Word Count: 84,009
Summary of Events:
Hadia talked with her grandma about the move rather civilly before being invited to help process fresh fruit into preserves and things if she wasn't going to unpack. Levi talked with the reporter who wanted to do the documentary about meeting with the family to discuss the idea before getting ready to watch Twilight's race. Traeton settled into the halfway house he'd be staying in . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
"The bedroom was small, and even smaller visually, considering that there were two bunk beds fit into it. Apparently they wanted to maximise occupancy or something.
Traeton carefully stuffed his backpack under the bed where it was nice and out of sight, but not far enough away that he couldn't reach under the bed and grab it quickly. For the time being he was the only occupant in this room, but from what he'd heard he was supposed to be getting a new roommate soon.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed he'd chosen, Traeton pulled up his pant leg and looked at the band around his ankle. It looked like it would be pretty easy to get rid of, it was just a kind of flimsy plastic-rubber thing, almost like the bands of those useless toy watches offered as fast-food kid's meal treasures.
However, he'd been told that there was a wire running through it that, because of the special lock thing that fastened the ends, made a circuit, and if that circuit was broken, the police would be on him in no time at all.
Not to mention, Traeton had a feeling he would get a bit of a shock from cutting the band if there was a wire in there; it all depended on how much of a current was going through the thing.
The important piece was on the outside of his leg, and it about looked like the face of one of those kid's meal watches, except with no buttons or digital display, it was just a little black rectangular thingy that apparently was transmitting a signal not only to a receiver in the master bedroom somewhere, but somewhere else too.
A knock sounded on his door and he looked up to see the somewhat haggard and beleaguered Mrs. Braun — who ran the house — standing in the doorway.
"If'n y'all want some vittles, you'd better git on upstairs," she said.
Traeton nodded and rose to his feet. He followed her out of the room and through the door to the stairs, and then up to what he was pretty sure, in most houses, would be the living room. In this house it was the dining room, and there appeared to be no actual dining room, from what Traeton could tell.
Six other people — four women and two men — were gathered at the table, along with Mr. Braun, who was the corrections officer responsible for keeping an eye on them; which Traeton thought was an interesting arrangement.
Mr. Braun rose to his feet. "Everyone," he said in a commanding bass voice. "This is Tr–"
"Ah, if you, please," Traeton interrupted. "I prefer to be called by my middle name."
"And what is that?" Mr. Braun asked.
"Shea," Traeton lied. They were the same length and contained the same vowels, but, legally, Shea was not his middle name."