When I don’t answer, he tilts his head and stares as if I might need special handling. I’d roll my eyes, but maybe this vulnerability will help. “Do you understand, Corrie?”
I want to scream, No, I don’t understand! Not because his instruction were unclear—don’t do anything, go anywhere, or dare to think a single thought; just sit on the couch and play elevator music in your head; okay, roger that—but because it’s like my whole world has been revealed as a lie, and a dangerous one at that. I can’t just sit idly by while everything I know and love crumbles to pieces.
There’s so much I need to figure out: how to keep my parents safe, what the hell is going on with Flash Bomb, how can I get my name off an Italian hit list, is Alvin going to identify me to the police… The list goes on and on
