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Show Inside Out, 163 Smoky but sweet. I liked that. Did he really see me that way? Like I said, it was a good week. At least, at school. Home was different. Things were still tense between me and Leslie-at least, on my part. Leslie seemed to have handed over the handling of this "incident" to Dad. She acted the same as she always had towards me-bending over backward to be nice. Only now it felt more phony than ever. Why wasn't she annoyed with me? Did she really expect me to believe she felt fine about things? Did she think I wouldn't see through all her little good deeds, see that I had really hurt her? Why didn't she say something to me? Dad, on the other hand, was obviously on guard all the time, especially when he was in the room with both Leslie and me. He was so careful. I didn't know what to do. I was disgusted with myself about what had happened. And yet, the things that I had said were true. Probably they needed to be said, right? Only now that I knew more about Leslie, I didn't feel as upset anymore. And I knew that saying what I had to her made me look like a moody, jealous teenager. Is that what I was? I admitted it to myself: I shouldn't have yelled like that. True or not, those things could have been said another way, probably. Or, maybe, shouldn't have been said at all. I thought about Mom. What if she had been watching when I had yelled at Leslie? She would have seen me having an immature teenage tantrum. Since she couldn't read my thoughts, that's what she would assume I was. And maybe it's what I was. Just because I felt bad about it on the inside didn't change the fact that I had done it. |