I ask Dad the next night, Sunday. It is still raining, but it is warm and cozy inside—except for the cold, nervous feeling in my stomach. Mom is upstairs giving Alfie her endless bath, and Dad and I are hanging out in the family room. There’s a nature show on TV, but the sound is off. “There was never going to be any party,” Dad says. “And kindergarten is months and months away,” he reminds me, adjusting his glasses as he glances at the screen. “Yes,” I say, wanting to agree with him. “So there was nothing to tell, right?” I toss my ball back and forth a few times, wishing the new strength in my fingertips could spread to the rest of me. Then I’d be better able to face The Wrath of Dad—if he’s mad at me, that is. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with him. The main thing is, I do not want Dad to take away my handheld video game, Die, Creature, Die.
