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Isabelle, it turned out, was not a fan of flying feces.
Chapter 1
09:32
“It’s disgusting!” she shrieked through her tears. “That monkey! It was her! I saw her point at me!”
She shot me a venomous glare, demanding my parents and brother do something about me. They tried to soothe her, but she only cried harder, wailing about how it was bad enough being bullied by her sister when she was alive, but now even a monkey was tormenting her.
At her words, my family’s faces tightened. A complex, silent understanding passed between them.
The other tourists were getting fed up. “Who does this princess think she is?” one of them snapped. “Flingo is famous for throwing things. Ever heard of an umbrella?”
Ever since Flingo went viral, the zoo was packed. Most visitors came prepared, holding umbrellas while they taunted him, squealing with delight whenever he launched a projectile.
“It’s none of your business!” Isabelle screeched. “Did I say anything about the gorilla? I’m talking about that stinking monkey! I can’t stand the sight
of her!”
She snatched a rock and hurled it at me. But her aim was as weak as her character, and the stone plopped harmlessly into the moat.
Flingo, seeing his chance, let another turd fly. This one, too, found its mark, smearing across Isabelle’s face. He was gentler this time, though, using a runnier consistency so it wouldn’t sting.
Isabelle completely lost it, vomiting until she was spitting up bile.
My mother, her heart aching for the girl, turned on the zookeeper who had rushed over. “This gorilla is a menace! What kind of training do you peo- ple do?”
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” the keeper stammered, bowing repeatedly. “Flingo hasn’t thrown anything in weeks. I don’t know what’s gotten into him tod-
ay.”
“It was her!” Isabelle pointed a shaky, bile–flecked finger at me. “She’s the one who told him to do it! Ugh… That damn monkey! I want her skinned
alive!”
A chorus of gasps and angry murmurs rose from the crowd. People started shouting at Isabelle, calling her a psycho with a black heart.
My parents and brother exchanged a look, then, without another word, helped the sputtering Isabelle to her feet and led her away.
As they left, something strange happened. Green bars materialized above their heads, with words floating inside: Regret Meter.
My father’s Regret Meter was at 20%.
My mother’s was at 30%.
My brother’s was at 10%.
My eye twitched. Damn it, System. Get out here!
