Page 101 - My FlipBook
P. 101
EIGHT
When Greta reached the top of the stairs, Elgin pointed in
the direction of his spare room. He really didn’t need to—the
layout of the upstairs mirrored the basement. It made sense
that his bedroom was the larger one by the bathroom, and the
spare room the replica of Greta’s downstairs.
She found Ash sitting on the edge of a daybed with a
pink-and-white bedspread, his box by his feet. Pale pink paint
covered the walls, and a white dresser and a pile of stuffed
animals sat in one corner. In contrast to all the pastels, a poster
of the band Swamp Demons hung above the dresser, showing
tattooed band members climbing out of some kind of cesspool.
“You’re probably used to sharing a room,” Elgin said,
dragging in an inflated air mattress, “but there’s only one real
bed in here.”
Sharing. Of course he wouldn’t know about the storage
closet. They hadn’t shared a room since they were ten. “This
is great,” Greta said, sliding the mattress onto the floor.
“We can bring blankets from downstairs.”
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