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So I opened my big mouth.

It was the first time I had spoken directly to Dawn in days. And I have been replaying our conversation in my head all night.

I still remember practically every word.

“Hi,” I said.

“You’re staying?” was Dawn’s reply. Into her book. Not even a glance upward.

“Well, yeah. I wanted to, but — ”

“I’m surprised they let you.”

“Me too. Uh, Dawn? What happened to my stuff?”

Dawn shrugged. “I put it out of the way. I thought you were going to do your thing again.”

“What thing?”

“You know. What you always do. Give up. Run away.”

Low. Very low.

I was cool. I was not going to scream at her. That was probably just what she wanted.

Instead, I counted to ten in my mind and said, “Well, I’m here now, Dawn. And if you have something you want to say to me, go ahead. I’m not running away now, am I?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Forget it, Sunny. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“No, I won’t forget it. Would you forget it if I insulted you?”

“It wasn’t an insult. Just a fact. Now, will you let me do my homework?”

“Just give me two minutes, Dawn! The homework’s not that important.”

“How do you know? You haven’t done it.”

“Fine. You’re smarter than me. You’re better than me in every way. I admit it, okay? Does that make you happy? Now talk to me. I’m a person. I have feelings. I don’t like being ignored.”

“Funny, I’ve been thinking that same thing.”

“I don’t ignore you, Dawn.”

“No? You haven’t said a word to me all week.”

“Only because you haven’t been talking to me. You started it!”

“I had my reasons!”

“What were they?”

“I just told you, Sunny.”

“What? That I run away? Is that it? That’s the reason you’re acting like such a jerk to me?”

Dawn slammed her book shut and turned to face me. “Excuse me? I am not going to sit here and be attacked in my own room. You want to know why I’m angry? Fine. It is because you run away. From everything. The minute something bad happens, you escape. You’ve been doing it all year. First homework. Then cutting a class here and there. Then cutting school.

Then that guy at the beach, Carson — ”

“Dawn, Carson was ages ago. You knew what I was going through. I had to escape.”

“Had to? Some people face their problems, Sunny. Some people have guts.”

“Like you? Perfect Dawn, who turns her back on her friend? Some guts.”

“Sunny, I bent over backward for you. I was understanding. I listened. I let you stay over. I gave you advice. I was so stupid! I should have known you’d do the same thing to my family.

Because that’s what happens, Sunny. When you start being selfish, sooner or later you hurt sometime. And you did it. Big-time. To the most vulnerable person in my family. Just abandoned her. You don’t care for anyone but yourself.”

“I do care about Carol — ”

“Oh, sure, whenever there’s something in it for you. When it’s fun. When she praises you and gossips with you and calls you her hero. Then you wait on her hand and foot. But when you actually have to do something boring and unselfish, like watching a stew pot? Out the door. out to flirt with some jock while the house burns down — ”

“I saved Carol’s life, Dawn! Have you forgotten that?”

“No one has. You’ve been talking about it nonstop. But what’s the point if you turn around and put her life in danger?”

“I screwed up, okay? I know it! I apologized to everyone and they accepted it.”

“That doesn’t change what you did, Sunny. You should have been here. You had a

responsibility!”

“And you didn’t?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hello? She’s your stepmother, Dawn. Not mine. Where were you when this whole thing happened? What great, unselfish thing were you doing? Shopping!”

“Why shouldn’t I? There were two people in the house when I left! You and Mrs. Bruen. That should have been enough.”

“That’s always your excuse. Why stick around if someone else can take care of Carol? I never see you taking her meals in bed. Or keeping her company when she’s lonely. Or rubbing her feet or reading to her when her eyes are tired. I’m the one who does those things. I’m the one who was shopping with her when she collapsed. Why? Because her own stepdaughter is never around.”

Dawn laughed. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this. I must be dreaming. Sunny Winslow lecturing me about taking care of a parent? Stop patting yourself on the back for a minute and think about visiting your own mother for a change.”

“How can I? You’re there all the time!”

“Oh, Sunny, that is so lame. That is beneath you. I visit your mom because I love her. I have known her all my life. And I feel bad for her. Because I know that her own daughter feels so sorry for herself that she can’t ever visit.”

“For your information, I do visit my mom. More times than you’ll ever know.”

“Wrong. I know about them all. I’ve sat and listened to you complain about every one.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Dawn. You, with the perfect family. The cute brother. The nice, uncomplicated dad — ”

“Divorced dad. You forget that little detail. Do you think that’s so easy? Dealing with a new person in the house who’s not my real mom but who’s having my dad’s baby?”

“At least you have a mom! Two of them! Isn’t that enough for you?”

Dawn fell silent. She gave me a long pitying look. “I guess you want to take one for yourself, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sunny,” Dawn said softly, “you have a mom. Count your blessings.”

Those last three words hit me like a hammer.

My heart was about ready to explode.

Words were bursting up through me like lava. But they caught in my twisted throat.

I was afraid I’d throw something. Hit something. Smash a window.

I turned and ran.

I didn’t stop until I was home.

I didn’t even say good-bye to Carol.

Friday 4/3

10:54 A.M.

Rise and shine.

Guess I fell asleep.

Guess I’m playing hooky today.

On my way out, I found this note from Dad.

Clueless.

4:04 P.M.

Venice Beach

I am not Bo’s slave. I have a life of my own.

Just because we know each other’s real names, I’m supposed to be attached to him forever?

