Why didn’t he understand that I wasn’t interested in what he had to say? What could he possibly have to say?
Was it so much to ask just to be left alone? Then this afternoon I was reading a book in the front room with the curtains drawn,
hiding from him as I had all week, when I heard a noise in the yard. I peeked outside and there was Bryce, walking across my grass.
Stomping all over my grass! And he was carrying a spade! What was he planning to do with that?
I flew off the couch and yanked open the door and ran right into my father. “Stop him!” I cried.
“Calm down, Julianna,” he said, and eased me back inside. “I gave him permission.”
“Permission! Permission to do what?” I flew back to the window. “He’s digging a hole.”
“That’s right. I told him he could.” “But why?” “I think the boy has a very good idea, that’s why.”
“But—” “It’s not going to kill your grass, Julianna. Just let him do what he’s come to do.”
“But what is it? What’s he doing?” “Watch. You’ll figure it out.”
It was torture seeing him dig up my grass. The hole he was making was enormous!
How could my father let him do this to my yard? Bryce knew I was there, too, because he looked at me once and nodded.
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