"Am I
supposed to ask what you were thinking?" I asked, after we stood there for
a few minutes in silence.
Sylvia was
the one Grandstone who had learned some patience. Where just staring down her cousins,
Reggie and Freddie would get them to mouth off and get themselves in trouble, silence
didn't get under Sylvia's skin. She could stand there and smirk, or give indications
of the mental gymnastics she was going through, and wait for someone else to talk.
The smart
tactic was to take control of the pseudo-conversation when Sylvia was involved.
Besides, the more time she had to think, the better the chances she would twist
the situation around entirely in her favor. For instance, if I made her stand there
long enough, by the time an argument arose and she started screaming, she would
have convinced herself that I had tricked her into staying behind after the Q&A.
Since I had survived ten years of attending school with her, the odds were good
that I could predict what she would say and do, and even how she thought. If the
mental gyrations in the gray matter of a Grandstone brain could be called "thinking."
"Just
how long did you think you could keep that secret?" She adjusted her stance
so the other hip was cocked out and she leaned against the other side of the door.
"Uh,
it's a secret to me, I guess."
That got one
of her trademark squeal-snorts. "Your parents."
"It's
no secret that I have parents."
I fully expected
her to harangue me with the fact that I was one of the Lost Kids of Neighborlee.
Former resident of Neighborlee Children's Home. A reject. A throwaway. Sloppy seconds.
"They're
famous!" Sylvia came out of the doorway, jamming her fists into her hips. "Your
parents are big-time, famous writers! How long did you think you could hide it?
Some people!" Another squeal, with only a touch of snort.
"Uh, I never tried to hide it."
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