I snap back from the door. The hairs on my arms and legs stand on end. It will kill me. The thought of Mom dying, too, is so scary I can’t breathe.
It takes me a few moments to figure out what to do. Then I head for Eric’s office.… Miss Weber always says that if you find yourself in trouble, find someone in charge to help you. But when I get to Eric’s office, he’s not there. I climb onto Eric’s chair. Next to the phone is a list of numbers, and I choose the one that says “Eric’s Cell.” As it rings in my ear, I look through the crack in the door. Rosie is arranging everyone’s medicine in baskets on the cart. I want to scream, What are you doing? Didn’t you hear Mom say that something was going to kill her? Then I hear a deep breath on the other end of the phone. “Eric speaking.”
“Eric!”
“Yes.” A pause. “Who is this?”
“It’s me,” I say. “Clementine.”
“Clementine? What are you doing in my office? Where’s your mother? Is everything all right?”
“No,” I say in a small voice. “Nothing is all right.”
“Clementine, honey, is your mother there?” he says.
“No!” I say. “I mean, yes. But you can’t talk to her. Eric, I need your help.” I take a deep breath. “Rosie said she has to lock Anna and Luke’s doors, but Mom said she doesn’t want to. She says, if she does lock them … it will kill her! And I don’t want her to die. So can’t we just unlock the doors? Please?”
I’m breathing hard now, but Eric is quiet. I wonder if he’s still there.
Eric is quiet for a few seconds, which makes me nervous.
But finally, he says, “Why don’t you sit tight, Clementine, and I’ll be right there? Then we can sort this whole thing out.”
*
The doorbell rings as soon as I put down the phone. Wow. Eric must have run the whole way. I zoom out of the office past Bert (who makes a noise like geez or sheesh or something), past Rosie and her medicine cart, and don’t stop until I get to the door.
“Eric,” I say, throwing the door open. “Thank you for—”
I freeze.
“Clementine, is your mother home?” Miranda’s mom says, and then just pushes past me into the house. Miranda’s mom is really fat, and her cheeks are pink from the cold. As I close the door behind us, I start to worry. What is she doing here? Did Miranda tell her about our fight this morning? She keeps walking farther into the house, staring at everything she passes—the lamp, the vase, the walkers lined up in a row.
Finally Mom appears. “Andrea.” Mom’s face goes pale. For a few seconds, I wait for her to say something, but Mom just stares at her like she’s a talking goose.
“I got your address from the class list,” Miranda’s mom says. “I’m here to talk to you about your daughter. Today was the third time she hurt my daughter, and I wanted to let you know I’m putting in an official request to have her removed from the school.”
Mom looks at me.
“I didn’t hurt Miranda!” I say. “I promise, Mom.”
“Don’t lie,” Miranda’s mom says. She gets up close to my face, and her mouth is mean. “I saw Miranda’s knee, it has a huge bruise. You tripped her.”
“I didn’t,” I say. “She tripped herself.”
Miranda’s mom opens her mouth again, but Mom steps between us. “You heard Clem,” she says angrily. “Miranda tripped herself. And I’ll ask you not speak to my daughter. Speak to me.”
I want to hug Mom. Mom doesn’t usually speak angrily to other grown-ups. I try to catch her eye to smile, but she just stares at Miranda’s mom.
“How about I speak to you about this address you provided to the school, then?” Miranda’s mom says. She starts to walk again, peering around the corner at a row of walkers. “Since this is obviously not your house.”
Mom doesn’t move, but her face changes. No one says anything for a while.
“It’s a residential care facility,” I say, to fill the silence. “Mom is the cook. We live in an apartment. It’s small and brown, and there’s a pizza shop right underneath!”
Miranda’s mom was still looking at the parlor, but now she spins around. There’s a moment of silent grown-up language, where they speak with their eyes instead of their mouths.
“So you don’t live here?” she says to Mom. She’s smiling a little, but it’s not a nice smile. It’s a tricky smile. “Do you even live in the school district?”
I start to wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing.
“No,” Mom says. “We don’t. After Richard died, I couldn’t afford a place in the area, and I didn’t want to move Clem from a school she loved after she’d already lost so much. But the good news is, thanks to your daughter, Clem doesn’t love her school all that much anymore.” I watch Mom, but she doesn’t look at me. “Now that I think of it, I should also thank you. Thank you for being such a narrow-minded, mean-spirited bitch. Thank you for having such a mean-spirited bitch for a daughter. It will make the move so much easier.”
I gasp and so does Miranda’s mom. “Bitch” is a bad word. And there’s another noise, too—a scream. There’s a crash, like glass breaking, and Mom turns and sprints down the hallway. At the same time, the door opens. And Eric walks in.
44
Anna