Free Rock and a Hard Place by Angie Stanton Page B

lowered her school pack to the floor
and returned to the kitchen doorway.
    “ So what do you have to say
for yourself?” Aunt Marge asked with the voice of an evil
witch.
    Libby knew a trick question when she heard
it. No matter what she said, it wouldn’t change the temperature of
the hot water she was in.
    “ Speak up, don’t play your
shy game with me, I know better.” Aunt Marge leaned against the
counter, which was cluttered with days worth of shriveled up French
fries, piles of dishes with dried ketchup and stacks of junk mail,
sales flyers and unpaid bills.
    “ I’m sorry.”
    What more could she say? If she had money,
she wouldn’t need to steal. Her parents would have given her an
allowance, or at least let her get a job and earn her own
money.
    “ Sorry? Do you really think
you can make this go away with a simple sorry? Hah!” she spat.
“That arrogant principal dared pull me away from my work to preach
about the value of integrity and discipline. He seems to think I
haven’t been firm enough with you.” She glared resentfully at
Libby.
    Libby stood silent, waiting for the storm to
hit full force.
    “ So what are we gonna do
about this?” Aunt Marge took a drag of her beer; the smell of hops
hung in the air. “Your stealing shows your need for attention. What
was so important you needed seventeen bucks?”
    Her aunt eyed her like a cat about to pounce
on a tiny mouse. Libby couldn’t tell her about the Jamieson CD,
she’d take it away or ruin it. No way, the CD belonged to her,
regardless of how she got it. What could she say? Her mind darted
for something, anything to explain it.
    “ I bought perfume,” she
blurted. “From the drugstore.” Hopefully that would appease
her.
    Aunt Marge’s eyes narrowed. “Perfume, what
for?”
    “ I just wanted to smell
good. I always smell like smoke.” Oops.
    “ Is that so?” Aunt Marge’s
lip curled in distaste. “You saying it stinks in here?” Libby
watched her aunt peer around the kitchen as if seeing it for the
first time. Piles of dirty clothes stunk in a corner, bags
overflowing with beer cans spilled onto the floor and the kitchen
table strained under the weight of more junk and
clutter.
    “ Well, we can’t have your
royal highness unhappy. Tell you what. Since you’re so upset about
the way you smell, this is the perfect time for you to clean up
this place.” A cruel smile appeared on her face.
    “ But I have homework.” It
would take hours, maybe days to clean this disaster. Plus she
wanted to get back to Peter.
    “ You can start with the
kitchen today and we’ll have you work your way through the house, a
new room every day. You’ll smell fresh and clean like lemon pledge
when you’re done.”
    “ But . . .” Libby
interrupted.
    “ Uh, uh, uh.” Her aunt
pointed a tobacco stained finger at her. Her voice crooned
innocence, but darkness threatened below the surface. “You are not
in a position to argue. I do not ever want to hear the voice of your
principal again. You have a lot of work to do here.” She tilted her
beer can and poured it onto the kitchen floor. “It’s a real mess in
here,” Aunt Marge sneered as she trailed out of the kitchen letting
the remainder of her beer trickle throughout the house as she
went.
     
    # # #
     
    Hours later, Libby was plotting the fifty
ways she’d torture her aunt. One way was to wring the wicked
woman’s neck, but she could never stand getting that close to her.
Rat poison in her beer would be nice, or maybe hit her on the head
with a Bourbon bottle.
    Despite her anger, Libby dove into her
punishment with fervor, beginning with the mountain of dirty dishes
and utensils. It took forever, since dried food cemented itself to
the surface of every item. While dishes soaked, she tossed out
half-empty bags of stale doughnuts, fast food bags and dozens of
other partially remaining food items. She wiped up the stained
countertops and returned kitchen items to their rightful place.
Libby