Free Seeing Red by Kathryn Erskine

Helen Reddy song that was always on the radio, “I Am Woman”. I guess she was blocking out her daddy. She looked sweet and peaceful, and I decided to just watch her for a minute instead of bother her. I wanted to tell her what I was about to do, but I figured it might be better if she had no idea. Then no one could blame her for not stopping me or for lying about it afterwards.
    Since it was almost dark, I headed down the path to our place. I crept as softly as I could across the gravel, opened the door of the shop, and grabbed the can of spray paint from when Daddy sprayed the wrought iron railings around the front porch. Inside the shop, I talked softly to Daddy, almost like a little prayer. “I’m sorry to do this, Daddy. I know it’s not what you’d expect from the Boy Wonder, but it’s for a good cause. Remember when you took my slingshot away from me because I hit Bobby Benson? Even though he hit me first – and a lot of times? And I got just one tiny bruise on him? And Reverend Benson never took Bobby’s slingshot away? You said it was for my own good. I was mad at you, but now I understand, sort of. You gave it back to me in the summer, when you said I’d grown up enough. So I’m really messing up the shop for your own good, and I promise I’ll get it back in shape once Mama decides not to sell.”
    I ignored the voice in my head that said, “ If Mama decides not to sell.”
    When I came back outside, I noticed the new For Sale sign Mr Harrison had put up. In concrete, so I couldn’t pull it out again. I practised my spray-painting on it until it was black. Then I stared at the shop for a long time. Because I didn’t know what I should spray on it.
    Darrell always used that Nazi cross when he spray-painted, but Daddy hated it with a passion, so I wasn’t going to do that. Rosie sometimes drew little vampire symbols on her arms, but I didn’t know how to make them. Besides, other people might not know what they meant, either, and I wanted to make my message loud and clear.
    Then it came to me, like genius inspiration. I would use the kind of word that meant filth and would make everyone want to stay away from my shop. That old Poindexter lawyer wouldn’t be able to get anyone interested in our place by the time I was done with it.
    I popped the lid off the can and started to spray. I picked the part without the window so nothing would get in the way of my word. It was hard to see how well it was working, but my hand sure felt shaky, more shaky the longer I held the spray nozzle down, because that thing is hard to press. I got all the way through it and held it down extra long at the end to be sure I made my point.
    When I lifted my finger off of the nozzle, it didn’t stop. For some dumb reason, I turned the can towards me and sprayed myself in the face. I dropped the can real quick, but it started jerking all around, spraying black, like one of those firecracker snakes. I was trying to dodge it and grab it at the same time, and ended up tripping over it, slamming my knee into the gravel.
    “Ow!”
    The light went on in Mama’s bedroom.
    I lay there frozen for a second. I grabbed the can that had finally quit spraying, jumped up quick, and hightailed it to my window. I scraped past the tree and fell inside, shoved the can under my bed, and, with the light from the hall, saw the paint on my hands. Oh, man! And there was probably paint on my face, too! There was nothing for it but to make a wild leap for the bathroom. I heard Mama in the kitchen, opening the screen door, as I slammed and locked the bathroom door behind me.
    I looked in the mirror and it was worse than I thought. So bad, I let out a loud moan. I quickly turned on the taps and started scraping soap onto a towel to scrub down my face.
    The bathroom door shook as someone banged on it.
    “What?” I screamed.
    “Red, is that you?” It was Mama.
    “Yes!”
    “Are you all right?”
    “Yeah, I just have to go to the bathroom,