Okay, I canceled the date. I didn’t give him notice. So big deal. He should be glad I didn’t just stand him up. Why get so angry? It’s not the last Friday night in the world.

I don’t want to see anyone tonight. Especially the guy who started the whole disaster.

I want to sit in my room, watch TV, and paint my toenails.

For the rest of my life.

9:56 P.M.

Two messages from Dawn on the answering machine. All she said was, “Call me back.”

Right.

When pigs fly.

Saturday 4/4

1:45 P.M.

Ducky says: “How do you know what Dawn wants? Maybe you left forty dollars there, and she needs to return it to you.”

I say, she can keep it.

Dawn and I are over.

I don’t know her.

Sunday 4/5

4:12 P.M.

The worst part of this is, I’m cut off from Carol.

I can’t call her. I might get Dawn. And then I’d have to hang up.

I might get Mrs. Bruen or Mr. Schafer or Jeff. And then I’d have to explain why I hate Dawn so much.

Besides, Dawn has probably poisoned Carol’s mind. Twisted our argument to make me sound like a total witch.

How will I know about the baby? Will she send me an announcement? Will I ever see the baby?

Fat chance.

Monday 4/6

soc stud

Maggie asked me what’s wrong between Dawn and me. Amalia told me that Dawn has been

dissing me in front of everyone.

I laughed.

I told them I didn’t care.

I said, if she wants to be friends, all it takes is an apology, a large diamond necklace, a new navel ring, and three years of personal servitude.

7:05 p.m.

Mom looks awful.

She’s not eating at all.

She says the weirdest things. One minute she’s talking about some dumb TV show she’s been watching — every detail — in this bored, monotonous voice. The next she’s talking about all the family trips we’re going to take.

And then, all of a sudden, she’s herself again. Like a window of health has opened up. She’s gentle and kind and interested. She remembers details.

She asked about Dawn. Just like that. Out of the blue. “I sensed a little tension between you two,” she said.

So I told her. Everything. From the burnt stew through the big argument.

Mom listened carefully. She joked that Mrs. Bruen should have used a microwave for the stew.

Finally she clasped my hand and said, “You’ll weather this one, Sunny. You always do. I have faith in you.”

“You used to say that to me all the time,” I murmured.

“That’s what mothers are for.”

I hugged her. “It feels so good to talk to you again.”

“Oh, I’m all talk. Visit me more often.”

“I will, Mom,” I said. “I promise.”

“Really?” Mom gave me a big smile. “Well, then, aren’t I lucky?”

For a moment I forgot where I was. I didn’t notice the cancer and the hollow eyes and grayish skin. Mom’s smile was big and blinding like the rising sun. I felt all my twitches go away and I was back home, a little girl again, curled up on the sofa with Mom, sipping hot chocolate.

“Mom?” I said.

I love you. That’s what I was going to say.

But Mom had a sudden twinge. She sank back into her pillow, eyes closed, teeth grinding.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Bedsores,” she said.

I was crashing back to earth. Back to the hospital room and the pain and the IV tubes and the white sheets and the view of the parking lot.

And I felt fifty times worse than I had before.

That’s the danger in visiting Mom.

You try not to let your hopes rise, but they always do. And the higher you go, the harder you fall.

That’s what Dawn doesn’t see.

She can’t have her heart broken at the sight of Mom’s body. She can’t look inside Mom’s eyes and see sorrows and triumphs and scoldings and kisses and late nights and lazy mornings and country walks and long drives and plays and pottery and softball games and sicknesses and years and years and years, all gone for good but somehow still there.

I can see them. It’s like they’re crowded together in a room the size of Mom’s soul. And the door to the room is about to close.

Dawn is so wrong.

I do think about Mom. I think about her every day. Every minute. I think about what’s going to happen. And part of that thinking is preparing. Arming myself. Forming a shell.

Because you have to. If you don’t, you fall apart.

Count my blessings?

It’s not so simple.

Thursday 4/9

Haven’t written in awhile [sic]. Not much to write.

Ducky’s doing great at the store.

Alex postponed his interview and didn’t give Dad a reason. Ducky’s trying to get in touch with him.

As for Dawn, I see her at our lockers at the beginning and end of the day. Sometimes we get drawn into conversations with Maggie and Amalia. Once or twice I’ve asked her how Carol is, and she usually says, “Fine.”

We don’t tear each other’s hair out. But we don’t say much.

I like it that way.

I think she does too.

And that’s all the news.

Life still bites. But it could be worse.

I’m not sure how, but it could.

P.S. I’m visiting Mom tonight.

Her begonia died. The roots choked.

So I bought her another.

It’s small, but it’s in a big pot. So it’ll have room to grow.

Over time.

Mom will love it.

About the Author

ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, NJ, with

her parents and her younger sister, Jane.

Although Ann used to be a teacher and then an editor of children’s books, she’s now a full-time writer. She gets ideas for her books from many different places. Some are based on personal experiences. Others are based on childhood memories and feelings. Many are written about contemporary problems or events.

All of Ann’s characters are made up. But some of her characters are based on real people.

Sometimes Ann names her characters after people she knows; other times she chooses names she likes.

In addition to the California Diaries, Ann Martin has written many other books, including the Baby-sitters Club series. She has written twelve novels for young people, including
Missing
Since Monday
,
With You or
[sic]
Without You
,
Slam Book
, and
Just a Summer Romance
.

Ann M. Martin does not live in California, though she does visit frequently. She lives in New York with her cats, Gussie and Woody. Her hobbies are reading, sewing, and needlework —