At the Baxter Building, Mindy, still wearing her little backpack, stood on tiptoe to open the door. Her twin ponytails swayed as she stepped inside. The huge room felt desolate and empty. Thinking of Sean, who had gone to New Mexico, the little girl pouted, tossed her backpack onto the floor, rolled around on the soft carpet a few times, then curled up on the sofa like a hamster.
After resting for a few minutes, Mindy wriggled over to the cabinet and dug out several of her favorite movie discs. In the end, she picked "Lolita." As the gentle opening music began, the little girl reluctantly got up and skipped over to the refrigerator.
"One box a day." Reading the note's instruction aloud, Mindy pursed her lips. Though her little face was full of displeasure, she still only took one box of ice cream.
Then she ran over to the cabinet reserved for snacks, where another note had been posted: one bag a day.
The little girl's eyebrows shot up. Looking at the cabinet piled full of potato chips in all kinds of flavors and brands, Mindy waged a fierce battle within herself. It was as though two tiny figures kept tempting her. One was a devil with little horns, whispering that Sean was gone anyway, so this was the perfect chance to enjoy life. The other spoke with righteous severity: if the Great Demon King found out, the consequences would definitely be horrific.
Thinking of how, after the last parent-teacher conference, her allowance had been cut in half, she had been forbidden from playing games for a month, and even lost the right to drink soda and eat chips, Mindy still vividly remembered that agonizing time. She shuddered, shook her head hard, took out a bag of original-flavor chips,