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Springtime. I’ve always loved the spring. And today’s going to be perfect. It’s the senior trip today. Time to get myself up and out of bed.
Ow.
I reach over to find my phone, knocking my clock off the nightstand in the process. What time is it?
“That you, Mia?”
Marco? What’s he doing home? Ever since he started working for that pharmaceutical company, he’s been too busy to ever come by. That and the fact that he and Dad hate each other.
There’s a soft knock on my door, and he lets himself in. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I try to sit up, surprised to discover that I’m dizzy. “What’s going on?”
“I’m home for the weekend,” he says then adds, “Doctor’s orders,” while flashing me a grin. Doctor’s orders? What’s that supposed to mean?
“Headache?” he asks, holding out two pills and a cup of water.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“You were kind of out of it yesterday,” he says. “I thought you might wake up a little groggy, so I wanted to be ready.”
“Where’s Mom?”
He lets out a chuckle. “What do you mean where’s Mom? She went to the cabin.”
“For the trip?” That doesn’t make any sense. I’m supposed to be there. I’m supposed to be on that class trip. Mom would have never left without me.
Marco takes the cup back and sets it on my end table. “Mom wanted to stay here and take care of you, but you said it’d be better if she went so at least the rest of your friends could have a good time.” He waits for the words to sink in. “You really don’t remember?”
I shake my head, and he laughs once more. “Well, what’d I always tell you about all that studying you do? You finally went and rotted your brain. Want to get up? I can make you some breakfast. How’s French toast sound?”
I’m still trying to get past the part in the conversation where he told me Mom went to the cabin on my senior trip without me.
“What day is it?” I ask.
“Saturday,” he answers. “I told Mom if you were feeling better by this afternoon, I’d drive you up to the lake myself. Why don’t you get up? Maybe you just need a little breakfast. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
He shuts my bedroom door behind him, and I sit blinking. I missed my senior trip? Wouldn’t I remember that? Every time I move, my head aches. Maybe I really am sicker than I thought. Marco said something about breakfast, but the thought of food sends my stomach swirling in a sea of nausea.
I reach out for my cell phone, then remember that I couldn’t find it on my night table just a few seconds earlier. Maybe I knocked it over when I upset the clock. I’d get down on my hands and knees to look for it, but I’m not sure my brain could handle that much jostling. Every time I move my body, it feels like a bolt of lightning is surging through my retinas and burning the back of my skull. I’m so tired. How long have I been asleep?
It takes forever, but I finally manage to get myself dressed and head down the hall. I’m surprised to hear Dad’s voice on the phone in his office. What’s he doing home? He never takes the weekends off.
I navigate the stairwell as carefully as I can. Each step I take feels like someone’s taking a jackhammer to my head, sending my brain ricocheting against the back of my skull. I can hardly see my feet on the stairs.
Thankfully, Marco appears a few feet in front of me and eyes me with concern. “You doing okay?” He jumps up the last few steps and puts my arm through his to support me the rest of the way down the stairwell. I can’t remember a time he’s done anything like this before.
When I reach the kitchen, there’s already a plate of French toast and cut strawberries. The can of whipped cream sits beside a steaming cup of coffee. I don’t have the heart to tell Marco I doubt I can stomach any of this. He obviously went through a lot of work. For a second, I wonder if Mom’s paying him to be nice to me since I missed my senior trip. That would be one way to explain his unusual attentiveness.
“What’s Dad doing home?” I ask as my brother sits beside me and digs into his own piled-up plate.
Marco shrugs. “Work. What else?”
We don’t say anything for a few minutes while I pick at my food. Nobody in the family is as good a cook as Mom, but the French toast isn’t bad. I’m pretty sure I’m hungry. If I could get past the nausea, I’d probably enjoy being spoiled like this by my big brother.
“After breakfast, you want to watch a movie?” Marco asks.
“Sure.” I’d be up for a romcom, but I’m pretty sure Marco will want to pick something with action and superheroes. I just hope the explosions and fight scenes aren’t too loud. I don’t think my brain can handle that.
My stomach isn’t so sure about the coffee, but my brain perks up after my first few sips. If I can make my way through the entire mug, maybe I’ll be able to function. Marco has already finished his food and jumps up to clear the table.
“Take your time,” he tells me, “and when you’re ready, we’ll get a movie started. Have you seen Ant-Man and the Wasp yet?”
“No,” I answer. “Is it any good?”