The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects

Chapter Eleven

Monday, May 21;

07:11

I tossed in bed and bashed my forehead right into Marco's, which resulted in the both of us sitting up in bed, rubbing our heads like two stooges.

"Your head's made of steel, or some other heavy metal," he winced, stretching.

"Funny." I heard footsteps on the landing and immediately went into panic mode. "You have to go now," I hissed, all but shoving him out the bed.

"Your dad?" He pulled on his black All Stars, his back turned to me.

"Maybe," I said, biting my lip. Now that the holidays had started, I dreaded the hours I spent at home, especially the awkward ones with my father.

"You're really scared of him, aren't you?" Marco's eyes met mine.

I shrugged. It wasn't so much as being afraid of him. It was being afraid of what he could do. I couldn't explain that feeling, but it was there, and it made my heart beat like a drum whenever he was in the vicinity.

"Well, feel free to drop by anytime today. I'll be babysitting," Marco told me, already pulling open my window.

I smiled to myself. "Marco?" He turned to look at me. "Thank you. For being there."

His eyes darkened. "It's nothing."

And then he was gone.

My door opened immediately after I'd shut the window.

"Up so early, Terra?"

I forced a smile onto my face as I turned to face my mother. Her hair was mussed and her silk gown was creased.

"It's a beautiful day," I chirped, heading to my closet.

"Sleep well?"

"Very."

Her eyes scanned the room and finally rested on me. "I was thinking, Terra..." She bit her bottom lip. "Well. Your father and I were thinking... Perhaps it's time for you to have a little holiday. I mean, when was the last time that happened?"

My eyes widened. A holiday?

"Just out of Tobin's Bell. Not out of the country."

"A family trip?"

Her eyes steeled. "No. Just you."

But... but why? And so out of the blue...

The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I was too scared to say them. Why? I didn't know.

Instead, I dug my toes into the carpet, nervous.

"It's a summer camp, Terra. Not Auschwitz," my mother said evenly, folding her arms across her chest.

A summer camp. Wasn't I too old for that?

My mother's eyes flashed sneakily. "Don't worry, dear. You'll only be on a bus in, oh... six hours."

*

Six hours?

What game were my parents playing? What was their M.O.?

It was strange, thinking about them in that way, but it was the way things were now.

I flung T-shirts, jeans, hoodies, underwear, and books into my suitcase, still perplexed. Two weeks away from home, was what my mother had said. Two weeks.

I bit my bottom lip and gazed out the window. Marco was only a shout away. But then what?

Dr. Steinbeck's words came back to me, slightly distorted because I'd forgotten what her voice sounded like: Run, Terra. Just run.

Was this a blessing in disguise? Running away from my troubles in this house?

As if on cue, I heard the vanity table creak to life. I jumped, heart pounding.

"Terra? You finished?" This time, it was my father who stood in the doorway, eyes scanning my bedroom.

I nodded quickly, anxious not to convey my fear to him.

"Good. Because I think camp is exactly what you need," he said, almost jauntily. "You're antisocial, which is exactly what your shrink said. You need to be with other kids. Make new friends. What do you think?" He blinked at me, waiting for a response.

I cleared my throat. "Yes."

"Yes, what? Construct a damn sentence, Terra."

"I need new friends. Well, more friends," I mumbled.

"Good girl." He turned on his heel.

"Wait. Dad?"

"What?" His back was turned to me.

"What's the place called? The camp, I mean," I added.

He shrugged. "It's slipped my mind. Sorry."

And then he left.

I had wanted to Google the place that would be my home for two weeks of my life. I let out a heavy sigh. Why did it seem like he just didn't want to give me the name?

My parents were acting weird, and I had no idea why.

I pulled out my cell phone and sent Marco a text.

Seconds later, he was at his bedroom window.

We definitely needed to talk.