Stomping into my room, I yanked the torn princess dress off, and flung it onto the messy floor. Grabbing a shirt and vest off a pile of chaotically organized clothes, I made a speedy retreat to my bed just before my short-lived pout was interrupted.
"Sarah?" Someone knocked on the door.
"Yes, oh father mine?"
"We've fed Toby and put him to bed."
"Okay."
"…"
"..."
"Sarah? Are you still there?"
"Unfortunately." I muttered. My father sighed loudly.
"We'll be back around midnight." He said.
"Okay, go have fun!" I said as cheerily as one can manage when one feels as if one is acting like an immature six-year-old. And I probably was.
Yah. Terribly short chapter filled with writers block. Sorry. I felt like I just had to get something up... Review, and I'll send my imaginary friend, Pan Godfellow, to bring you that goldfish to love, and to keep, and to call Bob...