sure, yeah," I said. "Asked on the weekend."

Arabella had snapped back after Christmas as a more irritable version of herself, her patience wearing thin even towards her precious son, who had made her sign some new guardian forms from the school. Not even Rudy was spared; she signed the papers without even glancing through them, and shooed him off to rake leaves with a garden broom.

Since my question didn't drag up the divorce, I was spared - although Arabella did bristle at me for 'gawking'. However, I did leave wondering how I ever could've missed the thin white scar above her collarbone.

"My Mom was over the moon," Sam hushed his tone as the librarian stalked past. He impersonated a falsetto version of his mother;"For the love of Jesus, get friendly with those white kids!"

"Ahh, Sam, you don't need to make things about race with us," Betsy said in that careless, hippie way of hers. "We don't judge."

"He's got a point," I frowned. I recalled the scenes of violence of the news, of blue uniforms and battered brown faces. "Country folk are a bunch of racists anyway, but everything's been a bit tense since all the civil rights stuff."

Nick broke through the uncomfortable atmosphere. "Did Daisy drop out, too? I haven't seen her for ages."

"I know, it's tragic," Betsy seemed offended at the mere suggestion I knew more about a social justice issue than she did. "But Sam shouldn't have to feel that way! Nobody should! The KKK and the White Supremacist Movement shouldn't dictate his life -"

"Wonder why she hated you so much? Maybe she was too humiliated to come back to school," Nick continued, tearing lined paper from his notebook. Samuel had gone oddly quiet.