Libby always worked hard to avoid confrontations with Aunt Marge. The woman had a warped sense of right and wrong. Libby couldn’t figure out where her thinking came from. Thank God for Peter and her new phone. She texted him throughout the day and on the bus ride home; it made this crummy day tolerable. His humor gave her the courage to face Aunt Marge. Libby peeked into the filthy living room, empty except for her aunt’s clutter of beer cans and old copies of the Enquirer. As quiet as possible she stepped into the kitchen, then startled. Aunt Marge closed the fridge and popped open a beer as she spotted Libby. Her frizzy grey hair stuck out around her wrinkled face. “Well, well, well. The little criminal shows her face.” Libby fixed her gaze at the floor hoping to prevent a fight then slunk over to the stairs. The best solution was to disappear in her room. “Where do you think you’re going? Get back here. Your principal thinks we need to have a talk.” She folded her arms across her faded hippy shirt.
