Free Beastly by Alex Flinn Page A

a good, cheerful room.”
    “Where’s my dad?”
    She looked at her watch. “He at work. News on soon.”
    “No,” I said. “I mean, where’s he staying? Where’s his room? Is he upstairs?”
    “No.” Magda stopped chirping. “No, Mr. Kyle. He no upstairs. I stay.”
    “I mean when he comes back.”
    Magda looked down. “I stay with you, Mr. Kyle. I am sorry.”
    “No, I mean…”
    Then I got it. I stay. Dad had no room because he wasn’t living here. He wasn’t moving to Brooklyn, only me. And Magda, my new guardian. My warden. Just the two of us, forever, while Dad lived a happy Kyle-free existence. I looked around at the mirrorless, windowless, endless walls (all painted in cheerful colors – the ones in the living room were red; mine were emerald green). Could they swallow me up so there was nothing left but the memory of a good-looking guy who’d disappeared?
    Could I be like that one guy at school who died in an accident in seventh grade? Everyone cried, but now I’d forgotten his name. I bet everyone had, just like they’d forget mine.
    “It’s nice.” I walked over to the night table. “So where’s the phone?” A pause. “No.”
    “No phone?” She was a bad liar. “Are you sure?”
    “Mr. Kyle…”
    “I need to talk to my dad. Is he planning on just… dumping me here forever without saying good-bye… buying me DVDs” – I swept out my hand, catching a shelf and sending most of its contents crashing to the floor – “so he won’t feel guilty about ditching me?” I felt the bright green walls closing in on me. I sank to the sofa. “Where’s the phone?”
    “Mr. Kyle…”
    “Stop calling me that!” I knocked down more DVDs. “You sound like a moron. What’s he paying you to stay with me? Did he triple your salary to get you to stay here with his freak son, to be my jailer and keep your mouth shut? Well, your job goes bye-bye if I run away. You know that, don’t you?” She kept staring at me. I wanted to hide my face. I remembered what she’d said that day about being frightened for me.
    “I’m evil, you know,” I told her. “That’s why I look this way. Maybe some night I’ll come and get you in your sleep. Don’t people in your country believe in that stuff – voodoo and Satan’s spawn?”
    “No. We believe –”
    “Know what?”
    “Yes?”
    “I don’t care about your country. I don’t care about anything about you.”
    “I know you are sad…”
    I felt a wave rising in my head, welling up in my nose. My father hated me. He didn’t even want me in the same house with him.
    “Please, Magda, please let me talk to him. I need to. He’s not going to fire you over letting me talk to him. He couldn’t find anyone else to stay with me.”
    She stared a moment longer. Finally, she nodded. “I will get the phone. I hope it will help you. I try myself.”
    She walked away. I wanted to ask her what she meant by “I try myself.” That she’d tried to talk my dad into staying with me, to being human, but failed? I heard her trudging upstairs to her room, which must have been the one with the suitcases. God, she was all I had. She could poison my food if I got too obnoxious. Who’d care? I knelt on the floor to pick up the DVDs I’d knocked down. It was hard with claws, but at least my hands were still shaped the same, with a thumb like a gorilla’s, not like a bear’s paw. In a few minutes, Magda came back carrying a cell phone. So the place really did have no phone service. What a piece of work my dad was.
    “I… I picked up most of the stuff I threw.” I gestured with my arms full of stuff. “I’m sorry, Magda.”
    She raised an eyebrow, but said, “Is all right.”
    “I know it’s not your fault my father’s…” I shrugged.
    She took the games I was still holding. “You want I call him?” I shook my head and took the phone. “I need to speak to him alone.” She nodded, then put the games back on the shelf and left the room.
    “What