Read Playground for Free Online Page A

foosball!”
    Everyone is silenced, clearly impressed.
    Later that night, I glance around Amber’s bedroom at my
    friends, who are fast asleep. The television is on downstairs, so I
    make my way there, sneaking a peek at Amber’s mother and father
    in the den.
    “I feel sorry for that girl. Sweet kid. Too bad her father’s such a
    wacko,” her mother says.
    “Her father lives at the Mansion. I mean who in their right
    mind brings an eleven-year-old up there?” Amber’s father asks,
    shaking his head. “She’s going to be one fucked-up girl when she’s
    older,” he affirms.
    I am stung, unable to move. It’s at this moment that I realize
    how different my life is from that of all my friends. A part of me
    can see it clearly, though another part of me knows I will forget
    this by dawn.
    Sixth grade bores me. There is no way it can compete with the
    magical kingdom filling my head—that perfect place, free of rules
    and monotony. I fidget in my seat until we are finally let go. I don’t
    want to go home to my mother, to her cold stares and lists of
    chores.
    I walk next door to my father’s office, which is on the twenty-
    second floor of the Century City Medical Building. The reception
    room is packed with fitness freaks obsessed with losing weight.
    You never know which celebrity is going to pop his head through
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    Playground
    the door. The countertops are lined with greeting cards and head-
    shots from only the most famous.
    Buzzed through by reception, I reach Dad’s office and stop to
    stare at a life-size portrait of a little girl in a light blue bathing suit.
    She stands beside a large tree, holding a gardenia in her small hands.
    Her blue eyes look sad. I stare at the girl, completely captivated.
    I don’t let myself see that she resembles me. The gardenia she
    holds is the same flower my father sends me for special occasions:
    birthdays, Easter, Valentine’s Day. Like this girl, I am caught, for-
    ever a child, suspended in a frame of his design. I only recognize
    that the picture saddens me. Like living in his love, seeing this like-
    ness chokes me to the point where I cannot breathe.
    Dad hurries in.
    “Hi, honey. Good to see you.”
    His phone buzzes as he searches for something in his office.
    “Where did it go?” he asks himself, shuffling things around.
    “Ah,” he sighs, picking up a wrapped gift with a pretty pink
    bow. “I got a little something for you.”
    Dad hands me a white box.
    “Hef ’s on line two,” his secretary screams over the intercom.
    “Open it,” Dad mouths, excited, as he picks up the phone.
    I tear open the wrapping paper to find a new Wilson tennis
    racket!
    “I’ll be right there,” Dad says into the receiver before hanging up.
    “Wow. Thanks, Dad. I love it!”
    He is pleased by my reaction. “I have to go to the Mansion. Do
    you want to come along for the ride?”
    “Sure.” I shrug.
    Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the iron gates.
    Dad hops out of the car and carries his medical bag inside. A
    butler greets us at the door as Dad hurries upstairs while I make a
    mad dash for the game room. I cut through the tree-lined pathway,
    wondering if anyone has beaten my highest score.
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    J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
    After hours of Space Invaders and Andy Gibb on repeat, I head
    back into the house and enter the Med Room, a breakfast nook
    with a glass table, chairs, and a stone fountain gurgling in the cor-
    ner. It’s bright and comfortable. When I enter, I find an older man
    sitting with a young girl. I sit down at the end of the table.
    “You’re Doc’s daughter, right?” the man asks.
    He gives me the creeps.
    “Right.” I smirk back, hoping he will recognize my disinterest
    and leave me alone.
    “Have you met my daughter, Sofia?” he asks.
    “No.” I move to shake the shy girl’s hand. She seems a few years
    older than me. I grab a pad of paper and doodle, pretending not
    to notice how affectionate they seem. I try to inch my chair