chapter eleven

A few days later, clumps of Kristina’s hair continue to fall out. Huge clumps. Soon, there are only a few strands on her head. It would be almost comical if it weren’t so heartbreaking. Finally, one day I hear her in the bathroom. There’s buzzing. The razor. When Kristina comes out, her head is round and shiny and bare. She looks smaller. Mom follows behind her, wringing her hands in front of her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Kristina doesn’t smile anymore when I go to her room to see her. She doesn’t get out of bed unless she has to. Her energy is low and her mood lower. She sleeps or stares at the wall, her back to the door. Sometimes I hear the TV that Mom went out and bought for her room, breaking her rule that TVs should never be allowed in bedrooms. There are exceptions.

She won’t answer the phone or talk to anyone who calls, yet it seems like the phone is constantly ringing for her. Mom talks to the mothers who call for their worried daughters and soon the daughters start calling for Mom to hear how Kristina is doing. Mom lies.

Jeremy pops over every day after school though and he’s pretty much the only person Kristina talks to.

When he leaves, she locks her bedroom door and only comes out when Mom forces her to eat. She refuses the laptop and all her friends at school keep telling me she hasn’t been online since she’s been home.

Mom is becoming more and more freaked, which makes for a very clean house and lots of running miles on her newest sneakers. The house overflows with freshly made healthy snacks but Kristina isn’t interested in food. Only enough to keep Mom off her back.

I don’t know how Dad feels about the dark cloud hanging over our house, because he’s usually gone to work when I get up in the morning and isn’t home until after supper or even later if he’s golfing. He’s avoiding Kristina, which makes me furious, but I don’t have an outlet for my anger.

Hiding in my own room pretending to be busy with studying, it’s all about trying to draw, fiddling with the volcano, trying to complete the image that is trapped in my brain. It’s like there’s a fly buzzing in my head. I reach for it, flail at it, try to trap it, but can’t quite capture it. When I’m not failing at sketching, I’m book binging. I’ve read a full fantasy trilogy since Kristina came home and Melissa stopped being my best friend.

Strangely, I’m also the one becoming a computer addict now. I have more friends on Facebook than Kristina does. Almost every person at school has added me. My notoriety has more to do with Kristina than me, but it still blows me away how everyone is writing things on my wall, asking me questions, and sending me virtual flowers and funny questionnaires.

It’s a weird mix of intimacy and anonymity, having virtual friends. I finally get the whole attraction to the Internet thing. Having conversations online is easier; so is hiding behind a mouse and the keys on my keyboard.

One morning when I’m online, my chat window opens and pings. Nick E wants to chat. I hold in a scream and turn the computer off, my heart racing as if I’ve been caught unwrapping all the gifts under the Christmas tree on December 24.

When I get to school, I keep my head down in real time, but people I hardly recognize call my name and say hi, like I’m a friggin’ celebrity because my sister has cancer. Kristina’s friends hunt me down for daily updates and I grit my teeth and lie. Tell them she’s fine.

I’m standing at my locker feeling all alone and missing the idea of Melissa being there waiting for me like she used to, wishing for a real live friend, when Clark walks up to my side.

“Hey,” he says.

My hero.

“Superman.” I greet him with a smile.

He grins and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “At your service, Lois Lane.”

He waits for me and then we walk down the hallway together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Melissa is nowhere in sight, but the ghost of her presence weighs on my mind. I wonder if she’s watching from a distance. What she thinks about me and Clark hanging out. If she knows that some guys aren’t scary. Some guys make really good friends.

I wonder if she hates me.

We pass Nick in the hall and I wave, determined to pretend it wasn’t me who shut off the computer when his name came up on chat. Nick lifts his hand, but turns and leans down and says something into the ear of a blond standing beside him. Bree Silver.

When Clark and I enter Mr. Meekers’s room, he eyeballs me and calls me to his desk where he’s sitting, reading a book. He stands and speaks down to me in a quiet voice, presumably so the other kids rolling into class or already seated can’t hear our conversation.

“We need to have a serious talk, Miss Smith. I heard you’ve been skipping classes?” He gives me an evil stare but doesn’t crack me. “I’ve been pulling for you to become an esteemed member of the Honor Society, but the selection committee is very strict. We can’t make exceptions for you if you’re not meeting the requirements.” He clears his throat and stands taller. “And I haven’t seen you up on any of the volunteer lists.”

My heart skips a beat. I want to defend myself. I want to give him the full, lengthy explanation. Bullet-point my excuses. It’s not my fault. It’s Kristina’s fault. Her and her stupid cancer. My parents don’t care. No one is worried about me. Or what I want. It’s all her. I want to tell him I’d join the committees and volunteer, but between trying to cram in school work, dealing with my sister, my Mom, and my absentee father, I don’t have time.

I open my mouth to defend myself but close it.

Images play in my head. Kristina throwing up on the first day of chemo. Her heartbreaking face, trying to be brave, but so afraid. I see her bald head and hear her tell me how she liked being pretty. As if pretty is forever a past tense for her. I hear her ask if I think she’s smart. I’ve always had smart. I own it. Even if Mr. Meekers won’t see it.

I stand tall and almost look him directly in the eye. He’s only got an inch or two on me. I still have smarts. I know that. Even if the Honor Society faculty advisor doesn’t. I take a deep breath and make a final deal with God.

I give up the Honor Society. Just please let my sister be okay.

I guess my priorities decided to shift without my even wanting them too.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Meekers,” I tell him. “But my sister is sick. And right now, that’s the most important thing.”

Well, that and the Oswald Drawing Prize, but I can’t even talk to him about it or consult him about my problems with the sketch because he sucks as an art teacher. And a faculty advisor.

I take my seat as he glares at me, but eventually his eyes glaze over. He ignores me and instructs the entire class to get to work on our clay projects. He doesn’t leave his seat once to offer anyone advice or assistance on their work. He ignores the buzz of conversation as long as it stays at a reasonable volume. Mr. Meekers doesn’t bother with dirty details like involvement with his students. He’s an ass. An ass who is not on my side.

I wonder if the lines are dividing everywhere.