Page 54 of The Game Is Afoot

And there it was: confirmation that Trisha is still running the show at Knoll. Even with her title stripped, even with her crimes exposed, her fingers still have a tight grip on the strings of everything, making sure her kids get more than anyone else. I should have felt victorious—here’s proof, a clear solution to myothermystery. But honestly it was more…depressing. Defeating.

“And just like I told Mr. Reed, I’m sure you don’t want—”

I accidentally bumped the door, making a loud creak, and Trisha’s whole body tensed. “Who’s there?”

I was ready to give us up because this is my house and shehad no business acting like she owned the place, let alone using it as her evil lair to threaten elementary school music teachers.

But Derek patted my shoulder, signaling for me to stay, and stepped out into the open.

“Hiiiiiii.” Trisha’s voice immediately jumped, like, ten octaves.

“Can I tell you some facts I know about my favorite game shows?”

“Gaaaaaame shows?” she repeated, slipping into that familiar too-slow, too-loud speech. “Yeeeeeesssss. I would looooove that.”

And actually, you know what, I take it back—what I said about this all being not so good. The little thumbs-up Derek did behind his back before I tiptoed away unseen was very good. The most good.

Fifteen

I’m sitting in the livingroom taking Jack-approved deep, steadying breaths to prepare for a meeting I don’t want to have but know Ineedto have, when I realize that someone is in my house.

“It’s always my fault, isn’t it?”

Whatever progress I’ve made toward clarity and calmness is immediately gone at the sound of the male voice breaking through the silence.

“Dad?” I try, rising slowly to my feet, even though I know that’s not right. My dad’s voice is lower, older. And my dad is out with Bert, doing something with his podcast that I refused to humor him by listening to him describe. But maybe he left his TV on? The voice does sound a little choppy, muffled.

“You act like you…no wrong.”

“Hello?”

That didn’t sound like it was coming from my dad’s room, and if his TV was on this whole time, then I would have noticed it sooner, right? The way he keeps his volume set, theLaw & Order“dun-dun” nearly shakes the walls.

No, I think it was coming from the side of the house. Pearl’s room?

I need to go check it out, but I can’t just stroll in there unarmed. I’m not about to be like one of those silly girls in horror movies who investigate with only their jumbo boobs as a shield. And my deflated A-cups aren’t going to provide much protection from a psycho stabber.

I quickly look around at my options. Pearl has spread out all her presents from her party yesterday across the living room floor so she could survey her bounty all at once. There’s gotta be something here I can use as a weapon. My eyes catch on the keyboard Corey got her—that could probably knock someone out. But I grab the much lighter badminton racket instead—I could fight someone off with this. Or wait—I dash over to a sleeping Polly and slide a neon-orange plastic bow out from underneath her, part of the archery set Pearl also declared was “just what I’ve always wanted!” Polly lifts her lids just barely and glares at me like I’m the villain here, waking her up from her nap. Never mind theintruder! God, I really do have to take care of everything around here.

I decide on the racket and the bow, plus a few of the suction cup arrows—better to be safe than sorry—and then start to silently, slowly creep toward Pearl’s door. I don’t hear any movement, any voices, just a quiet buzzing sound. Did he leave? Did I imagine this?

“I’m just asking for some collaborative, clear, emotion-focused communication using ‘I’ statements. That’s all.”

Okay, now, that was a different person. Definitely coming from Pearl’s room. What the fuck? Aretwopeople here? Was I really so into my breaths that two people got into my house? I would be proud of my meditating ability if I wasn’t outnumbered and possibly about to be murdered. And oh my god, whatam Idoing? I should’ve run out the front door and called the police instead of trying to fight with a dinky racket and plastic archery set, as if that is going to do anything. I guess I’m not much better than those horror movie girls.

“You always make it about what I’m doing wrong.” There’s the man again. “You don’t like my communication. You don’t like the way I load the dishwasher.”

“Well, that’s because you put my jade plates on the bottom rack, but, ugh, that’s not—Ijust want us to work together instead of against each other.”

Wait. I know that voice. And actually…the first one, too. Why the hell aretheyin my house?

In a burst of indignation, I jump into the doorway, brandishing my toys/weapons. “Arghhhhh!”

And…

…there’s no one there.

How was I hearing their voices if they’re not here? Florence and Hank are weird, but they’re not hide-under-Pearl’s-bed weird…right?

---