Tracking Magic: A Rylee Adamson Short Story - Plot & Excerpts
My bed, the one Giselle had said was mine as long as I wanted it, was small but comfortable. The room was the same, small, the slope of the roof stealing headroom, the window leaning out over the east side of the house. But I didn’t mind. I was grateful I had somewhere to sleep where I didn’t have to fight the local bums for bed space. My room here wasn’t anything like my room back home with my parents. And the real reason I couldn’t sleep. I shook my head, sliding my hands around the back of my neck. No, I had to stop thinking about them like that. They were my parents when they adopted me, but the minute they thought I’d killed their daughter, their miracle baby, I was as dead to them as she was. The muscles in my chest tightened and it had nothing to do with the routine Giselle had put me through that day. Even now, almost a year later, I couldn’t understand how they could believe I killed her . . . then again, running away hadn’t helped my image any.
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