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CASSIE SAT IN A FOLDING chair behind her dad, watching him pull up information on the internet. “But I thought the chicken pox was extinct,” she said.
“There’s a vaccine,” he said. He had taken Cassie downstairs and set up a temporary room for her, away from the other kids. “You got it, and so did you brother and sisters. But it doesn’t always work. Hopefully you’ll only have a mild case because of that.”
“And the others, will they get sick?”
“Maybe.” He pulled up several pictures of people’s faces covered in red sores, swollen lips, bruised ears.
“Ew!” Cassie recoiled. “Is that going to happen to me?”
He chuckled. “No. This is what used to happen in some extreme cases. Most people never got it this bad, even before the vaccine. You probably won’t have more than a couple of poxes.” He clicked on a few less dramatic images.
Cassie relaxed. The new images didn’t look so bad. “Do I have to miss school?” She made it sound like she’d be disappointed, but inside she envisioned a long vacation.
“I’m afraid so. You could still infect the kids that didn’t get vaccinated. Even the ones that did might get it.”
“Okay.” She kept her eyes lowered to conceal her glee. It didn't look like she’d get very sick, and she had to stay home to keep from infecting anyone else. A win-win situation.
“You should rest now,” her father told her. “Give your body a chance to fight this disease.”
“Sure.” Cassie stood up and bundled herself into the big blanket her mom had laid out on the cot. She curled up and closed her eyes, smiling as she imagined telling Riley. She doubted Riley had ever had the chicken pox.
a
Cassie’s mouth ached. Somewhere her body knew it was morning time, even though the basement room was dark, and the blankets covered her head. But she could barely move. Her tongue probed around her inner cheeks.
No, it didn’t just ache; it itched. She rubbed her cheeks with her tongue, trying to relieve the sensation. When that didn’t work, she reached a hand up and pushed her cheek against her teeth.
But that only brought to her attention that her hand itched. Cassie threw the blankets off her face and examined her arms. The same small white blisters dotted her exposed skin. She reached into the blankets and grabbed her foot. Flipping it over, Cassie searched for the little blisters. They were gone; in their places were round red sores. Just staring at them made her want to dig her fingers in and scratch.
She sucked in a breath, noting how her lips itched. Were these things on her face? Her fingers danced over her jaw and forehead, but all it did was increase the itching sensation.
She slung her legs over the side of the cot. Using the wall for support, Cassie made her way to the bathroom. The bright light assaulted her eyes, and she blinked several times before they adjusted and she could see.
There were three poxes on her face. She breathed a sigh of relief. It could definitely be worse. Her stomach tightened, and she leaned her head against the bathroom door. Standing took too much effort. She bent her knees and sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around her lower torso.
She didn’t feel so good.
“Mom,” she whispered. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Mom! Mom!” She really put effort into the last yell, trying to force the sound past her lips and up the stairs. She must’ve succeeded, because she heard the thumping of footsteps above her. Then they were on the stairs, and finally they reached the basement.
“Cassie?”
“Mom.” Cassie lifted her head enough to catch her mom’s attention. Her mom came over and squatted beside her, pressing her hands around Cassie’s face.
“How do you feel, honey?”
Cassie shook her head. She felt achy and sore. And her skin crawled like an invasion of invisible bugs.
“Let’s get you back into bed.” Her mom put an arm around her and scooped her to her feet. “I’ll bring you down some crackers and soup.”
Cassie did not want crackers and soup. She closed her eyes, too tired to say anything more. Her mom lay her down on the cot and tucked the blankets around her.
“Would you like me to put on a movie for you? Your dad set up a TV in here.”
Cassie lifted her eyes enough to see the small television resting on the folding chair, right in front of the cot. It was a thoughtful gesture on her dad’s part, and it warmed Cassie’s heart. But she couldn’t keep her eyes open. They felt like lead, and they wanted to close. She meant to answer her mom, but sleep beckoned her.
a
Her mom moved her daily projects downstairs and stayed close to Cassie. Annette came down a few times, but each time Mrs. Jones shooed her back upstairs. Cassie would wake up long enough to stare out at her mom through half-closed eyes, but then she’d drift back off just as quickly.
And then one time, she didn’t. “Mom. Mom!”
“I’m here, Cassie.” Mrs. Jones crouched next to the cot.
“I’m hungry,” Cassie said, chewing on the itchiness in her cheeks.
“I’ll warm up your soup and bring it right down.”
That soup sounded wonderful now. Cassie pushed herself into a sitting position in anticipation. Her hands wandered to her legs, mindlessly scratching, then up to her neck, then her elbow.
“Don’t scratch, Cassie,” her mom said, coming in with a tray of soup and crackers.
“I’m not scratching,” she said, and then realized she was. She placed her hands on the tray, concentrating on not thinking about the itch behind her ear. She took a spoonful of soup. Her palm itched and the spot behind her ear was spreading. The warm soup went down her throat and tasted wonderfully soothing. But it did not take away the insane itch behind her ear, on her palm, or the new one behind her knee.
“I can’t take the itching!” she cried.
“Finish your soup and you can take a bath in tea tree oil.”
“What’s that? Will it help?” Cassie scraped her hands up her legs and dug her nails into the skin behind her knees.
