o ff11b6990c964f75 (4 page)

And when I am with him, then what? Will he change? Will he ever think about my feelings, or at least stop treating me like I’m a stranger?

Normal.

What does that mean, anyway?

Another wife for Dad? A stepmother?

Great. I’ll have to see him holding hands with a strange woman around the house. I’ll have to make them meals.

I hate her already.

Well, unless she’s like Carol.

Ha.

Knowing Dad, she won’t even be close.

Monday 3/23

science [sic]

I cannot believe this.

This is not happening to me.

Pete asked me out.

Pete. Brock’s friend.

And I said yes.

math [sic]

WHO DO I THINK I AM?

soc. stud. [sic]

I’m insane.

study hall [sic]

No, I’m not.

I’m a free person.

I am not married to Brock. How do I know he’s not seeing other girls?

Besides, I got a good look at Pete today. Actually, a couple of good looks.

He’s cuter than Brock.

5:35 P.M.

Dawn is shocked.

Dawn thinks the world is coming to an end because I want to go out with Pete Nelson.

Dawn thinks I should “talk this out” with Brock.

Dawn also thinks I should have talked out Brock with Chris.

Dawn really needs to grow up.

But I can’t tell her that.

Why?

Because. Dawn. Is. My. Best. Friend.

Tuesday 3/24

2:45 P.M.

Home early today.

I could not face the last couple of periods.

Not in my frame of mind.

It’s all because of Ducky.

He was a total wreck this morning. He came to school crying.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he did. His eyes were all raw and watery.

He definitely needed Someone to Talk To.

He’s been there for me so often. The least I could do was return the favor.

Well, I tried. But he kept changing the conversation — “How are you doing? Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Are you still mad at your dad?”

Ducky “You First” McCrae.

I was not going to let him off easy. I had to find out what had happened. So I cut math and yanked him out of the cafeteria during 10th-grade lunch.

I wanted to drag him to the Fiesta Grill. He’s allowed to go there during lunch. But he kept reminding me that 8th-graders are not allowed and I would get into trouble. Like I care.

So we went outside and hid in the backseat of his car. Which smells terrible. And is cramped.

And has gum in the carpet.

(I am such a good friend.)

Ducky’s problem?

Alex.

Alex the drip.

Alex, who doesn’t deserve to look at Ducky.

Here’s what happened: Ducky had gone to pick him up this morning, and Alex had yelled at him and told him to go away.

Yes, that was it.

I nearly smacked Ducky.

“Don’t waste time with people who take advantage of you,” I told Ducky.

I should know.

“He’s a good guy,” Ducky insisted. “Just seriously depressed. He’s been cutting school.

Disappearing without letting his mom know where he is. Acting hostile to everyone — ”

“Sounds like me,” I said.

“Sometimes I worry about you too,” Ducky replied. “But I know you, Sunny. You’re there.

With a heart and a soul. Alex is lost. You’re not.”

“Oh, really?” I said.

“I mean, you connect. Like now. Look, I know what you’re going through. I know it’s really hard. But you’ll come out the other end, Sunny. Because you’re not shutting down. You never will.” Ducky grinned. “I won’t let you.”

Cool, or what?

He just gives and gives and gives. And he never seems to want anything in return.

I wish all my friends were like that.

5:15 P.M.

I did it.

I figured out a way to give back to Ducky.

A job.

Dad needs a clerk. Someone old enough to work, part-time, legally. Someone who is not me.

Ducky needs the money. His parents are in Ghana, and his older brother is always borrowing cash from him and not paying it back.

I mean, duh. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

I just called to tell him my idea.

He loved it. He promised he’d apply.

I’ll put in a good word for him.

Actually, maybe I won’t.

Knowing Dad, he’ll refuse to hire him for that reason alone.

Wednesday 3/25

8:25 A.M.

“Does this young Ducky fellow have any references? Is he literate? Does he present a clean appearance?”

What kind of stupid questions are those?

Uh, no, Dad. He wears dreds [sic], has a pierced tongue, can’t read, and likes to pick his nose in front of customers.

