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ONE THING WAS VERY clear after band practice: Cassie was one of the only kids who walked in not having a clue how to play their instrument. She’d never even put it in her mouth until that day.
Some of the kids stored their instruments in the closet, but Cassie carried her clarinet home. She had one task this weekend: learn how to play.
She reassembled it in the dining room, checking to make sure she had all the parts right. She picked up the reed and hesitated. Her dad had helped this morning. She wasn’t exactly sure how to put it in.
“I can help,” Emily said, leaning in the doorway. “Daddy showed me earlier this week. I know how.”
It grated on Cassie’s nerves to accept Emily’s help, but she nodded. “Okay.”
Emily showed her how to moisten it and fit it in the holder. She gave her some more instructions, but Cassie shrugged her off. “I can take it from here.”
She spent the next hour practicing blowing, making sure the sound coming out was on pitch. Then she pulled out the little lesson book inside the case. Following the finger drawings, she began playing notes. Even to her ears they sounded awkward and off-key, but she kept going.
When her dad got home an hour later, she was still practicing.
“Hey, that sounds good,” he said, loosening his tie and dropping his briefcase by the piano. “Do you need help?”
“No.” She smiled under his praise, then touched her lips, trying to bring some feeling back into them. Her whole mouth ached from the constant playing. “This is going to take some work.”
“But we did great for our first day.” He picked his briefcase back up. “Keep practicing.”
Cassie did, determined to be prepared for next Friday. She gave it several hours on Saturday, then one hour on Monday after school. By the time she got home from Girls’ Club on Tuesday, she was too tired to give it a full hour, but she still gave it half an hour.
Wednesday she assembled the clarinet and then sat on the piano bench, staring at it. She just didn’t feel it today.
“I’ve been practicing hard for days,” Cassie told the piano. “I can take a break today.” She put the clarinet down on the ground and went to her room.
She was laying on her bed reading when her dad knocked on the open door.
“Did you get your homework done?” he asked.
She rolled over. She could hear Emily on the piano in the dining room, the high notes pinging around Cassie’s head and making her ears ring. A headache whispered at the corners of her brain, threatening to take over. “Yeah. Now I’m just reading.”
“I saw your clarinet out by the piano.”
“Oh. I forgot to put it away.” She didn’t move from the bed, though. Her eyes felt heavy, and she suddenly wanted to sleep.
“How long did you practice for?”
“I didn’t.” His image blurred in front of her, and Cassie took her glasses off to make sure they weren't dirty. “I’m pretty tired today.”
“You won’t improve if you don’t practice, Cassie. You can’t afford to take a break.”
Cassie pressed a hand to her face and lay back on the bed. “I’m just really tired.”
Her dad left the doorway. Cassie closed her eyes and went to sleep.
a
She woke up in the morning with her head swimming. Her eyes didn’t want to open, but she heard Emily and Scott fighting in the bathroom. She yanked herself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.
“Guys, be quiet!” she snapped in a harsh whisper. “You’ll wake Mom!” Her head throbbed and her neck ached. She grabbed a toothbrush and sat down on the floor to brush, too exhausted to stay on her feet. Scaredy padded in next to her and whimpered, his tail giving a little thump. She realized she hadn’t taken him outside during the night. Cassie groaned.
“You’re gonna miss the bus,” Emily said, pulling her light brown hair into a ponytail.
“What time is it? My alarm didn’t go off!” Cassie hauled herself to her feet. She grabbed the sink and held herself there as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
“Yes, it did,” Emily said. “You just didn’t get up.” She walked out of the bathroom.
“And you didn’t wake me?” Cassie called after her. She ran to her room and threw on a t-shirt, then yanked on a pair of jeans. Her mom would have to take care of Scaredy.
The front door opened and closed, and Cassie forced herself to move faster. If she missed the bus, she’d be in so much trouble. She grabbed her backpack from the foot of the bed and rushed out the door.
The cold air hit her like a million sharp needles, piercing her skin and cutting through her jacket. Cassie barely had a chance to register the temperature because she saw the bus already pulling up to the top of the hill. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She wasn’t going to make it. Her side was already cramping.
“Wait for me!” she gasped out.
“Come on, come on,” Kathy, the bus driver, said as Cassie stumbled to the open door.
She climbed on and collapsed in the first empty seat, which happened to be next to Emily. Cassie leaned her head against the seat and groaned.
“I made her hold the bus for you,” Emily said. “I told her you were coming.”
Cassie’s eyes did not want to open. She squinted at Emily. “Thanks.” She closed her eyes again. The bus jerked to a stop, and Cassie’s eyes popped open. “What happened?”
