Page 9 of The Way I Used to Be
“So, did you have a nice Christmas?” I try, anyway, to act like things are normal, but all I can think of is Kevin.
She shrugs slightly, staring at me. The seconds drag by.
The thing about the Armstrongs—the thing I never really gave much thought until now—is that when they came here, they weren’t just moving here. They were leaving something else. Something bad had happened wherever they were before. I’d overheard Mrs. Armstrong telling Mom about it. She was crying. And then later I was eavesdropping while Mom told Dad about it. I didn’t get most of it, other than it involved Kevin, and Mr. Armstrong’s brother, Kevin’s uncle.
“Actually”—I turn to Mara—“I think I am gonna go home instead. I’m not feeling great, honestly.”
“Really, what’s wrong?” Mara asks, her voice genuinely concerned.
“Nothing, I just—” But I don’t finish, because I’m literally backing away from them. I turn to look only once, and they both stand there watching me.
Mara raises her arm to wave, and yells, “I’ll call you!”
I start running after I round the corner, my head pounding harder and faster with each footfall, my whole body in this cold sweat. By the time I make it home I’m so nauseous I’m actually crying. I run into the bathroom and am instantly on the floor kneeling in front of the toilet, gasping for air.
I lie down on the couch after, not even bothering to take my coat off.
I close my eyes.
The next thing I know, my mom is leaning over me, touching my forehead with the back of her hand. “She sick?” I hear Dad ask as he tosses his keys down on the kitchen table.
“Edy?” Mom puts her freezing hands on my cheeks—it feels so good. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
“I guess so,” I mumble.
“Well, let’s get your coat off, here.” She puts her arm around my back to help me up. And I wish more than anything that she would just hug me right now. But she pulls my arms out of my coat instead.
“I threw up,” I tell her.
“Did you eat something weird today?” she asks.
“No.” In fact, I didn’t eat anything today. I was too busy trying to figure out that Cameron guy during lunch break to actually eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I packed for myself.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” She stands and looks down at me like she really is. “Why don’t you go get in your pajamas, and I’ll make you some soup, okay?”
“Okay,” I answer.
I go into my room to get changed, careful not to stare too hard at the fading gray bruises that still line my thighs. Careful not to dwell too long on the bruises on my hip bones and ribs. They’ll be gone soon, anyway. I pull on my pajama bottoms and button the matching flannel shirt all the way up to my neck to hide the remnants of bruises still on my collarbone.
“Chicken noodle?” Mom calls out from the kitchen as I take my seat at the table.
Before I can answer, she sets a cup of steaming tea down in front of me.
I don’t actually feel like soup at all, chicken noodle or any other kind. But she has this big smile on her face, like the kind she would always get running around after Caelin. I think she must like having someone to take care of, something concrete to do for me.
“Yeah, chicken noodle,” I agree, in spite of my churning stomach.
“Okay. You drink that,” she tells me, pointing at the tea.
I nod.
Dad sits down at the table across from me. Making his hands a tent, he says, “Yep. Some kinda bug going around, I guess.”
If only I were sick all the time, things might feel a little more normal around here.
THE NEXT WEEK WEsit with our brown-bagged lunches at the table I reserved in the back of the library. Mara takes the seat directly next to Cameron, instead of me. His arm accidentally brushes against hers, and I watch as she turns slightly toward him. I can tell from here he’s not actually into her. And that makes me feel too good.
“So, Lunch-Break Book Club is a democracy,” Miss Sullivan begins as she wheels a book cart over to the table. “I pulled a number of books that we have at least six copies of in the library. I think the way to start is for each of us to pick a book that we’d like to read and then we can put it to a vote. Sound good?”
