Non-classifiable
I've come up with a plan," Dad said.
Phew, I thought, relaxing a little. Dad was a smart guy. I should have known he'd come up with a plan. Maybe he wanted to hang a bigger sign outside the store or advertise on the radio.
But it wasn't that at all.
"I've agreed to start renting out the big birds," Dad said. For a second, I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. What was Dad thinking? "For parties and conventions. It's a good way to bring in extra cash--" Here, he paused for a moment.
"They want Elmo first.
Why did everyone keep asking me how I felt? How did they expect me to feel? I felt rotten. I felt worried. I felt scared.
Scared about her falling and hurting herself.
And very very scared about what my friends would say when they found out what was going on.
How did I feel? What a dumb question.
"I wonder," I said quietly, mustering every ounce of courage that I had, "whether setting a vicious dog on two young girls is the kind of dangerous act that might make a judge rethink a bail order."
Benedict slid his chair back with a squeal. "I don't have to listen to this," he said. "You girls are treading a fine line. Very fine. One little push, and who knows where you'll fall."
"Oh," I said, "don't worry about us. We're cheerleaders. We have very good balance."
