“So, Grace, how’s school?” I asked myself.
Dad nodded, eyes on the baby koala now struggling in the guest’s arms.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I continued, and Dad made a mumbling noise of agreement. I added, “Nothing special, aside from the load of pandas they brought in, and the teachers abandoning us to cannibalistic savages—” I paused to see if I’d caught his attention yet, then pressed on. “The whole building caught fire, then I failed drama, and then sex sex sex sex.”
Dad’s eyes abruptly focused, and he turned to me and frowned. “What did you say they were teaching you in school?”
Well, at least he’d caught more of the beginning than I’d given him credit for. “Nothing interesting. We’re writing short stories for English. They’re hateful. I have absolutely no talent for writing fiction.”
“Fiction about sex?” he asked doubtfully.
I shook my head. “Go to work, Dad. You’re going to be late.”