Hi it's Lian again. Things have been a bit crazy the past couple of days,
so I will try to clear things up.
If Simone was looking to cause trouble she succeeded: her suicide has caused even more reporters to descend on our area. You can't lift up your head without banging a microphone. Sun-Yi and I've been trying to deal with it the best we can.
Mr. Xavier talked to my parents. Sun-Yi and I watched it through the window. Sonja tried to dissuade us from spying, saying we'd only find out things we didn't need to know, but neither of us could turn away. Sun-Yi said she was dying to know if I was going to be sent to an orphanage.
There was lots of shouting.cries in Mandarin Chinese. I couldn't follow all of it; I'm afraid I'm not as fluent as I used to be. Papa was yelling loudest of all, calling Mr. Xavier a long list of things I can't mention for saying his beautiful obedient daughter was a mutant. Mama did nothing but cry and shout some of the same things. Throughout it all, Mr. Xavier remained as calm as a cucumber. He gave my parents his number and left.
There hasn't been much talk since Mr. Xavier's visit. Mama and Papa always look so sad and stare at me as though I were dying. They whisper to each other constantly in Mandarin. Their whispers sound like ghostly wisps of smoke.like poison. I haven't drawn any pictures: I've been too afraid.
Right now Sun-Yi, Misha, and Sonja have been the only ones still treat me the same. The trouble with living in such close quarters is that if anything happens, everyone immediately knows, so of course everyone knows I'm a mutant. I think they feel sorry for me; they still act as though everything is normal, but their every glance as kind of a pained look.
I have currently been planning for if worse came to worse and my parents went berserk. Sun-Yi has said if I run, she runs too. I don't want her to come with me, but I don't know if I can talk her out of it: she is so fearsome stubborn.
Right now all anyone can talk about is the crime. That's what we refer to the abduction of Miss Munroe as. A lot of people around here are resentful of the fact that she's forced us to cancel several shows, cost the life of one of our headliners, and caused the media to descend on us like a pack of vultures. It makes me mad that people talk like that: I'm sure if you asked Miss Munroe, she'd much rather not be the subject of so much attention.
In school and work, it's about all anyone can talk about. Holding practice is about next to impossible with all those reporters crawling around, but we try to get a little in everyday. At school, a group of reporters came barreling in during math class. Mr. Sawyer, the math teacher, got so mad that he chased the reporters out of the room, cursing at them as they ran. We were all surprised because Mr. Sawyer had always been, as Mr. Mischke put it, a milquetoast kind of guy but Mr. Sawyer regarded school almost like church: a place were people come to learn that shouldn't be violated. English class was hard because all we wanted to talk about was the mystery. Everyone is pretty peeved that Sun-Yi, Misha, Sonja, and I got involved without informing anyone but what were we supposed to do? Go ask our parents if we had permission to go and break into someone's house.
Finally, Mr. Mischke decided that we weren't going to get much done and declared a free-write. Everybody just opened their notebooks and started scribbling. We didn't care about what we were writing because no one but ourselves were going to read them.
I don't know if I really remember what I did write; I just started scribbling whatever came to mind. I thought about all the stuff my friends and I had gone through together. I thought about Miss Munroe, the Professor and his students, I thought about Hao, I worried about Sun-Yi, and I thought about Simone. How horrible it must be to die in such an undignified manner. Some may call suicide a dignified death but I never thought it so. You die alone, trapped with all those negative feelings you may carry with you. At least with natural causes you die with family and friends.
I wonder what Simone was thinking in those last moments. I've thought about it long and hard and I don't really think she had anything to do with Ms. Munroe. It just seems too weird even for Simone.
Mr. Henrie's been pretty busy lately. He needs to work out funeral arrangements for Simone. She said repeatedly that she wanted to be buried next to her father in Canada and apparently you have to work out certain arrangements to ship a body. I think Mr. Henrie feels kind of guilty that he didn't try to get Simone some help. He seems so weary.
It seems almost natural that Simone would die this way. Simone always seemed to be keeping the wires stretched very tight, as one of tech crew would say. She always seemed tensed up, vigilant for any unforeseen disaster that might be lurking. She never once cracked a smile or laughed at any joke. She worked her body clean to the bone; even Papa was shocked at how many hours she practiced.
I still feel a certain responsibility to Mr. Xavier's kids. The more I get to know them, the more important it seems that I find Ms. Munroe, but truth be told, I am beat. I've thought of this each and every way I can, but I can't think of anything past Simone. I know with each passing day the likelihood of finding Ms. Munroe alive decreases and I fear it is my fault: I should have helped from the beginning.
