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about to chew off my head, and there was nothing I could do about it.

So, after a quick bath, and freshly pressed blouse and jeans, I was standing outside Mr. Grant's bedroom. Selena, dressed in her trendy, dry clothes and combed, shiny hair, actually came with me for moral support. I tapped on his door for the second time, and went back to nibble on my nails.

The door clicked open. For a second, I thought I was about to bolt away, on my quivering legs, without any command from the brain. However, my brain won the battle with my legs, I stayed.

Mr. Grant's lined, tired face peered out. "Yes?" he asked, with a questioning smile. I hiccuped and covered my mouth with an embarrassed smile.

"Umm, may I come in?" I asked, my mind fraught with screaming voices. Run while you can! they all screamed. Anyhow, I was being the hero and used all my courage I could reach within me.

He invited me in, rather amiably. He strutted to a grand, cushioned chair that screamed a million dollars, and invited me to sit down on a similar one. Selena sat on the edge of her chair, as if expecting firecrackers to explode beneath her.

I tried not to look at Mr. Grant's expectant face, and mentally gathered up all the nice manners of speaking.

"Uh.. I wanted to con..uh, tell you about a paper that would be now missing from your desk." I started in a clear voice and my voice squeaked on the last words. I almost used the word confessed', my mind stuck somewhere in a court hearing, in the middle of a huge, federal case.

For a moment, he seemed confused. Then I watched his wrinkled face change into fascinating colors of green and red.

I was expecting a fireball to scorch me as I sat there. I was also silently praying for mercy. He didn't explode, he broke into fits of heavy coughing.

"Daddy!" Selena cried as she rushed to get the pitcher of water. I sat, immobile, already blaming myself for my best friend's dad's death. After a few gulps of water, he managed to speak.

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding like a rational, normal person. Maybe he wasn't a crocodile after all. Though his skin did make him look like one.

"Dad, Mitch took a paper from your desk.." Selena didn't include the last part. Since she helped me with that bit, I explained the rest.

"And he made a message in the bottle with it," I finished, wondering whether Mr. Grant was also picturing the bottle floating on the ocean, miles and miles away, like I was.

I didn't know what I expected next. All I knew was that my calf muscles

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