I should never have talked to him.

I should have run off when I had the chance.

And now look what I’m doing.

Inflicting him on Ducky.

study hall

I flunked yesterday’s math quiz.

The reason: I didn’t take yesterday’s math quiz.

Because I was out of class, and because I didn’t have a note, and because Ms. Whalen is a cruel and heartless excuse for a human being, I got an automatic F.

She told me this while I was leaving class today. Then she gave me this look, like I was supposed to kiss her feet and say I’m sorry.

Puh-leeze. I just shrugged.

“Don’t you care?” she asked.

I shrugged again.

I love seeing the Whale fume.

She started yelling at me, but I left in the middle of it.

Dawn was waiting for me in the hallway.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Do what, flunk?” I said. “She didn’t even give me a chance.”

“You cut the quiz, Sunny!”

“I didn’t know there was a quiz.”

“That’s not a good excuse!”

“Okay, when I think of a better one, I’ll tell you.”

Dawn threw her hands up and walked away. “See you later, Sunny.”

That’s what she thinks.

4:14 P.M.

Am riding to the Vista Hills Mall. Carol’s driving.

Don’t know where Dawn is.

She’s probably with the Whale as we speak. Talking about ways to make my life more painful.

Which is why I walked home alone. And why Carol invited me — without Dawn — to keep her company while she shops.

Nice to know someone cares.

So I am going maternity shopping.

And I’m happy about it.

ME.

Who’d have ever thought?

Bob.

Bill.

Bruce.

WHAT’S HIS NAME?

Blondish-brown hair. Curly. Square jaw. GREAT shoulders.

I’ve seen him in school a million times out of the corner of my eye.

I should have looked closer.

Okay, he’s just past the dressing rooms. In the housewares section. Who’s he with? Probably some incredible-looking junior girlfriend.

No.

She’s old.

His mom!

It must be.

There’s hope.

Can’t let him see me in maternity. That is DEFINITELY the wrong impression.

I’ll stroll around. I’ll pretend I’m looking for a blender.

Carol is taking FOREVER in that dressing room. I wonder if she’d mind if I

at [sic] the hospital

I can barely think.

My fingers are tired.

My body is tired. I need sleep.

But I feel terrible. I feel like it’s all my fault.

I have to write this out.

Everything happened so fast.

I was such a fool. Sitting there, bored, worrying about what’s-his-name — Bo Something.

Did it even occur to me why Carol might be taking so long?

Maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted, I would have called to her and asked how she was doing.

Maybe I would have heard her fall to the dressing room floor.

Well, someone did. Some little old lady who began to shriek.

I could see Carol’s hand sticking out from underneath the dressing room door. I tried to pull the door open, but it was locked. I yelled for help.

The shrieking lady was sitting in a chair. Three people were helping her.

But no one was helping me. A couple of shoppers were gawking, still holding their purchases.

Like I was a TV screen.

Finally I ran out and found a clerk.

The two of us crawled under the door. Carol was almost out. Eyes flickering. Slumped on the floor.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I feel faint.” She was barely forming the words. Her voice was tiny.

“Is it the baby?” I yelled. “Is it coming?”

Carol shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t just stand there,” I said to the clerk. “Get some help.”

The clerk looked horrified. “The manager’s on break,” she said.

Useless.

I ran out and made the nearest cashier call 911 for me on the store phone. I grabbed the receiver and told the operator what had happened.

When I ran back, I had to elbow through a crowd. I heard someone say, “There’s the daughter.”

I glanced around looking for Dawn, until I realized the person was talking about me.

Carol was sitting up now, her back against the dressing room wall. She looked bone-white. The clerk was squatting by her side, holding her hand.

I knelt down and put my arm around Carol. I asked the clerk to get her a glass of water. I practically barked at the crowd, telling them to make room. It was incredibly stuffy.

“I feel weak,” Carol said. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’ll be okay,” I said.

“I’m scared, Sunny.”

