Precious little air is left in this pod. The glowstick is dead and I'm writing in total darkness. The silence is unbearable, so I hum the theme to Green Acres over and over, drumming on the side of the pod for emphasis: KEEPmanHATtan, GIVEmetheCOUNtryside.
Looking back, maybe it wasn't a good idea to depend on Dad to come up with the ransom. After all, fifty thousand's a lot of dough. His millions are all tied up in annuities and hedge funds. His new wife wouldn't allow him to sell off any of her jewelry, I'm sure of that. Maybe we should have asked for twenty g's instead of fifty.
I wonder who will dig me up. I can't see Dad doing it. Maybe one of his building crews. Maybe the police. If it's Mattie and Glenn then I'll know the deal fell through and we'll have to find another way to get to Brazil. That Glenn seems to be taking control of everything lately. Maybe Mattie and I will go to Rio on our own. I'm sure she won't stay mad at me for long. I know I complain too much, but I doubt she'd like being packed up like a sardine and lowered into the ground. She'd scream too, I'll bet. Anyway, she shouldn't have called me a baby boo hoo. Then they both laughed. That was mean.
theCHORES, theSTORES, freshAIR, timesSQUARE...
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