Don’t be fooled by the outside of the house. This place was not inhabited by grand folk with stubbornly old-fashioned ways.
Thank God.
Uncle Isman ordered pizza and breadsticks, the food of modern America. Since I was already in a better mood from the great food, and totally jet-lagged, I didn’t pester him like I’d meant to.
I didn’t have any sort of plan to get away. It just wasn’t possible—I didn’t know anyone around here. Which, of course, made things worse. But I wasn’t going to be nice about being here. I was going to do my absolute teenagerly worst at annoying the heck out of him.
Starting with calling him Izzy. Which I did over a tall glass of Dr. Pepper. This was going to be harder than expected: he was totally cool with it.
My second ploy was to leave my shoes in the very middle of the first stair on my way up to bed. I hoped he’d trip on them, step on them, be annoyed by the slob in his life. I’d already noticed he kept his house pretty clean.
Good night, Izzy. Have a good trip.