4uvak: переводы

→September 15: Introductory flip-off from D

→Luce could hear Penn's poignant voice behind the inscription, and she felt tears spring to her eyes. She didn't want Penn to see—after all, Luce still had her parents. If anyone should cry right now, it should be ... Penn was crying. She was trying to hide it with the mildest of sniffles and a few tears wiped on the ragged hem of her sweater. Luce got down on her knees, too, and started helping her brush the needles away. She put her arms around her friend and held on as tight as she could.

→Since our phone time is now ridiculously insufficient (Can you please petition for some more? It's downright unjust), I'm going to get all old-fashioned on you and take up epic letter writing. Enclosed you will find every single minuscule thing that happened to me over the past two weeks. Whether you like it or not...

→She tore into the envelope and pulled out a card with a black-and-white photograph on the front of two old ladies getting their hair done. Inside, every square inch of the card was filled with Callie's large, bubbly handwriting. And there were several pieces of scrawled-on loose-leaf paper because she'd run out of room on the card.

→Her dad nodded. "And sweet tea, and biscuits with white gravy. Cheddar grits with extra jalapenos, just the way you like 'em. Oh," he said, "and one more thing."

→"Pickled okra?" Luce asked in a voice that sounded very much like little-kid Lucy. No one could say her parents weren't trying.

→Sheepishly, her father held up a colorful patchwork quilt and a large briefcase-style contraption made of wicker that Luce had never seen before. Usually when they picnicked, it was a much more casual affair, with paper grocery bags and an old ripped sheet thrown down on the grass by the canoe trail outside their house.

→"This place is an absolute joke," she said, sounding cynical enough that her parents shared a troubled look.

→Case in point, what they called Parents' Day. They'd made such a big deal about how lucky the students were to get the privilege of seeing their own flesh and blood. And yet it was ten minutes until lunchtime and Luce's parents' car was the only one in the parking lot.

→"They don't," Luce said, glancing at the shoddy buildings and the empty commons. So far, nothing at this school made any sense to her.

→"We're just trying to follow the rules," Luce's father explained, moving his big hand to squeeze her neck. The weight of it shifted her whole posture and made it uncomfortable to stand still, but it had been so long since she'd been this close to people she loved, she didn't dare move away. "Because we only want what's best for you," her dad added. "We have to take it on faith that these people"—he gestured at the formidable buildings around campus, as if they represented Randy and Headmaster Udell and the rest of them—"that they know what they're talking about."

→There was no way to explain to them what had happened that night or what she'd been going through since then. She had gone straight back to classes, though not by her own choice. And physically, she was fine. It was just that in every other way—emotionally, psychologically, romantically—she couldn't have felt more broken.

→One look between her parents told that they'd had this fight already. Mom would have begged to visit again sooner. Luce's tough-love dad would have put his foot down.

→"Was there more?" her mom asked.

→Her father blanched. "Every time we spoke to the headmaster, he said you were doing great, back in classes, like the trouper we raised. A sore throat from the smoke and a little bump on the head. We thought that was all." He licked his lips.

→"Why didn't you take me home the other day?" Luce asked, feeling angry and hurt all over again. "Why did you let them bring me back here?"

→No, everything was not fine.

→Her mom fished through her giant blue pocketbook for her stash of tissues. Eyes wide, she dangled one in front of Luce's nose and asked, "We're here now. Everything's fine, isn't it?"

→"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" her father asked, resting his hand on her head.

→They both stumbled as she plowed into them. Her mother started giggling and her dad thwacked her back in his tough-guy way with his palm. He had his enormous camera strapped around his neck. They straightened up and held their daughter at arm's length. They seemed to want a good look at her face, but as soon as they got it, their own faces fell. Luce was crying.