BROKEN GLASS. TOM KAULITZ

xx . and it's ruined

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MOM DECIDES TO SIT WITH FROGLEY, under the maple tree in the backyard. She asked me how I felt about what happened about and I said I didn't care, but she just kept at it and kept at it and I just wanted her to shut up, so in the end I told her I couldn't have cared less if Frogley died, and it worked.

She shut up. Even though it was a lie and not a very nice one. And she hasn't really spoken to me since. She's been super emotional, like more than usual. It's odd.

"Poor baby, you'll be okay." Mom wipes her eyes, before patting Frogley's head. He's back with a cone and has a shit ton of stitches hidden underneath a cast.

Dad nods and wraps an arm around her, shifting the dead leaves underneath him "He's a strong dog, this will pass."

"He shouldn't even be hurt in the first place." Mom scowls, trying to be discreet but fails. That's a dig at me.

"Yeah, but thank God he isn't dead," Dad sighs after a while.

"You act like it's better that he's still here," I mutter. It just slips out. I don't mean it. If Frogley was gone they would forget about me and mourn him. He's still here and this injury is temporary — then it's back to me. And I want them to leave me alone. I want the world to leave me alone

"What did you say?" Dad's voice is sharp. He gives me this look. I shrug and march away from the whole scene, but he keeps talking. "Priscilla, get back here and tell me what you said — Priscilla!"

"What did she say?" Mom asks.

And of course they can't just leave it at that. On Monday, on my way to catch the school bus, my little slip-of-the-tongue turns into this: "Make sure you come straight home after school."

I pause at the door, "Why?"

"Because your mother and I need to talk with you."

Think quick, Priscilla. "I can't."

Dad lowers the paper and looks at me, like, I don't know. "Why?"

"I promised Genevieve I'd give her some tips about these new cheerleading routines she's planned. She's not feeling so confident about them. And then I was going to..." I fumble for the words. "I was going to stay the night. I forgot to ask. Sorry."

He frowns and thinks about it. Doesn't even notice I don't have an overnight bag or anything, but doesn't want to believe that after all this I would still lie. It's sad.

"Fine," he says, returning to the paper. "Tomorrow then."

"Shit like that freaks me out," Tom says suddenly. He's talking about what happened and I sigh.

It's going to be one of those days.

"Thanks for sharing," I mumble. I'm filling my blank sheet of paper with circles and he's drawing a tree. Art is back to normal, as in no one really cares. "I don't know what I ever would have done had you not told me that about you." He frowns.