Apparently he thought it very much worth while. When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. She did not bother with the backpack despite its due tomorrow status. Lucy had snuck in the back door by the kitchen and Sheila was ready for her, standing between the stove 124 and the refrigerator. “Well?” she said. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn.
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