Are you getting worried about Charlie? Here's the end of what I posted yesterday:
It
was Carmen who came to the door. I could just make her out through the mesh of
the security screen: dark hair flat on one side, wild on the other. She was
wearing baggy shorts that hung low on her tiny hips and a red tank top.
“Olivia,”
she whispered. She reached to unlock the security door and I pulled it open.
Her face crumpled and she stepped back. “Oh, god.”
And here's more:
It
was not the welcome I had expected. I tried to hold my voice steady. “Where’s
Charlie?”
Carmen
blinked and her face smoothed. “You don’t know?”
“No,
I don’t know!” I was yelling. Suddenly, I felt like I wanted to hit her, this
girl I’d known forever who was nearly as much a sister as my sister was. She
knew something; she was hiding something, taunting me.
Carmen
put a hand to her chest. “Oh, you scared me. I thought you were coming to tell
me something had happened.”
“Something
like what?”
“I
don’t know. I’ve been texting her all day and she hasn’t texted back. I’m
worried.”
“Her
car’s in your driveway.”
“I
know. She was here last night.” And then, finally: “Come in.” She shut the door
behind me and led me into the living room.
“My
dad was calling the house all day,” I said.
She
sat in the oversized recliner in the corner and pulled her feet under her,
making herself even smaller than she already was. “My parents are away. I don’t
answer the house phone. It’s never for me.”
I
sat down on the couch across from her. “Carmen, if you were worried about her,
why didn’t you try to get a hold of me or my dad?”
She
looked startled by this suggestion. “I didn’t want to get her in trouble.”
I
sighed. Kids. “So she was here last night?”
Carmen
nodded, warily.
“Did
she sleep here?”
“Well,
I thought she did. But, I’m not sure.”
If you'd like to read more, come back
tomorrow. And, if you'd like to start this blog feature from the beginning, go
here.
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