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I haven't been able to write for a while, because I've been hiding this diary. I didn't think of all I'd written in here until I saw Sally sitting on the floor between our beds the evening after I last wrote, reading my diary! Needless to say, I snatched it away from her, and demanded to know how much she'd read.
"Only the first three pages," she said. "Your spelling is atrocious..."
"That was a long time ago," I said, feeling a flush of embarrassment replacing the icy fear that had filled my chest when I saw her reading the diary. "So you started from the front? You didn't read anything after that?"
"I don't read books out of order, why would I read that that way?" Sally said blandly. "I wouldn't understand it, would I?"
Feeling a mix of thankful she hadn't read the last entry and furious that she had been reading the diary at all, with a bit of fear and embarrassment left over as well, I said, "You are never to so much as touch my diary again! You understand?" Then I stormed downstairs, diary in my hand, to tell Cindy that something would have to be done about getting me a safe place to keep it.
She was watching the news, and was not particularly happy to have to deal with this situation. Soon we were arguing in whispers about the advisability of me keeping a diary at all, and especially one in which I wrote things that it would not be good for others (namely Sally) to know.
"She's your daughter!" I hissed at Cindy, not caring at the moment how much my words might sting. "You're the one who doesn't want her to know anything!"
"You brought her here!" Cindy hissed back. "You're the one who wants to adopt her, you need to take responsibility for her!"
"The least you could do is put a lock on the drawer in my bedside table!" I snapped loudly, since that was not something Sally shouldn't know. "There's not a safe place in the house for this!"
"Ok, ok," Cindy whispered. "I'll see what I can do, but why don't you put it in the demon room until then? Sally doesn't even know that room exists."
I wasn't too happy with that, but I did so, then went upstairs to find Sally trying on my crown and the locket. That night was one for learning about the meaning of private property...gotta go, Cindy wants me.
Ok, I had to help her get her laptop out of a blue screen of death. Back to private property... Sally couldn't figure out why I wouldn't wear such valuable stuff. I told her it was none of her business and to stop looking in my drawers, and then Cindy got a glimpse of the locket and demanded to know where I'd gotten it. I told her I'd found it in a second-hand shop (I didn't want to explain everything about the clock tower and Yama) and she looked very upset and asked if she could keep it for a while. I had to let her, because I was busy instructing Sally in good manners, including not looking at other's diarys or trying on their jewelry. She responded by saying that I couldn't put a lock on the drawer in the bedside table, since she didn't have one...
So now our room is very symmetrical There are two beds with two bedside tables in between them, each with a locked drawer, one for each of us to keep the things we don't want the other tampering with in it. Mine has my diary and crown in it...Sally has decided to start a diary that I can't look at as a form of revenge, and I assume she has hers in her drawer. As if to add to the symmetry, Cindy bought us matching green pajamas and pink bedspreads...
We're not really very alike at all though. I have the insomniac's love of a good morning's sleep, while Sally has perched an annoying mini alarm clock-radio on her bedside table. I don't bother to even roll over when it goes off at seven in the morning, because Sally is very good about turning it off before it properly wakes me up. By the time I get downstairs at about seven-thirty, she's fully dressed (in the mended but still frumpy clothes she insists on wearing) and sitting on the couch watching the morning news shows, having already consumed a bowl of cold cereal, the only thing she ever eats for breakfast (I much prefer having tea and cake, cookies, a pastry, or failing all else, toast, while still in my pajamas). Cindy takes our differences well enough, though with the same ill-concealed amusement that my wild hair (now red and with the seawater-induced tangles teased out or cut off) and tattoos provoke. I don't think she's going to be so amused at Sally's new idea for us to show our appreciation of her though...
"Mothers Day's on Sunday," Sally said as we went to bed last night.
"So?" I asked, turning out the light before she could see the startled look on my face.
"So shouldn't we do something for Cindy?" she asked, really startling me.
"Why should we do that?" I asked, forcing myself to keep my voice calm. How much did she know? Had she read more of my diary than she said she had? If so, why had she waited so long?
"Well..." Sally sounded a bit confused. "She's...sort of...we don't have anyone closer to a mother than her, do we? I mean, she treats you like that...I mean, I don't know what mothers are really like, but you talk, you gossip, you argue, you go shopping, you cook...well, you try to cook...she's better than you, and that's not much..." I sighed loudly, and she hurried on, "She even treats me like that, and I'm just an orphan who followed you home! So we really should do something for her, right? Does she like chocolate?"
"I imagine so," I said, and was about to try to convince Sally that we shouldn't really do anything like that, when Lady Luck loudly demanded to be let into the room. She leaped onto Sally's bed, much to the delight of Sally, who began to detail her plans to her. Nothing I could say could put her off after that...so I guess we're going to get Cindy a box of chocolates or something on Sunday. I really don't want to be involved in this...