I READ THROUGH PETUNIA’S diary twice after I got home, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. The slang was just right, and the words were precise—nice and neat just like the clothes in the closet. Something about the tone and inflection made it seem . . . off. I wasn’t an expert in teenage slang, though, and there was only one person I trusted who could tell me if my hunch was right or not. I transported myself to Kimberly’s school to talk to her once when the bell rang.
I didn’t like to interrupt Kimberly at school. I held firm that she should have a life of her own outside of working with me, but some things were too important and—well, that’s why I paid her the big bucks.
By the time I appeared at the school most of the students had already left for the day. O
