“I am,” I said. “I’m just not feeling well, okay?” I snapped. “I’m allowed not to feel well. Even the president of the United States gets sick.”
She rolled her eyes and brought her empty plate to the sink. I held my breath as she slid the dishwasher tray out and placed it onto one of the clawed racks. “If you say so.” I ogled my sister, remembering how she used to draw me pictures anytime I had so much as a cough. Hello, new teenage attitude. “Have you told Mom yet?”
“Told Mom what?” My mom appeared from the dining room. She wore dark jeans and jeweled flats with a crisp white top. She sat her purse on the countertop and started digging through it. I nearly lost my composure when I saw her. What would she say if she knew?
I couldn’t bear the disappointment.
“Cassidy says she’s not going to school today.” Honor tossed her long hair behind one shoulder. I forced myself to remember that Honor knew nothing. This new mood of hers was probably just about those stupid pictures I deleted from her phone. I supposed I should be happy that my sister didn’t know what real problems were.
Mom stopped digging to look at me. A crease formed between her eyebrows and I recognized the return of the worried look, the one that held the smallest bit of mistrust and an even larger dose of frustration. “What’s wrong?” Finding her car keys, she dropped them on the counter. “Are you sick? Because you know if you can just wait it out there’s a three-day weekend coming up. Maybe you can catch up on your rest then.”
I pulled the sleeves of my shirt down over my hands. They were shaking even harder now. I hugged myself. “I think I’m coming down with something. Really, I just don’t think I should go today. Is that all right?”
All the while I kept replaying one sentence: There’s a dead body in the yard, there’s a dead body in the yard, there’s a dead body in the yard.
“I hate you missing more school, Cassidy.” The corners of her mouth turned down. I saw her shoulders sag with them. “I already agreed to volunteer for Junior League today. But…” She dug for her cell phone. “I suppose I can cancel. Just let me call Mary Beth and—”
Too far, I thought. If I overplayed the illness, I risked getting stuck with Mom guarding my bed and a never-ending supply of chili while she tried to get me to sweat whatever “it” was out of me. “Stop, Mom. It’s okay. I’m seventeen. I don’t need you to cancel your plans for me.” I sucked in a deep breath and channeled the old Cassidy, the one that she trusted. “Actually, I wouldn’t even be missing school at all.” I rested my elbows on the kitchen island casually. “But we have that big game with Lamar on Friday and I absolutely can’t be sick then. The girls have been working really hard.”
There was a spark of appreciation in her eyes. “Maybe a little too hard,” she said with a knowing tilt of her head. But I could tell how secretly pleased she was. Oilerettes. Big game. Working hard. When it came to the daughter who cared, these signs were the trifecta. She immediately began to buzz around the kitchen, morphing into a mom who was concerned for all the normal reasons instead of a mom whose daughter was spiraling into a bottomless pit of depression. “You’ll be missing practice then,” she said as she pulled out a bottle of vitamins from a cabinet. It wasn’t a question. With a pang, I remembered the almost-coup waiting for me at practice and wanted to argue.
Instead I gave her a weak smile and held up my hand while she poured two chewable vitamins into my palm. “The girls will be fine without me. Who knows, maybe I’ll even give them the day off. I’ll catch up on my work Monday when we have off school. Promise.”
Mom leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Fine, you girls all take the day off then. That’d be nice of you. Now go back to bed.” She pointed a finger at me and lightly touched my nose. My insides throbbed.
I climbed the stairs, dreading being closed up in a room that now felt like a crime scene, even if it was just for a short time. At a glance, nothing in my room looked out of place. The ceiling fan whirred overhead. Light spilled in through the shutters and bounced off the glass of my vanity.
But when I pulled back the sheet, the smears of blood jumped out. Sharp red and unmistakable. My vision swam. In the daytime, the stains were more visible. It now looked as if I’d spent the night rolling around in a slaughterhouse.
There was a light knock on the door. I covered the gore with my duvet and spun to face the entry. A creak and then Honor’s face poked through.
She had her backpack slung over one shoulder. Her long hair fell in angelic curtains around her face. “Sorry you’re sick,” she said. “Text me if you want me to bring you anything on the way home. Assuming you manage to dodge Mom’s chili.”
And just like that, my kid sister was back. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll text you.”