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My Unfair Godmother(24)

By:Janette Rallison


I nodded.

“Do you have any idea where the criminals are now?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen them before?”

I nearly told them no, then remembered Chrissy’s warning that I couldn’t lie or lights would go off around me announcing the fact. It would be hard to explain that sort of thing right now. “I saw them on the news earlier today,” I said. It was, after all, the truth.

“Why did the men know your name?”

“I ran into them in the parking lot before they went inside, and I told them my name.” Also the truth.

The police officer raised an unbelieving eyebrow at me. “You saw a bunch of men you knew were dangerous criminals, and you went up to them in a parking lot and told them your name?”

“I was trying to convince them not to rob the Walgreens,” I said.

“Uh-huh.” The police officer pursed his lips, and I could tell this wasn’t going well. “We’ll need you to come down to the station so we can get a formal statement.”

Chrissy was right. Telling the truth was way overrated.

I shook my head. “I’m not going with you.” Sandra said, “Tansy, I think—”

I wouldn’t let her finish. I’d had enough of the police. “I’m not saying anything else. It isn’t illegal to talk to people in a parking lot, so they can’t arrest me for that. I didn’t do anything wrong tonight.” The older officer crossed his arms. “Maybe you folks need to have a talk with your daughter about cooperation and then get back to us.” He sent me a slow, intimidating stare. “Armed robbery is a felony. This isn’t a game, young lady.”



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The officers turned and went to the door. Sandra followed them, apologizing for my behavior, telling them I normally wasn’t like this.

“Our family is going through a hard time right now,” she said.

My father didn’t move. He shook his head as though answering some question only he heard. “You didn’t do anything wrong tonight?”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“You were grounded and you went out consorting with criminals.” I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure what consorting meant. Maybe it was time I started reading again. My vocabulary needed some refreshing.

“I don’t even know who you are,” my dad went on. He said the words quietly, but so forcefully it felt like he’d yelled them. “Just go to your room.”

I turned and walked down the hallway. He was right. He didn’t know who I was.



Chapter 6

On Sunday, a repairman came and put in a new window in my bedroom. Then another guy came over and set up an alarm system in the house. The weekend rate had probably cost my dad extra. He didn’t tell me the alarm code, and I didn’t ask. I knew he had ordered the alarm so I wouldn’t be able to leave the house at night without setting it off.

Dad hardly spoke to me all day, and Sandra sent me disappointed looks that didn’t change no matter how many times I said I was sorry.

And I said it a lot. Apparently repeating the word multiple times didn’t make me any better at apologies.

Nick, fortunately, was nice. When he saw me checking the Internet for news of more hold-ups, he told me he had a friend who had access to police scanners. Nick called his friend, then gave me the up-date: that afternoon the medieval bandits had robbed the Village Inn and made off with several boxes of sausages, all the pies in the dessert case, and an assortment of silverware. Robin Hood probably didn’t realize it wasn’t made from real silver.

I was glad no one was hurt, but it was just a matter of time. I had to get things straightened out with Chrissy.



• • •

Monday morning, instead of riding on the back of Bo’s motorcycle to school, I sat in the passenger seat of Nick’s beat-up old Camry. As we went through the school lobby, I was glad for his company. He was proof I had one friend. Even if Nick had been forced into the position when our parents married.

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Everyone stared at me. They probably knew about my weekend. I tried not to meet their eyes. I especially didn’t want to see Bo or any of his friends. I was mad that Bo wasn’t sorry for what he’d done and mad that he hadn’t given me a chance to explain, but mostly I was mad that after all my debating as to whether I should break up with him, he had dumped me first.

Eventually Nick and I split up to go to our lockers. As I walked down the hallway, I picked up bits and pieces of the conversations around me. Someone said the word “criminal.” Were they talking about Robin Hood, Bo, or me? Or perhaps the homework load our teachers gave us?

It was going to be such a long day and such a long week.