Free Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl)) by Laura Anderson Kurk Page B

what conversation would the priest have with her?” Mr. Landmann loved the
if you’d written it
questions.
    “He would discuss theodicy instead. That would’ve been a better conversation to have.”
    “Okay,” Mr. Landmann said. “That’s a big word, Quinn. Can you define theodicy?”
    Quinn snorted softly and looked down. I felt for him because I knew what it meant. I’d looked it up when I was trying to figure out why a good God would let Wyatt die.
    “It kind of rhymes with idiocy,” Quinn said. “But it deals with the concept of a God who hands out bad stuff arbitrarily.”
    Mr. Landmann blinked once, twice, three times. Then he moved on. “Did Tennessee Williams pull Serafina’s character out of thin air? Could we all be guilty of living in denial about areas of our life to the extent we push society away completely. Do we live with self-imposed isolation and unhappiness?”
    The classroom grew quiet. Either they all thought Mr. Landmann was full of it or they were really considering what we do to ourselves and how life pinches and hurts so much that we throw up fences and walls and lock our doors. We become pearls—products of the intense need for protection. We become Jo Russell.
    Or we just decide it’s time to walk away.

TEN
    henry
    “H ey, Uncle Henry,” Whit called when I finally walked through the dining room door, my memorized exit speech bouncing through my brain. “Where do numbers go to do their homework?”
    “I have no idea, little man.” I struggled to come up with a punch line that would satisfy Whit. The kids—all but Raf—were tucked up to the tables cleaning their plates, smiling and happy. They didn’t know anything had gone down yesterday or that someone dangerous lived in their midst. They only knew they’d get three squares a day and that Kate and John loved them.
    “No, you’ve gotta guess!” Whit whined.
    “Don’t numbers go to the library to do their homework?”
    “No,” he said. “The times table! What do you call an avalanche that’s made out of rock?”
    “A rockslide?”
    “No, a rockalanche!” This nonsense made Whit double over with insane laughter for a good five minutes.
    Kate groaned. “He’s got the timing, but he’s lacking material. Just like his daddy.”
    Aidia toddled my way and I grabbed her, turned her upside down, and blew raspberries on her back. She squealed like a piglet until I righted her and held her close. I’d like to take this piglet home to meet Meg, but Aidia would die without Kate.
    “Henry,” Kate said as she passed me with a stack of dirty dishes. “Can you take Raf’s breakfast to him?”
    “Sure. Give me some salt and I’ll rub it in his wounds while I’m at it.”
    “I’m serious. I want you to take him his breakfast.”
    “Want me to slide it through the bean slot?”
    “No.” I think she growled at me. “Take it in, sit with him to make sure he eats, and talk to the boy.”
    Karalyn tugged at my sleeve. “What’s a bean slot?”
    I leaned close so only she could hear me. “It’s that little window in the door of a jail cell where they push a tray of mushy food through to the bad guy. That way, the bad guy gets to eat, but he doesn’t have a chance to hurt anyone.”
    “Is Raf the bad guy?”
    “No, honey. He’s not the bad guy.”
    ***
    I knew Raf was in his room. I could hear a ball being thrown repeatedly against a wall. His door was unlocked because doors at Quiet Waters don’t lock, with two exceptions—the office and the bedroom Kate and John share. I knocked with my elbow, but only to announce I was coming in, not because I wanted an invitation. Raf cursed harshly under his breath, but he didn’t seem surprised when I walked in carrying his breakfast.
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “Good for you, but you need to eat, Gandhi. You’re not doing yourself any favors refusing food.”
    He glared at me, but I saw his eyes turn to the steaming food. He took the plate from my hand and started in on