Ms. Zephyr's Notebook (2 page)

“Geez, I'm sorry I scared you, dude. I just forgot something when I left last week and this seemed like a good time to come and pick it up. This used to be my room, remember?”

Kip rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. That makes a lot
of sense. Yes, I remember that this used to be your room. I also remember what you said last time you were here. You said if you came back to this hospital, they'd be carrying you on a slab, because you weren't ever going to walk in here on your own two legs again. And so now you break into Abbie's office in the middle of the night and I'm supposed to believe you forgot something?”

Logan chewed on his lower lip. This kid was pretty smart for his age. But he'd set down the call button, and Logan was almost sure the kid wouldn't turn him in. Almost. He shot a sideways glance at the clock on the wall. Every minute he spent here slowed him down. But if the kid gave him away, he'd be far worse off.

Logan stepped closer to Kip's bed. “Did I ever tell you the story about how I got here the first time?”

Kip still looked sceptical, but his eyes softened a little. “No.”

Logan tossed the notebook casually on the bottom of the bed. “Mind if I join you?”

Kip grinned and pulled his legs in to his chest. Logan made it a policy to never sit on anyone's bed. He hated the freaking hospital beds. But Kip was just a kid. And if Kip thought they were just hanging out, maybe things could work out the way they were meant to. Maybe.

So Logan hopped up on the bottom of the bed, reached over, and yanked up one of the side bars to
lean on. He had a moment's fear as the thing clanged into place, but both he and Kip sat very still and no nurse's feet approached, so all was well. Kip pulled up the blanket and gave a sleepy grin. He was ready to hear a story.

“I hated this place when I came here,” Logan said, and Kip nodded his understanding. Anyone who had stayed here would understand. It wasn't the hospital itself, or the people who worked here, or even the stinking smell of the place. Sickness and pain were in these walls. No amount of ammonia could ever scrub that away, and any kid who had to live here awhile knew all about it.

Logan reached over and pulled the notebook into his lap. He'd never told a story to a kid before, and he had to make this one good.

“I don't remember a lot about that first day. I didn't know who Abbie was or what she wanted. All I knew was that I needed to get out of here, and fast.”

He opened the cover of the notebook and a flimsy piece of paper fluttered onto his lap. The tape that had stuck the page onto the cover of the notebook adhered to his fingers. He peeled the tape off and smoothed the e-mail back into place.

“What's that?” asked Kip.

Logan shrugged and glanced again at the page.

To: Abbie Zephyr <
[email protected]>
From: Tom Dangerman <
[email protected]>
Re: Your Request

Dear Ms. Zephyr,

I have given your somewhat unusual request a great deal of consideration over the past few days. As you know, it is district policy to ensure all student progress remains entirely private. However, after viewing your arguments and taking into consideration the unique teaching environment at Evergreen Hospital, I have decided to waive the standard practice, providing that student grades continue to be submitted electronically. Your students may submit their work to you in a centralized file folder or notebook as you see fit, providing the grades and comments are available only to the individual student and their parent and/or guardian.

Tom Dangerman
District Administrator,
Evergreen School District 36

Logan began to turn the page, but the tape from the e-mail caught his fingers again and the flimsy paper tore
in half. He swore under his breath and ripped the rest of the page out of the notebook.

“It's just some piece of school-board junk. No one will notice it's gone. It's not like anyone reads that crap, anyway.”

He tossed the crumpled wad under Kip's bed and flipped through the pages of the notebook. “Here it is,” he said softly. “My first day.”

November 1

Logan K.

After breakfast sometime, if I was eating, which I'm not.

Life sucks and then you die.

L.K.

November 1

Logan K.

Some time after noon
.

Apparently truth is not acceptable, at least not around this place. Here everything has to look clean and smell
clean, and bad language is not tolerated. Man, I could really come up with some bad language if I felt like it right now, but I don't. So just forget it.

L.K.

November 1

Logan K.

(
Bag empty but no one has noticed yet. L.K
.)

Ten minutes later
.

Okay, Abbie, I give up. You win. Hope you're happy. I'm writing the stupid paragraph, but only so I can get my Xbox back, understand? The days around this place are so
totally
long and boring that I'll do anything to get back to my gaming. And you get the journal entry that you've been bugging me for. This isn't even real school — I can't believe you expect me to do school work if I'm in the freakin' hospital.

I don't even know why I'm here. I thought the worst thing about today would be a Halloween-party hangover. I don't get this. I'm gonna be out of here by the weekend.

And hey, I've noticed that I'm supposed to have ethical standards and not use bad language and all, but for some reason this doesn't apply to everyone else. Like you, for example, Teach. Swearing is out but bribery is allowed? Well, whatever you say, because know what?
You've got your paragraph, and then some. And if you want to know how I'm feeling, well, just read between the lines, okay? Because I'm done.

L.K

November 4

Logan K.

(
10th bag in 3 days, Abs. All I do is pee. L.K
.)

Morning, I guess
.

Geez, you'd think if a person is sick enough to be in the hospital they wouldn't have to do school work. This is going to be one cheerful journal, Abbie. I hope you enjoy it. Here's the information you're after, not that you really care or anything. Let's see… Logan Kemp, age 15. Loves: Rugby, cars, computer gaming. Hates: School, this place, and most of all, my own guts. Yeah — pretty freakin' cheerful. Always looking on the bright side, that's me.

You find a bright side for me to look at and I will, Abbie. I'm supposed to be at rugby practice after school today. Instead, I'm stuck in here for who knows how long. My gut is killing me and nobody can tell me why.

You told me to write about something that interests me. You know what? Nothing interests me. Not in here, anyway. This place stinks. And I mean that
literally. It stinks of Lysol or chlorine or some other kind of solvent that they use to clean up after dead people and disgusting living people who vomit all over themselves and the floor. Or those real losers who shit their pants.

Sorry, Abbie, but that one was worth it. So take my game away for an extra hour. It's not going to change the fact that one of those losers is me.

Logan.

November 5

Logan K.

Morning, at some point
.

Okay, Abbie, I'm doing my thing, just like a good boy. Here's your journal entry, since I can actually think of something to write. Because today there was a bit of excitement around this stupid hick-town hospital. You must love it, Abbie, 'cause it looks like you've landed yourself another victim.

So here's the scoop. Sometime yesterday afternoon I hauled this Useless Contraption attached to my arm downstairs to the hole in the wall they call a “gift shop.” All I needed was a pair of decent batteries — no hope, of course. Now, if I'd wanted a hand-knitted toilet paper cover, it would have rocked. They had at least five of those.

I was just dragging Useless back to the elevator when the ambulance entrance doors flew open and the boys came flying in, pushing what looked like some bag lady on their cart.

Those poor guys. You've really got to feel for them. I mean, they get the excitement of racing through red lights and blaring the siren and all, but once they dump the contents of the stretcher into Emerg, well, they're stuck here like gum to a shoe until whoever they've scraped off the highway is actually admitted.

But their lost freedom was my gained information. The nurses hauled Bag Lady onto a hospital gurney and whipped her out of sight. Good thing, too. She
stunk like she'd peed herself. One of the ambulance guys slumped down into a chair and the other one went trolling for junk in the machines along the wall. I scammed a choc— ah, well, never mind what I scammed from him, Abbie. Let's just say it wasn't on my list of prescribed dining.

So I hauled Useless over…

Aw, geez. Looks like the vampires are back for more of my blood. Later, skater.

L.K.