Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - BOOCarz

I could not have been less in the mood for a party. I’d
known I was in for one the moment my parents began
dropping unsubtle hints about how boring and
uneventful the upcoming weekend was sure to be,
when we all knew perfectly well I was turning sixteen.
I’d begged them to skip the party this year because,
among other reasons, I couldn’t think of a single
person I wanted to invite, but they worried that I spent
too much time alone, clinging to the notion that
socializing was therapeutic. So was electroshock, I
reminded them. But my mother was loath to pass up
even the flimsiest excuse for a celebration—she once
invited friends over for our cockatiel’s birthday—in
part because she loved to show off our house. Wine
in hand, she’d herd guests from room to overfurnished
room, extolling the genius of the architect and telling
war stories about the construction (“It took months to
get these sconces from Italy”).
We’d just come home from my disastrous session
with Dr. Golan. I was following my dad into our
suspiciously dark living room as he muttered things
like “What a shame we didn’t plan anything for your
birthday” and “Oh well, there’s always next year,” when
all the lights flooded on to reveal streamers, balloons,
and a motley assortment of aunts, uncles, cousins I
rarely spoke to—anyone my mother could cajole into
attending—and Ricky, whom I was surprised to see
lingering near the punch bowl, looking comically out of
place in a studded leather jacket. Once everyone had
finished cheering and I’d finished pretending to be
surprised, my mom slipped her arm around me and
whispered, “Is this okay?” I was upset and tired and
just wanted to play Warspire III: The Summoning
before going to bed with the TV on. But what were we
going to do, send everyone home? I said it was fine,
and she smiled as if to thank me.
“Who wants to see the new addition?” she sang