Free Unraveling Isobel by Eileen Cook

in the hall ticking, but that seemed to be the only sound. It felt like the house was holding its breath. Waiting for something.
    Whoa. I had to stop thinking like that or I was going to freak myself out.
    No one was home. There wasn’t anything sinister about that. In fact, you could argue that having the place to myself was a good thing. I stood there a beat longer. I didn’t want to shut the door behind me; I liked the idea of being able to escape easily. I forced myself to take a deep yoga breath.
    I shut the door. No boogeyman lurched down the stairs. No ghosts floated out of the closet.
    â€œI am not afraid,” I said, reminding myself and also putting the house on notice just in case.
    â€œWell, that’s a good thing,” a voice said.
    I screamed and whirled around.
    Nathaniel pushed open the swinging door from the kitchen. His mouth was stuffed with a bagel. He glanced around.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he asked.
    â€œWhat’s wrong? Are you trying to make me lose it? Why didn’t you say something when I came in?”
    â€œI didn’t know I was supposed to. You called out for your mom. I didn’t know I was required to announce my presence like it was role call.” Nathaniel looked at me. His eyes softened and his voice lowered. “Are you okay?”
    That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? The fact that I had screamed like a four-year-old girl because someone told me a ghost story seemed to indicate that “okay” was not a term to use when describing me. That’s when I noticed Nathaniel was holding a knife. A really sharp knife. My eyes locked onto the blade. I backed up a step until I was pressing against the front door.
    â€œWell, that didn’t take long,” Nathaniel said.
    I looked away from the knife and into his face. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œSo who told you?”
    â€œNo one told me anything,” I said, trying to sound casual.
    â€œDid they tell you I was a murderer, or in this version was it my dad? Obviously what happened couldn’t have been anaccident. I hope whoever it was took the time to mention the Wickham family curse.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.” My eyes flickered back to the knife.
    â€œI was making a bagel.” Nathaniel held out the knife, and I could see a smear of cream cheese on the blade.
    â€œOh.” I wished the floor wasn’t marble. All I wanted to do was dig a hole and crawl inside. Nathaniel was staring at me. His jaw was tight and I could see him swallow. It almost looked like he was trying not to cry. “You should feel free to ignore me. I’m a huge drama queen. Just ask my mom,” I said.
    â€œWhatever.” Nathaniel kicked the swinging door to the kitchen open and walked out.
    There went any progress we’d made in being friends. It was going to take more than shared lunches and singing Christmas carols to get over the fact that I’d basically implied he was capable of murdering his own family. I followed him into the kitchen. Nathaniel was putting clean dishes back into the cupboard.
    â€œLook, I’m sorry,” I said.
    â€œYou better be careful, I’ve got a ladle.” Nathaniel waved a giant soup ladle back and forth. “You never know what a trained killer can do with an innocent-looking kitchen utensil.”
    â€œI don’t think you’re a trained killer.”
    â€œSo should I be insulted that you think I’m an amateur killer?” He pulled another item out of the dishwasher. “Uh-oh. An ice cream scoop. You better back up before I decide to use it.”
    â€œAnyone ever tell you that you make it very difficult for a person to apologize?”
    â€œNo, I don’t have any friends who would pass on that kind of information. Remember, I told you I don’t get invited to play any reindeer games.”
    â€œYou could have warned me, said