Eggy’s chuckle comes out as a snort. “Hey, dere,” she puts in. “I thinka we needa to senda you backa to Crazytown.”
Flatso wipes the tears from her face. “Hey, dere. You guys are so sweet that we’ll have to forgive you for butchering those Italian accents.”
I shook my head. “I know. That was terrible. I’m sorry!”
“Hey, dere. Give me a hug, you coconuts,” Brainzilla says, and we pile on for a big arm-fest. “You’re a good friend,” she says into my hair.
“I’m not,” I reply. “I’m always all wrapped up in my own problems.”
Brainzilla and I look at each other.
“Who said that?” Eggy calls.
“It’s me,” says a familiar voice. “Zitsy.”
“Zitsy!” Flatso cries. She unbars the door and swings it open. Zitsy is sitting on a sink. “What are you doing in the girls’ bathroom? You can’t be in here!”
“Bathrooms have no secrets from me,” Zitsy says. “Unfortunately.”
Chapter 39
THAT’S OUR ZITSY
I just feel like the bad guys are winning,” Zitsy says. “I feel it just eating away at me, the way Drano eats away at a hair clog. I just walk around all day, wondering why someone like Jenna is rich, while Brainzilla has to work her ass off—”
Tears fill his eyes, and Flatso hands him a long strand of toilet paper. Zitsy’s crying so much I’m afraid we might need a boat to get out of this girls’ room.
“Thank you.” Zitsy blows his nose. “And Bloom is mean to everyone, but it’s Kooks who gets sent to a mental hospital. A mental hospital! Are you kidding me?” He looks at Eggy. “And then I think about those guys who called you names—”
“Don’t,” Eggy says, putting up her arms.
“They treated you like you were a piece of garbage! But they’re the garbage!” And Zitsy dissolves into tears.
Hana has her arms wrapped around her shins and her face pressed against her knees. Her back shakes a bit, and I rub my hand over her soft sweater.
“I just don’t know how much more I can stand!” Zitsy wails, and bursts into tears all over again.
“It’s good that you can share your feelings,” Brainzilla tells him.
“Yeah, Zitsy,” Flatso agrees. “I guess that’s why they always say ‘you’re such a girl.’ ”
“That’s why we love you,” I add, but it’s too late—he’s already offended.
“I’m a total guy,” Zitsy insists. “I’m gonna be a plumber, for god’s sake.”
“That’s the other reason we love you,” I tell him. “Everybody needs a good plumber.”
Chapter 40
TERROR, INC.
I barely register being in math class. I have no idea what Mrs. Rosewater is saying. Usually, being a Terror Teacher, she loves to call on people who seem sleepy or spaced out. But I spend the entire class with my eyes glazed, just staring out the window, and she doesn’t call on me once, or even tell me to pay attention.
I watch a squirrel leap from branch to branch, shaking snow to the white ground with every step. Some of it blows away in the wind, like a ghost.
The bell rings, and I snap back into this world. I gather up my books and think I’m about to get out alive when Mrs. Rosewater says, “Margaret, would you please stay a moment?”
This is it, I think as I walk up to her desk. She’s going to scream at me for not paying attention, take points off my grade, report me to Mr. Tool—
“I was so sorry to hear about Roberta’s passing,” Mrs. Rosewater says. She reaches for my hand. “She was my student, you know.”
And I’m thinking, Who’s Roberta? Who’s Roberta? And then it hits me—Mrs. Rosewater is talking about Mrs. Morris, and it catches me so off guard that tears spring to my eyes.
“She was always a very conscientious student—and very kind. Is someone taking care of Morris?”
“The dog?” I ask, and Mrs. Rosewater nods. Wow. Mrs. Morris and Mrs. Rosewater kept in touch? I’m so surprised that I actually answer her question. “I am. Well, and Marjorie, too. She and I are staying at the house together.”
“Ah! That’s good.” Mrs. Rosewater nods and squeezes my fingers. “Very good.”
“Well, DSS says I need someone to look after me,” I explain.
“Is that what’s going on?” Mrs. Rosewater laughs. “I wonder who will end up looking after whom.” She sighs. “Roberta would be so happy to know Marjorie is back at the house.”
“Were you good friends?” I ask.
“We would have coffee once in a while. I don’t know if she told you, but Roberta used to babysit my children back when I was her teacher.” She takes out a wallet and pulls a worn photo from it.
I’m fall-on-the-floor surprised. It’s her, a younger Mrs. Morris, and three kids. I never thought about Mrs. Rosewater being someone’s mother… or someone’s friend.
“She was so happy when you came to live with her,” Mrs. Rosewater tells me. “She worried about you, though.”
“I was lucky to have her,” I say. Then, seeing the concern on my teacher’s face, I add, “I’m really, honestly making progress. I’m doing the best I can.”
“I know that, Margaret.” Mrs. Rosewater is still holding my hand. Her fingers are warm. She doesn’t look away from me.
I have no idea what makes me do this, but I pull my diary out of my backpack. “Do you want to see something funny?” I ask her. “You have to promise not to tell Ms. Kellerman.”
Mrs. Rosewater rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t even tell that woman if her own pants were on fire. I’m certainly not going to go blabbing about you.”
Chapter 41
DEAR OLD MOM
The good thing about having something horrible happen is that you realize that people actually care about you. The bad thing is that having so much care and concern can feel a little overwhelming.
And all the concern at school is making me feel a little bit nutso at home. Having Marjorie around is only adding to the nuttiness factor.
For one thing, she keeps vampire hours: awake from twilight to sunrise, asleep most of the day. For another thing, she’s obsessed with the Home Shopping Network. She never buys anything—she just sits on the couch, hating on everything they bring out.
And to top things off, Morris the Dog makes her sneeze.
“I’m allergic to dander,” she explains.
So I walk Morris, and give him baths, and vacuum the house to get rid of dander. Marjorie takes care of the cooking. Neither one of us is very good at taking out the garbage. We’re managing, but I sometimes feel as if I’m hanging on by my fingernails.
Everyone’s so worried about my progress that I start to worry that I’m not making any. Am I? I did cry in Ms. Kellerman’s office, which can’t be good. And I’ve felt really shaky ever since the fight.…
Am I backsliding? Frontsliding? I never really thought I was crazy to begin with. What if I was? How would I know?
This is the kind of thinking that can turn you crazy, if you aren’t already.
If I were Brainzilla or Eggy, I could ask my mom if she ever felt this way and how she got through it. But I’m not them. I have no idea if my mom ever felt crazy. I only know the most basic stuff about her life.