Unraveling Isobel Read Online Free PDF Page B

something else. “The lights were out. I didn’t turn them out.”
    â€œI did,” Nathaniel said. “I came up to talk to you a couple of hours ago, but you were already asleep. I pulled a blanket over you and left.”
    I couldn’t decide if the fact that Nathaniel had watched me when I was sleeping was creepy or sort of exciting. God, I hoped I hadn’t been lying there with my mouth open and drooling.
    My mom noticed my sketchbook on the floor and grabbed it. “Were you drawing?” she demanded.
    â€œIt’s just a sketch, Mom.” She made it sound like she’d caught me rolling joints in my room or posting racy pictures of myself online. She wasn’t prepared to say I wasn’t allowed to draw, but she’d made it abundantly clear she would rather I take up just about any other hobby, up to and including recreational drug use. An addiction was something she could deal with, but in her opinion, art was nothing but trouble.
    â€œI thought we talked about the fact that you need to focus on your schoolwork. Art isn’t a practical or useful way to spend your time.”
    â€œYou think I should spend all my free time learning physics?”
    â€œDon’t be smart with me,” she warned, completely missing the irony.
    â€œNow, now, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill,” Dick said. “Everyone’s tense because it’s the middle of the night. If Isobel likes to tinker about with pencils, then I think it’s great. She doesn’t start school here until Monday, so there’s plenty of time for her to crack the books later. Let’s call it a night and tackle this in the morning.”
    I couldn’t decide what was worse: that Dick was sticking up for me, or that he’d used the phrase “tinker with pencils.” He took the sketchbook from my mom and flipped through the pages. I felt a millimeter of tooth enamel grind down. Sketchbooks are private. You don’t just flip through someone’s work unless you’ve been invited. Dick stopped at the last page.He made a strange sound in the back of his throat.
    â€œWhat’s this?” He held out the sketchbook and shook it like there was something incriminating about it. His mouth was pressed into a tight smile, but his eyes looked flat and angry. What happened to no harm being done with pencil tinkering?
    â€œI was just drawing the room.”
    His face looked like he’d discovered me doing pictures of animals in compromising positions. Dick tossed the sketchbook on the bed. I noticed then that something was wrong.
    I picked up the book and took a closer look at my drawing. The room was done in strong black lines with the shadows in the corners, the way I remembered doing it, but now there were framed pictures hanging on the wall, and the shelves were stacked with kids’ games, books, and stuffed animals. On the window seat at the center of the picture, my buddy the stuffed zebra leaned against a book; in the sketch, he still had both eyes. It was the same room, but from a different time, when it was someone else’s room.
    â€œI didn’t do that,” I said. My mom raised one eyebrow and picked my hand up out of my lap, displaying the dark graphite still smudged on my fingers. “No, I mean, I drew part of the picture, but not all of it,” I tried to explain.
    â€œIf you didn’t draw it, who did? Your imaginary friend?” My mom shook her head, unable to meet my eyes. “This iswhy you should leave the art to someone else.”
    I felt my throat close tight. I refused to cry. She made it sound like the fact that I had been drawing something was connected to the fact I’d seen something, as if, had I read a book instead, I never would have had a nightmare.
    â€œLet me see.” Nathaniel stepped forward to take the sketchbook from my bed. Dick snatched it back before he could reach it. Before I knew what was