a toy monkey with stretchy arms dangles from the handle. I gave it to her the first time she was hospitalized a couple of years ago. Mom now hangs it when she naps so we know when she’s sleeping.
My mother’s lecture would be better than this silence. Sassy yawns and then jumps onto the couch, folding her feet over like a teacher monitoring a class. I almost wish she’d start lecturing me too.
Cherish’s door is closed and the space underneath is dark. Is she out with Dub? Is he telling her all the things he told me on our first date: his favorite color (blue), his favorite food (fried shrimp with ketchup), and how he’s an only child like me?
Cherish is probably making fun of me and my moms right now. Maybe she and Dub are doing more than talking. If I don’t stop thinking about this I’ll get sick again.
The hinges whine as I open the bathroom door, and the scent from a berry candle is so strong a sneeze catches me by surprise. I turn on the faucet and let the water trickle to avoid disturbing Mom more than I already have. The water feels cool as I splash it over my face.
After freshening up and blotting my skin on a coarse towel, I head straight for my stash of 3 Musketeers in my room. Liz secretly buys them for me. After Mom was diagnosed with lupus, she got rid of most sweets in the house. Anytime I begged for chocolate bars, she’d say, “An unhealthy child is likely to be an unhealthy adult. How about an apple instead?”
After weeks of this, Liz broke down and started sneaking me candy bars—3 Musketeers, my favorite. Mom hasn’t caught on. Cherish told me Liz buys her makeup sometimes, the heavy-duty eyeliners and bright lipsticks Mom doesn’t like us wearing.
Just as I sink my teeth into the foamy, soft chocolate, the front door opens with a loud clunk. I swallow the sweet bite and then shove the candy bar back underneath my bed.
“Calli? You home?” Liz calls out in a low voice. Sassy barks wildly.
There is no point whispering after Sassy’s noisy welcome. “Yes, ma’am!” As much as I want to stay in my room and devour the chocolate, I meet Liz by the front door. My jaw clenches as soon as I see Cherish standing next to her. Cherish has applied a fresh layer of magenta lip gloss. Sick. Dub’s mouth touched those lips. She smirks at me as if she can read my mind.
Liz may have been driving around looking for me, but she doesn’t seem frantic. When she’s stressed, she has a tendency to tug at her gray, short hair until it spikes, but right now her hair is perfectly slicked back. “Oh, good. Your mom was resting, so I left work early to pick Cherish up from school. She called because she missed the bus looking for you. Care to explain?”
“I . . . I, uh . . .” What the French fries? Cherish was looking for me?
After tossing her backpack to the ground, Cherish clears her throat. Her heavily lined brown eyes squint, as if daring me to say something about what happened this afternoon. Liz doesn’t have a clue about the mind games Cherish plays with me.
“Someone said they saw you running from school. Did you fail a test again or something?” Cherish asks, sounding completely sincere.
“What’s this?” Mom asks from the hallway.
Why does she have to wake up now? Mom wraps her bathrobe over her T-shirt and jeans. My mother and I lock eyes. She has dark rings underneath them. Can she tell that I’ve puked and bawled? I don’t want to stress her out any more than she already is. “Uh, you know, it was a warm day and you, uh, keep talking about being healthy, so I figured I’d walk home.”
“Good idea,” Cherish says way too enthusiastically.
I glare at her, and before I have a chance to say something back, Mom says, “Next time you choose an adventure, let the rest of your family know.”
The word “family” stings. “Yes, ma’am.”
Without saying anything else, Liz heads to the kitchen to brew some peppermint tea. Mom trails her.
I storm off to my room, but Cherish whispers loudly, “You never told me that Dub is such a good kisser.”
“Shut up, you—”
“Shh—you don’t want your mommies to hear you say a bad word.”
“Shut up!”
“Girls?” Mom calls out. Her immune system may be weak, but her hearing isn’t.
“Nothing,” Cherish and I answer together.
When I slam the bedroom door, my U.S. history and French textbooks slide off my desk. Where is my iPod?
I dig around on my desk, smashing a dried red rose. I kick the French book, Français: Bienvenue. I know Cherish stole my iPod. She probably sold it like she hocked my DVDs she stole. She didn’t give me the money she made off of them either. Mom and Liz reimbursed me, but that’s not the point.
A million curse words run through my mind, all too horrible to say out loud.
I’m not going to take her crap anymore.
NO!
MORE!
CHICKEN!
TURD!
THE DAY AFTER THE MELTDOWN
Friday, April 18
IF LUPUS WERE CONTAGIOUS, I would’ve faked sick like I had the inflammatory autoimmune disorder this morning to ditch school. Oh, my joints! My skin! My fever! But I wasn’t going to let Cherish win that battle. She thinks I’m just accepting things and sulking like I normally do.
“Everything will be fine, just wait and see,” my best friend, Delia, says as we walk down the hall together. But the only thing I see is about five people gathered around my locker.
Dub is scribbling something on the face of it. “What are you doing?” I yell. First the kiss, and now this? The crowd turns to look at me. A jerk named Gunner points his phone in my direction and takes a photo. Delia flicks him off.
When I’m closer, Dub moves in front of the locker in an attempt to block the black marks scrawled all over it. “I didn’t want you to see this, especially after what happened yesterday,” he says. I step close to him so I can get a better look at what he’s trying to protect me from.
Delia gasps.
I’ve been friends with Dub for so long that part of me wants to bury my head against his clean, familiar smelling body and forget all of this. And then I see a drawing of a large bull with a ring through its nose and the letters “CALLI IS ABULLD Y.”
Dub had used his pen to cross out the “k” and the “e” at the end of the sentence.
Gunner laughs and takes another cell pic. We’ve never gotten along. . . . Did he write this? I doubt he’d be documenting my humiliation right in my face if he had, plus there’s a more likely suspect. Cherish stayed late after school yesterday,