I wasn’t. That’s the weird thing. I was thinking about what had to be done. In order of importance.

1. Stay with Carol while we wait.

2. Make sure she gets to the hospital.

3. Call Mr. Schafer at work.

4. Call Mrs. Bruen at home.

The place was swarming now. Customers, clerks, security guards, crackling radios. Poor Carol.

Like she really needed all this.

I didn’t move from Carol’s side (step 1). I fed her sips of water. I borrowed a cell phone from one of the gawkers and did steps 3 and 4.

It felt like we were there for hours. I was so relieved when the EMS crew showed up. They put Carol on a stretcher and carried her to a service elevator.

I rode down with them, then followed them out a back entrance, where the ambulance was waiting.

One technician asked if I was “kin.” Carol quickly answered yes. I guess she figured they wouldn’t let me ride with her if I wasn’t kin. I hopped into the back and held Carol’s hand as we sped toward the hospital.

Daughter for a day.

Fine with me. More than fine. I was proud.

On the way, the technicians hooked Carol up to a couple of IVs. One of them took her pulse.

“Am I going to lose my baby?” Carol asked.

“This kind of thing isn’t abnormal,” the technician said. “Pregnancy is complicated.”

“That wasn’t the question,” I reminded him.

The technician nodded and smiled. “The baby’s probably going to be just fine.”

Probably.

I never thought that word could be so scary.

What does it mean? 95 percent? 51 percent?

I want to ask the doctor, but I can’t. I’m in the Palo City Hospital emergency room waiting area right now, which his about the most depressing place in the world, besides home. Carol’s in room 209, being examined.

I have no idea what’s happening in there.

The TV is blaring a soccer game in Spanish. To my right, a little kid is sneezing and coughing a crying. Across the room, a young guy is all bandaged up. To my left, an old man is slumped in a chair, asleep.

At least, I hope he’s asleep.

I am totally, totally freaked out.

11:12 P.M.

Home now.

Well, at Dawn’s.

I can’t believe how late it is.

This day feels like it lasted a month.

Luckily I wasn’t alone too long in the waiting room. Mr. Schafer came barging in as I was writing.

He was pale and anxious. He looked like he’d aged about 10 years.

I told him where Carol was, and he ran right in to see her.

The receptionist wasn’t too happy about that, but he ignored her. So did I. I followed him.

The door to room 209 was open, and a doctor was chatting with Carol. His name tag said Dr. C.

Rymond.

Carol was still hooked to IVs, but she looked a lot better.

Mr. Schafer threw his arms around her. They both started crying.

“We’re f-f-f-fine!” Carol blurted out.

“Mama and baby both pulled through with flying colors,” Dr. Rymond agreed. “That’s the good news.”

Mr. Schafer turned warily. “Is there bad news?”

Dr. Rymond smiled. “If you consider total rest and relaxation bad news. I’m prescribing confinement to bed until the baby is born. No getting up at all.”

“But that’s two months!” Mr. Schafer replied.

Dr. Rymond explained that she’d better do what he said if she wanted to keep the baby. Well, he didn’t use those exact words, but that was the meaning.

Mr. Schafer clasped Carol’s hand and asked how she felt about this.

She smiled. She said she would finally have time to read all her magazines. “Besides,” she went on, “I love meals in bed and long foot rubs.”

She winked at me. I winked back.

God, I hope I’m like her when I grow up.

A few moments later Dr. Rymond said he had to do a few more tests and he needed to be alone with Carol.

I told them I’d wait outside. Mr. Schafer told Carol he’d be right back, and he walked out with me.

“Thanks,” he said. “I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there. You saved her, Sunny. You saved both of their lives.”

“Both?” I said.

“Carol’s,” he replied. “And the baby’s.”

Saved their lives.

I hadn’t thought of it that way.

I had been so busy doing, I hadn’t really been thinking.

But imagine if I hadn’t been there at all. Would someone have seen Carol and called 911 in time? Maybe not. Then what? She would have fallen unconscious. Become dehydrated. Or worse.