Have you read these books by Cat Patrick?
There are exactly sixteen minutes left in math class when there’s a faint double knock on the classroom door, and we all perk up. Through the window I can see the office assistant with the frizzy hair standing timidly, like she’s afraid of even herself.
We watch curiously as Mr. Pip lumbers over, wiping his perpetually sweaty forehead as he goes. He opens the door two feet at best, and I almost expect him to ask the woman in the hall for a secret password. She whispers something, then hands over a tiny piece of pink paper. I know that pink: It’s a hall pass.
Someone’s getting out of here early.
“Caroline Cabot, please report to the office,” Mr. Pip says in his nasally voice. At the sound of my name, I drop the piece of strawberry-blond hair I’m twirling and, eyebrows furrowed, look across the aisle at Simone.
“What’d you do now, Linus?” she asks with a twinkle in her dark eyes. The guy one row over wakes up when she speaks. Simone’s like a half Asian Marilyn Monroe with Angelina Jolie lips—guys are constantly checking her out.
“You should talk,” I say, reaching down to grab the backpack stuffed into the basket beneath my seat. “You’re the one with the monogrammed chair in the principal’s office.” Simone’s had detention three times this year already, but as far as the office is concerned, I’m a good girl.
On my way out, I look back at Simone and waggle my phone in her direction. She makes a face to acknowledge that texting me later is obvious just before I slip out of sight.
I think of detouring through the science wing for a glimpse of Joel, but the rule follower in me takes over and I head straight to see the principal. On my way there, I picture Joel and Lauren breaking up—maybe she has a fling with a guy her own age at the community college—and him falling madly in love with me. I laugh at myself as I push through the doors of the main office.
Then I see the look on Principal Jones’s face.
Immediately I feel it: Something’s wrong.
“Caroline,” he says, his deep vibrato at odds with his soft expression. “Your mother called.” He stops, motioning at the chair near the window. “Here, sit.”
My stomach twists. Principal Jones is nothing short of intimidating, and this unprovoked kindness is like a flashing neon sign that reads BRACE YOURSELF. I slowly lower into the chair, even more alarmed when my principal turns to face me.
“Your grandmother’s in the hospital,” he says. “She had a stroke and your mother—”
I don’t hear the rest because I lean forward, my head between my knees like there’s an impending plane crash. My throat seizes, and I make a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper. I was just with my grandmother this morning, rolling my eyes when she told me to put my cereal bowl in the sink. Why did I roll my eyes?
“Is she okay?” I ask, tears coming faster than I can blink them away.
“I’m not clear on the details. But your mom said your brother would be here to pick you up and then—”
“I can’t wait for him.” I stand, pulling my backpack over my shoulders. “Which hospital?” Panic has my heart racing, my skin prickling. Principal Jones is stumbling over his words, but I don’t have time for this. I have to see Gram. “St. Mark’s?” I ask impatiently.
When
