“Where’d you meet him?” he asks, raising a cracker to my lips. I turn my head away.
“I don’t think I can eat that,” I say with a grimace. “My throat feels like I swallowed rocks.”
“You might have,” he says, popping the cracker into his own mouth. He finishes chewing and looks at me thoughtfully.
“So … he’s from Manortown? Or someplace else?”
He’s not going to let up, and I really am not mentally up for creating a backstory. I push the tray with the soup away and close my eyes.
“I don’t know, Ben,” I say. “I just met him. And I’m really tired and everything hurts.”
“Sorry.” He sounds chagrined. “Just looking out for you, St. Clair. Somebody’s got to do it.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him the position is already taken.
19
Family
The next two days go by in a blur of pain, then pain medication, then sleep. At least it was my left arm that caught the brunt of it. I can still type one-handed, so I do. I finish Ms. Eversor’s ghost assignment. My mom dropped it by the school and returned with homework for English lit. My calculus homework sits on top of the pile by my bed, but I can’t bring myself to do it yet.
Luckily, my phone somehow landed on the bridge and didn’t get run over by the psychopath in the car, so I can at least play some games and surf the Internet. Mom is adamant about me not having visitors for a few days, so I’m starting to get really bored now that I’m awake more. It’s only Wednesday and she wants me “quiet and resting” until Friday. My left shoulder is a sickly purple and green, and I can’t move it much. We’ve cut back the medication, and now I’m only taking it at night, since my shoulder stiffens up while I sleep.
I finally get tired of lying in bed. I run a brush through my hair and walk downstairs in search of food.
“Danny, I mean it,” my mother’s voice warns from the kitchen. “You need to calm down.”
I walk into the family room to see Danny standing with his hands in tight fists, making a face at my mother’s back.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Danny doesn’t want chicken,” Mom answers, running a hand across the back of her neck. “And I thought we had more macaroni, but we’re out.”
“I want macaRONI!” Danny shouts.
“We don’t have any right now. I have to go to the store,” my mom tries to explain, for what’s probably the fifth or sixth time. She looks tired, and I realize very suddenly that she probably is.
“Hey, Danny,” I say. “What if I make you a grilled cheese?”
“I want macaroni!” he repeats, refusing to budge an inch. Time to break out the psychological warfare.
“Fine. I’m going to make myself a grilled cheese and you don’t get to have one.” I stick my nose up in the air, and I walk toward the kitchen.
“No!” He tries to stop me. “I want a grilled cheese.”
“I don’t know…,” I say, as if I’m considering it.
“You make me a grilled cheese,” he says emphatically. Then he remembers his manners. “Please, Jessa?”
I give him a begrudging look. “Okay. Just this once.”
He leaves the room to go watch a DVD, and I saunter into the kitchen.
“Crisis averted.” I open the cupboard, reaching in for the griddle.
“Let me do that,” my mom says. “And what are you doing up?”
“I’m getting a backache from lying in bed all day.” I lean against the counter and look at her. “Have you even sat down since you got off work?”
She laughs. “No. When do I ever get to sit down?” She goes back to stirring her fry pan full of chicken and vegetables, and I reach across, taking the wooden spoon out of her hand.
“Since now. Go sit down and relax. I can stir chicken and make a grilled cheese.”
“I don’t want you hurting your arm,” she says.
“I don’t use my left arm to flip grilled cheese.” I tilt my head toward the living room. “Sounds like Danny’s watching The Incredibles.”
She looks torn. “I love The Incredibles.”
“I know you do. Go sit on the couch and watch the movie. Or open up a book for ten minutes. I’ve got this.”
“Okay … if you say so.”
“I say so.” I point toward the couch with the wooden spoon.
She gives me a silly sort of half-smile and then hugs me carefully. Then she runs a hand over my hair.
“Why don’t you call your friend Flynn?”
“Finn.”
“Sorry. Why don’t you tell him to come over? Or give Ben a call?”
“You mean it?” She nods and I perk up immediately, giving her a smile as I butter bread for Danny’s grilled cheese. She peels the cheese slices from their plastic wrappers, laying them out for me.
“Enough, Mom. Go sit down.”
“Okay. But watch that arm.”