I don't know; maybe I should go to bed. I always think better after a good night's sleep.
If Simone was looking to cause trouble she succeeded: her suicide has caused even more reporters to descend on our area. You can't lift up your head without banging a microphone. Sun-Yi and I've been trying to deal with it the best we can.
Mr. Xavier talked to my parents. Sun-Yi and I watched it through the window. Sonja tried to dissuade us from spying, saying we'd only find out things we didn't need to know, but neither of us could turn away. Sun-Yi said she was dying to know if I was going to be sent to an orphanage.
There was lots of shouting.cries in Mandarin Chinese. I couldn't follow all of it; I'm afraid I'm not as fluent as I used to be. Papa was yelling loudest of all, calling Mr. Xavier a long list of things I can't mention for saying his beautiful obedient daughter was a mutant. Mama did nothing but cry and shout some of the same things. Throughout it all, Mr. Xavier remained as calm as a cucumber. He gave my parents his number and left.
There hasn't been much talk since Mr. Xavier's visit. Mama and Papa always look so sad and stare at me as though I were dying. They whisper to each other constantly in Mandarin. Their whispers sound like ghostly wisps of smoke.like poison. I haven't drawn any pictures: I've been too afraid.
Right now Sun-Yi, Misha, and Sonja have been the only ones still treat me the same. The trouble with living in such close quarters is that if anything happens, everyone immediately knows, so of course everyone knows I'm a mutant. I think they feel sorry for me; they still act as though everything is normal, but their every glance as kind of a pained look.
I have currently been planning for if worse came to worse and my parents went berserk. Sun-Yi has said if I run, she runs too. I don't want her to come with me, but I don't know if I can talk her out of it: she is so fearsome stubborn.
Right now all anyone can talk about is the crime. That's what we refer to the abduction of Miss Munroe as. A lot of people around here are resentful of the fact that she's forced us to cancel several shows, cost the life of one of our headliners, and caused the media to descend on us like a pack of vultures. It makes me mad that people talk like that: I'm sure if you asked Miss Munroe, she'd much rather not be the subject of so much attention.
In school and work, it's about all anyone can talk about. Holding practice is about next to impossible with all those reporters crawling around, but we try to get a little in everyday. At school, a group of reporters came barreling in during math class. Mr. Sawyer, the math teacher, got so mad that he chased the reporters out of the room, cursing at them as they ran. We were all surprised because Mr. Sawyer had always been, as Mr. Mischke put it, a milquetoast kind of guy but Mr. Sawyer regarded school almost like church: a place were people come to learn that shouldn't be violated. English class was hard because all we wanted to talk about was the mystery. Everyone is pretty peeved that Sun-Yi, Misha, Sonja, and I got involved without informing anyone but what were we supposed to do? Go ask our parents if we had permission to go and break into someone's house.
Finally, Mr. Mischke decided that we weren't going to get much done and declared a free-write. Everybody just opened their notebooks and started scribbling. We didn't care about what we were writing because no one but ourselves were going to read them.
I don't know if I really remember what I did write; I just started scribbling whatever came to mind. I thought about all the stuff my friends and I had gone through together. I thought about Miss Munroe, the Professor and his students, I thought about Hao, I worried about Sun-Yi, and I thought about Simone. How horrible it must be to die in such an undignified manner. Some may call suicide a dignified death but I never thought it so. You die alone, trapped with all those negative feelings you may carry with you. At least with natural causes you die with family and friends.
I wonder what Simone was thinking in those last moments. I've thought about it long and hard and I don't really think she had anything to do with Ms. Munroe. It just seems too weird even for Simone.
Mr. Henrie's been pretty busy lately. He needs to work out funeral arrangements for Simone. She said repeatedly that she wanted to be buried next to her father in Canada and apparently you have to work out certain arrangements to ship a body. I think Mr. Henrie feels kind of guilty that he didn't try to get Simone some help. He seems so weary.
It seems almost natural that Simone would die this way. Simone always seemed to be keeping the wires stretched very tight, as one of tech crew would say. She always seemed tensed up, vigilant for any unforeseen disaster that might be lurking. She never once cracked a smile or laughed at any joke. She worked her body clean to the bone; even Papa was shocked at how many hours she practiced.
I still feel a certain responsibility to Mr. Xavier's kids. The more I get to know them, the more important it seems that I find Ms. Munroe, but truth be told, I am beat. I've thought of this each and every way I can, but I can't think of anything past Simone. I know with each passing day the likelihood of finding Ms. Munroe alive decreases and I fear it is my fault: I should have helped from the beginning.
I don't know; maybe I should go to bed. I always think better after a good night's sleep.