Free Five Sisters by Leen Elle Page B

come back after dinner, but you lied! You told me you didn't forget, but you're lying now, aren't you? Tell the truth! Who wants a friend that's going to lie to them! I certainly don't! So take back your stupid marbles!" He threw the sack at Gail, hitting her square in the chest.
    Gail didn't know what to say. If she'd known that what she'd done would hurt him so much, she would have made sure she remembered. But alas, it was too late for that now.
    "I'm sorry," Gail murmured, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
    "You haven't hurt me. You've forgotten me. Now get out of my room this instant and leave me be!"
    Gail backed out of the room, closed the door, and ran straight to her bed. She buried her face beneath the covers and just lied there, motionless, but thinking. For a few moments the room was silent, but then Gail heard footsteps on the stairs. They stopped at the bottom, and then began to walk into the girls' bedroom. Gail knew from the soft, almost inaudible, humming, it must be Emy.
    "Are you alright, Gail?" she asked slowly, peering up at her sister who was now looking like an ostrich with its head beneath the surface.
    Gail removed the blankets, leaving her head a mass of messy, tangled auburn locks.
    "He hates me," she whimpered, "I thought everything was going so well, but I've ruined it. He hates me again."
    Emy climbed up ladder opposite to Nora's bed and sat with her feet hanging over the edge, "What's happened? Who hates you? You're not talking about Nathaniel, are you?"
    Gail nodded and told Emy all that had happened in one long breath. Once she was through, Gail lied back on the bed and buried her face in her pillow.
    Emy thought the situation over a second before asking wearily, "Well you can't really blame him, can you?"
    "What do you mean?" came Gail's muffled voice.
    "Oh, I don't know . . ." Emy began, "It's just that if I'd been through all he's been through I wouldn't want to be forgotten either. His parents don't even think about him; they go off to parties and social events, dancing and laughing and never once thinking about their poor son. Just imagine if you'd been born with whatever disease he has. Mother and father would have been at your side every instant of the day, worrying about your health, taking you to every doctor they could find, and making sure you never felt terribly dismal or bored. They would never, ever, not in a million years, forget you.
    "Nathaniel thought you were very nice, I suppose, after you came to play checkers with him and he was hoping very much to see you again. He never once imagined that you'd be like his parents and forget him so easily just because you'd found some enjoyment in listening to the sailors tell some silly little jokes."
    Gail rolled over and faced the ceiling. Strands of red hair covered her face.
    Emy sighed, "I don't know what you can do about it know though. He seems rather stubborn and it'll be hard to gain his trust again. I suppose you could try to get him to play a game again, if he seemed to like it. But I'd wait until tomorrow, when's he's not so angry."
    "Yes, I suppose you're right," Gail agreed, "I'll go back tomorrow."

CHAPTER 10
     
    A Troubled and Doubtful Mary
     
     
     
    "Would you like something to drink, Mary?" asked Cary, kneeling down beside her chair.
    "That would be lovely," she replied, fanning her dark eyelashes coquettishly, "Lemonade, please."
    Cary rushed off, but Mary still found herself surrounded by three other sailors, each of them eager to dote upon the young beauty. Sara had warned Mary against leading the men on when she couldn't ever pursue anything with them, but Mary quickly dismissed her sister's concerns, saying she wasn't truly doing anything wrong.
    "Such a horrible day," Mary pouted, "Wherever has the sun gone?"
    "'Spect a storm's coming soon," examined Dick Cohen, "S'about time."
    "How bad are the storms out here on the ocean?" Mary asked, a bit of uncertainty in her voice, "We're not going to, you know . . . tip