Parents
The forest about me is absolutely still.
I shoot.
I shoot at the ground before the bear's massive paws. A scuff of snow flies up. In the next moment I lean the rifle against a tree trunk and grab my bear spray from my coat pocket where I've kept it warm. I pull off the safety clip, and this time I walk toward the bear.
Not away. I'm through with walking away.
Staring out from the front page is a picture of Mom, and I swear she's looking me right in the eyes. The caption reads, "Attempted Murderer To Be Given Parole."
"This is our house and we make the rules, Dime. If we say you're home at nine, that's when you walk in the door! No excuses!" Dad shouted.
Their house, not mine. For a moment, my eyes burned, and I thought I was about to cry. Then I got it under control. I slid a smile over my mouth and looked him straight in the eye.
"Make me," I said softly.
—Diana, ésta es nuestra casa y nosotros ponemos las reglas. ¡Si te decimos que tienes que estar de regreso a las nueve, ésa es la hora de entrar por la puerta! No hay nada más que hablar —gritó.
Su casa, no li mía, pensé. Por un momento me ardieron los ojos y pensé que iba a llorar, pero logré controlarme, sonreí y dije bajito mirándolo a los ojos:
—Trata de oligarme.