“We’re here.” Emily gave her a sympathetic look. “You slept the whole way.”
“Oh.” She widened her eyes, trying to make them stop burning. She slipped her arm through her backpack and followed Emily off the bus.
a
“How long have you been itching this spot on your head, Cassie?”
“Hm?” Cassie looked at Ms. Dawson and stopped scratching her forehead. She stood in line with her class, waiting to leave the cafeteria after lunch. “Oh. I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Ms. Wade, come here, please.” Ms. Dawson beckoned to one of the other fifth grade teachers.
“What is it?” Ms. Wade asked, coming over.
“Look at this.” Ms. Dawson pushed back Cassie’s hair. “That spot on her forehead. She keeps scratching it.”
“Well.” Ms. Wade frowned. Cassie felt like a goldfish, the way the two women stared at her head. “What do you think it is?”
“How are you feeling, Cassie?” Ms. Dawson asked.
“Horrible,” Cassie admitted. “I’m really tired and have a headache.”
“Do you think it’s the chicken pox?” Ms. Wade murmured, looking sideways at Ms. Dawson.
“I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it.” They both frowned at Cassie.
Cassie digested their words without comment. She’d heard of the chicken pox. Her mom had it when she was a girl, but Cassie had been vaccinated as a kid. She was pretty sure that meant she would never get the disease.
Ms. Dawson pressed the back of her hand against Cassie’s forehead. “She doesn’t feel feverish.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon.” Ms. Wade gave Cassie one last glance and returned to her class.
“Let me know if you start to feel sick, all right?”
Cassie nodded. She already felt sick, and she was pretty sure she’d said that, but maybe she needed to feel sicker.
She spent the rest of the day trying to keep her head up. Her eyelids drooped every time she started reading, and her head nodded while she tried to write out her answers. She couldn’t focus on anything Ms. Dawson said, and she spent recess sitting on the sidewalk, bundled in her winter coat and her arms wrapped around herself.
Finally the bell rang signaling the end of school. Cassie moved as fast as she could from the classroom to the bus circle just so she could get on the bus first. She picked a seat by the window and leaned her head against it. Her vision blurred, and Cassie closed her eyes.
a
“Are you okay, Cassie?” her mom asked as Cassie dragged her feet in the door.
“No,” she replied, too tired to mince words. “I’m going to bed.” She dropped her backpack by the piano and went down the hall, not waiting for an answer. The pillow called her name. Her stomach tumbled over on itself, churning and grumbling. She wrapped her arms around her torso and curled up.
Cassie woke up, a bit groggy, her throat aching. She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept. Her eyes slitted open. The weak light filtering through the blinds gave away that the day was ending, with night fast encroaching. Cassie sat up, her head heavy like it was full of cotton.
This end of the house was silent. She slipped out of bed and followed the murmur of voices to the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, though, so she sat down on the living room couch and watched her family eat.
Her mom noticed her first. “Hi, Cassie. Are you feeling any better?”
Cassie shrugged. “I think so.” As long as she was sitting down, anyway, she didn’t feel too bad. She lay down on the couch and rested her head on the armrest. She had an itch on her foot but was too tired to bend down and scratch it. She wiggled her toes, twisting her foot around to relieve the sensation.
If anything, the need only increased. Like a bunch of little ants walking in circles on the sole of her foot. And now they were tickling her with their little jaws.
Cassie grabbed her toes and tilted her foot so she could see the bottom. No little ants. She did notice, however, a tiny drop of water. She touched it with her finger and pulled her foot away. It wasn’t water, but a small blister, and the moment she’d touched it, the itching had doubled. Now more than anything she just wanted to dig her fingers into that little blister and scratch it off. The first vestiges of panic crept up her chest. What was that? Leftovers from an ant attack? The beginnings of leprosy?
“Mom!” she called. “There’s something weird on my foot!”
Her mom looked over from the table and frowned. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Cassie swallowed, trying to keep her voice calm. “Come see.”
Her mom put her fork down, and the whole family stared as she made her way to Cassie. “It’s all right, sweetie. What’s on your foot?”
Cassie twisted her foot around so the bottom of it faced her mom. Then she held her breath as her mom’s fingers traced the outlines of the tiny blister. It tickled and itched painfully, all at the same time. Then her mom’s finger trailed down her foot and paused near the heel. The same sensation occurred, thought slightly less sensitive now.
“What are you doing?” Cassie pushed herself up so she could watch.
“You didn’t notice this one, did you?”
“There are two?” Her heart skipped a beat.
“It’s the chicken pox, Cassie. I’m pretty sure you’ve got the chicken pox.”
