to Christian school swears like a normal human. One Crusader tweeted that someone should cut out my devil tongue. People are blaming Shelley for raising a potty-mouthed, baby-killing bomber. Nice. Jagger Jonze is flaming me too, tweeting about how he knew I was trouble the first time he met me, on orientation night. Hilayly. Considering what happened that night.
My mother doesn’t swear. Not that she’s offended by swears, it’s just not her nature. But I bet even she’s let a few fucks fly tonight. My poor mommy. Authorities still aren’t saying if, or when, they’re going to release her. She doesn’t know if I’m dead or alive. She doesn’t believe what they’re saying about us—I know that much. She’s just scared for me. And for Fee. I hate so much that Shelley’s alone. What about Sherman?! Why’s he not making some statement that Shelley Miller’s a good person and the accusations against her are false.
The old Sherm, the one who loved my mother, was an irreligious liberal who’d quote Confucius or Shakespeare when the other dads threw down their Corinthians. Where is that man now? My daddy? The one who’d scoop me up in one arm and hug my mother with the other and, just like that, make us whole?
He left three years ago and he left again tonight. But Jesus, he must have heard about the bomb exploding in the bathroom right after he left the AVB. I’ve searched the news footage of the bomb site for Sherman’s face in the crowd behind the barricades. I guess he went home to Sugar Tits. To help with the investigation. Has it occurred to him that we didn’t set the bomb—that we were actually meant to die in that explosion?
I’m so tired. And this night is so long and it’s more than a little bizarre to know that thousands and thousands of people have spent these dark hours obsessing over us.
I hope Aunt Lilly’s headed to California by now. I hope my mother was able to call her from jail. Come on, Aunt Lill. We need you.
* * *
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Jagger Jonze just tweeted that he’s going to do a two-hour special segment of his Higher Power Hour in the morning to talk about me and Fee and the AVB. Genius marketing. Overnight superstar. His franchise business must be exploding too. He’s also announced a free concert at the Santa Monica Pier tomorrow night. Fireworks at midnight. They’re expecting record crowds. Everyone’s sure we’ll have been apprehended by then, or shot dead. The concert will be a celebration that God’s will has been done.
None of this, not any of it, would have happened if Jinny Hutsall hadn’t moved to Oakwood Circle. Freaking lunachick. I can imagine her looking at herself in her mirror and going, “Mirror God, Mirror God on the wall—am I, like, the hottest, most radical Christian Crusader of them all? Amazing! I will spread your word, Mirror God, like rounds from an AK-47, and I know that you will totally, like, bless me with my own Amazon or Netflix series or recording contract or talk show. Amen.”
Insta-polls say the country is split down the middle on our guilt or innocence, with the big cities being for us and the Southern states overwhelmingly against. Shouldn’t actual evidence decide guilt or innocence, not freaking polls? I’m torturing myself. Each time I click on a link, I sink a little deeper into the dirty shed floor. That cognitive dissonance again. Do all people live in that state now?
The Internet is saying Zee is a twin for Khloe Kardashian. I mean, no one has ever said that Zara Rohanian looks remotely like any Kardashian ever before. Zee is Armenian, so I guess there’s that. They’ve been showing pics of Zee’s fam—Mrs. Ro with her pubey black hair and too-red lipstick and Mr. Ro with his handsome face and hairy hands.
Brooky and Delaney are getting a lot of media attention too, obviously. Everyone’s saying how Brooky’s family looks like they stepped out of Cali Fashion Daily, which is too true. Big Mike was in the NFL for a minute and he’s definitely the alpha male on our cul-de-sac. Bee’s mom, Verilyn, owns a Pilates studio where she trains celebrity clients. Miles is taking a gap year before college, playing bass in Lark’s Head with Chase Mason. Miles is fine as fuck, but too close to crush on. He’s more like the jerky big brother to all of us. Well, except Fee, who acts annoying whenever