The Face (1996)
“Come here.” I patted my lap.
I was stretched out on the couch in the den in torn jeans and an old sweatshirt, and I felt like holding Rooney and petting her. But of course she wouldn’t come near me.
Why do cats always have to act like cats?
It was Sunday evening, and I was feeling pretty lonely. Mom and Dad were visiting friends across town. I finished my homework early. There was no school the next day, anyway. Some kind of teachers’ meetings.
I called Laura to see if she wanted to hang out or something. Not home. Adriana wasn’t home either.
So now I was stretched out in the den, half-watching wet snow drizzle down outside the window, half-watching a skiing show on ESPN on the TV across the room.
“Rooney—come here!”
The cat turned and strutted away with her tail in the air.
I settled back against the couch arm. And gazed up at the TV screen.
And saw a cabin. A wooden cabin surrounded by snow. Snow tumbling off the sloping roof.
“Oh!”
I sat up.
My head was spinning. I felt dizzy.
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