to the end. Aunt Marge was keeping her from her Dad.
“First off, this is my house, not yours. Anything in it belongs to me and I’l do what I want with it.” She took a long drag on the cigarette. “Secondly, your father owes me far more than the paltry money he adds to his letters. Fifty dolars once a month doesn’t begin to pay for your lunches let alone al the other things you need.” She blew the smoke into the air between them.
“Once a month! He’s written every month?” Libby couldn’t believe it. She had missed him so much and here he’d been writing regularly. “Where are the letters? They belong to me. I want them.
Now!” She stepped closer, her hands on her hips in a vain attempt to appear threatening.
“They’re gone. Burned out back,” she answered unfazed.
“You should thank me too. Al he did was drivel on about how sad he is. Trust me, you don’t need his ramblings. When you got here, you were a shy mousy little thing afraid of your own shadow. Look at you now! Not only are you standing up for yourself, you’re shoplifting.” She tipped the ash of her cigarette into an overflowing ashtray. “You’re growing a back bone. It’s enough to make your auntie proud, but I can’t be having you getting caught. That wil not do.”
“I didn’t shoplift,” she stated through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, whatever. You stole the cash, that’s al that matters.”
“And if I had the money my dad sent, I would have never lowered myself to that level.” Her anger so strong, it tasted like a bitter pil.
“Never say never. You’d be surprised at how that can come back to haunt you.” Aunt Marge said.
“You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend you do. The next time my father writes, I expect to get the letter.
Unopened.” Her fury raged within. God she hated this woman.
“You’d better learn to watch your mouth, or I’l be doing it for you. Oh, and I wouldn’t go expecting anything soon. He hasn’t written in a few months. He’s probably moved on and forgotten you. It’s just you and me now, two peas in a pod.” A tiny bug crawled across the arm of her chair. She grabbed a nearby newspaper and squashed it.
Libby wanted to reach out and slap her, but knew she never could. With lack of a good comeback she turned on her heel and stomped upstairs. She needed privacy, away from this horrible woman who seemed to enjoy her pain. Plus Peter waited for her cal. Talking to him would instantly take her mind off her troubles and her aunt’s betrayal. She slammed her door for effect.
Chapter 9
After two weeks of late-night whispering and daily texting, Peter finaly met up with Libby at Parfrey’s for a ful day and evening together.
“I’d sure love to see you perform,” Libby said as they wandered through the woods, hand in hand, in no particular direction.
“You want to come to a concert?” Peter looked surprised.
“Of course I do! But that’s not going to happen. Not unless you’re playing Rockvile High School.”
“Hmm, that’s a good idea; then I can cal you out in front of everyone and declare my love.” He puled her close.
Peter said he loved her. Sort of. Her face turned a predictable shade of pink. She was speechless.
“What? I’ve discovered how to keep you quiet for a change?” Peter grinned enjoying her embarrassment.
Libby smacked him lightly on the arm, then rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m not saying a thing.” But inside she glowed.
“So the girl wants a performance. Hmm. I can’t afford to have an unhappy fan. I believe this cals for an impromptu show.” He led her to a clearing surrounded by tal pines. “Miss, here is your front row seat. The concert wil begin in just a moment."
Peter walked a good twenty feet away and hid behind a clump of brush.
“No peeking. This is back stage and strictly off limits to general ticket holders.”
Libby turned her head away and held back a smile.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he roared in a mock announcer’s voice. “I mean, girl in the front row sitting on the ground.” Libby threw a pinecone at him.
“Hey, I haven’t started yet! You can’t boo until I do something.”
She leaned back on her hands. She couldn’t wait to see what he did next.
“Girl in the front row, I present to you . . . the Jamieson Brothers. Oops. I mean Peter Jamieson.”
He sauntered out from