I'm afraid that I have somehow upset Satin. Her thoughts don't seem very calm, as far as I've ever seen anyone's thoughts. I'm well aware that she decided to hate me with all her heart, and almost went mad when she didn't succeed, and now she's going through things I don't even want to know about. Fortunately, I can't read people's minds.
We both stay silent.
She brushes her hand against the carpet – and makes a soft moan. On the floor, there's a lonely little pin that pricked her.
"Such a small thing", she says, sticking her forefinger into her mouth, "and still it hurts so much..."
"Think about this. If there was a giraffe the size of a pin, it would be very, very small, just a tiny mini giraffe. But if the pin were the size of a giraffe, it would be huge. Everything is relative. It all depends on from where you are looking at it. Isn't that so?"
Satin's eyes widen big as saucers. She pulls her finger out of her mouth and dries it on the carpet. The finger, not her mouth. Then she starts to weep. I stay still.
"Why must you be all philosophical and psychological and stuff? I don't have an idea why I am in this kind of situation and you're just making it worse, blowing your bubbles and... and I'm going to have – a holiday of rest or something!"
"You're already on summer holiday. Wouldn't it be strange to have a holiday on holiday?"
"You don't get it, do you? I just want to be alone!"
"Of course I do. If you're feeling that way, then please go to your room and calm down. I'm not keeping you here, as you may well know."
Satin makes a funny sound and rushes out, once again. What an odd girl.
It's a beautiful weather outside, and Mrs Chevrolet promised that Satin would come and show me around. I'd like to go out alone. I want to let her be. And besides, I need some time for myself, too.
I don't bother calling for Satin, but leave a short note: "Gone out. C." I stick the note onto the stairs' rail.
I make my way through the Chevrolets' hall for the second time. There's a sand brown doormat on the floor. I noticed it yesterday, too, but it was dark then. The plain greyish wall clock is at fifteen to one.
Usually, there are two, three or none steps at the front door. In here, there's only one, and the gangway is covered with dark slates. The garden is neat, but it's not like made with a ruler. Also, there's not a marble fountain nor red roses exactly of the same height, which is a big plus for the Chevrolets. The best thing in the whole yard are the dandelions sticking between stones.
I sit down on a big rock next to the jet black fence of wrought iron. The rock has been warmed by the sun. Nobody's passing by, which is a good thing. There are other houses very much like the Chevrolets', but luckily they're not clones of each other. There's enough space left between the houses, and the suburb seems a pleasant place to live.
Cheerful voices approach me, getting louder and louder. Soon I can see their owners: two girls, about my age, coming down the Latitude Lane.
Noticing me, they stop at the iron gate. Another one of them, the one a little taller, blonde, curly-haired, big-eyed, dressed in a short denim skirt and a white blouse, waves her hair behind her back and says sneeringly:
"Oh, but you must be the lovely second cousin of Satin's. We've wanted to get to meetcha like forever."
I flash my annoyed-to-be smile. The one with my eyes narrowed and head leant – but it's very quick, of course.
"Oh dear, aren'tcha gonna introduce yerself?" the blondie wonders, pretending to be offended.
"Oh, sorry, I almost forgot", I say, jumping onto the slates. "Of course I must introduce myself. My name's Cinnamon Yarrow."
The girls share a very unpleasant look. Although their faces must be quite similar to the one I had a moment ago, so who am I to complain?
"Hmm... interesting name, indeed", the blondie jeers. "I'm Misty. Misty Mauves, if ya will."
I murmur something I don't hear even myself. Why must a girl like that have a that kind of name?
"So I'm Misty, and that's Jubiley. Jubiley Jardin." Misty nods toward a pretty, cafe latte skinned girl.
Jubiley (once again, A Name) leans her curly head, French chocolate eyes twinkling. Her hair is like Snow White's, ebony-coloured.
Finally, she opens her heart-shaped mouth that's painted with light brown. "But only my parents call me that. My little sister and sane people call me just JK. Because my middle name is Katharine."
"Do they want to make you haughty? So you'd be like J.K. Rowling?"
Jubiley and Misty just stare at me. "Who?"
"The author!" I'm almost going to add "morons", but I suppose they wouldn't appreciate it that much. Besides, I have no rights to judge them based on their looks or their ignorance. On the other hand, they're doing it to me.
"Oh, her."
"Aw, JK, let's go, Satin's waitin'", Misty says unpatiently. She grabs Jubiley's – or JK's – arm and they vanish inside the house.
Misty Mauves and Jubiley Jardin. Why don't people call them Double-J and Double-M? And why, oh why, must they have such beautiful names?
I try to brush the girls aside and turn my head to see the street. Which way should I go? On the left, the line of houses and tidy gardens goes on, but on the right, some kind of a park is dimly outlined.
I consider for a nano second, then open the gate and turn right.
