Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

going?”
“Perhaps not. But if you insist on leaving here, then I
insist you never return.”
I was so shocked I had to laugh. “But you need me,”
I said.
“Yes, we do,” she replied. “We do very much.”
* * *
I stormed upstairs to Emma’s room. Inside was a
tableau of frustration that might’ve been straight out of
Norman Rockwell, if Norman Rockwell had painted
people doing hard time in jail. Bronwyn stared
woodenly out the window. Enoch sat on the floor,
whittling a piece of hard clay. Emma was perched on
the edge of her bed, elbows on knees, tearing sheets
of paper from a notebook and igniting them between
her fingers.
“You’re back!” she said when I came in.
“I never left,” I replied. “Miss Peregrine wouldn’t let
me.” Everyone listened as I explained my dilemma.
“I’m banished if I try to leave.”
Emma’s entire notebook ignited. “She can’t do
that!” she cried, oblivious to the flames licking her
hand.
“She can do what she likes,” said Bronwyn. “She’s
the Bird.”
Emma threw down her book and stamped out the
fire.
“I just came to tell you I’m going, whether she wants
me to or not. I won’t be held prisoner, and I won’t bury
my head in the sand while my own father might be in
real danger.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” Emma said.
“You ain’t serious,” replied Bronwyn.
“I am.”
“What you are is three-quarters stupid,” said Enoch.