“It should.”
“Did you get the chicken pox when you were little?”
Her mom paused, her brown eyes staring into space as she thought about the question. “Yes. Almost everyone did. There was no vaccination then.”
“Did you get it bad?”
“I don’t really remember. I was only four. I survived, at least.”
Cassie finished up her soup, her whole mind intent on getting a bath that would relieve the itching. Her mom helped her get it ready, and then Cassie climbed inside. She shut her eyes in satisfaction. The warm water soothed her, and the itching stopped.
“I think it’s working,” she said.
“Good. Take your time, and let me know when you’re ready to get out.”
The bath was relaxing and comfortable, but after a few minutes, Cassie got bored. She called her mom to help her get out.
“Is the itching better?” Mrs. Jones asked, pulling Cassie’s long hair back into a French braid.
Cassie rubbed the cloth of her shirt against an itch. “It was better in the bath. But it’s horrible again!” The itching was going to drive her crazy. Tears stung her eyes, and she sniffed.
“Just think about other things, honey. Come on, let’s put on a movie.”
“Is there a movie you want to watch?” Mrs. Jones asked once Cassie was settled in her cot.
Cassie flipped through the TV Guide. “No, actually. Go to channel five. There’s a show on TV I want to watch.”
The television changed to the requested channel, but the static was so bad, Cassie could hardly make out the figures. She scowled. “Are the settings right?”
“Oh.” Her mom left the room and then came back. “It’s raining. We might not be getting very many channels right now.”
“Great.” Cassie’s brain pounded inside her skull as if it were an animal trying to get out. “Put on any movie, then, I don’t care.” She closed her eyes and waited for the sound of a movie to reach her ears.
When she opened her eyes, she realized she’d fallen asleep again. A movie was playing, but Cassie guessed it to be about halfway over. There were still crackers on the tray next to her cot, and she picked them up and ate them.
Another bath would be nice. At least for a few moments she hadn’t itched.
She thought about calling her mom again, but that required too much energy. Instead she watched the movie, waiting for someone to check on her.
The movie was almost over when she heard the front door slam open, followed by pounding upstairs. Annette’s excited babble mixed with Scott’s whiny tone and Emily’s bossy one. Then one set of feet came down the stairs. Cassie listened to them approach, not sure if she should pretend to be asleep or greet them.
Emily came into the room, her light brown hair in disarray around her flushed face, the plush jacket still on and zipped nearly to her chin. “Here,” she said, tossing a bunch of papers at Cassie.
Cassie caught one as they fluttered to the ground. “What are these?”
“Your homework.” Emily grinned at her. “Mom told me to tell the office you’re sick. They gave me that for you.”
Cassie glared at her. Could this sickness get any worse? Now on top of not feeling well, she had to do homework! “I’d go to school if I could, you know.”
“Yep. And hopefully you’ll be able to soon!” Emily started to leave, and then she put her hand on the door jam and turned around. “Oh, and did you forget tomorrow’s band practice? Looks like you’ll be too sick.”
Jerk! Cassie thought, shooting daggers with her eyes into her sister’s retreating back. All that relentless practicing she’d done every day until she got sick, and now no one would even know. To make it worse, she might have even forgotten everything. It would still be Emily, the queen of music, the queen of everything.
a
Cassie’s mom gave her another bath that evening, this time with baking soda. It didn’t seem to help anymore than the tea tree oil one. She sat on the couch during dinner and cried, feeling miserable and lonely.
Mrs. Jones came to the couch and handed the phone to her. “It’s Riley. I called her for you.”
Sniffing, Cassie pressed the phone to her ear. They hadn’t talked since Wednesday. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Riley’s voice came back. “Your mom said you’re sick.”
“Yeah.” Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I have the chicken pox.”
“Ms. Dawson told us. Are you okay?”
“I feel horrible.” Cassie tried to control the quaver in her voice, but she couldn’t.
“I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thanks.”
Silence reigned on the phone, and Riley said, “Well, I better go.”
“Yeah.” Cassie nodded. “See you later.” She put the phone down beside her, not feeling any better at all.
“We’ll miss you at band practice tomorrow,” Mr. Jones said as he tucked Cassie into her cot. He wrapped the blankets around her and smoothed back her hair. “You look like you have pepperoni all over your face.”
“Thanks a lot, Daddy,” Cassie said, but she knew he was teasing, and she didn’t mind it. Her dad was often so stressed out from work that he wasn’t funny.
Something seemed to be going on upstairs. Cassie heard footsteps thumping hard down the hall, followed by muffled crying.
“Jim?” Mrs. Jones called. “I need you to come up here.”
“Better see what’s wrong.” He stood up, brushing his hands on his pants.
“Should I come see what’s wrong?” Cassie asked, worried.
“No, stay here. Good night.” He turned the light off in her room and walked out. Cassie tuned her ears in, trying to make sense of the scattered noises she heard.
Emily was crying. She shut herself in the room and the sound disappeared, but Cassie was too curious. She waited a moment longer to see if anyone would say anything, but everyone seemed to have gone to bed. The house was quiet. Cassie put her feet on the carpet and crept up the stairs, using the banister for support.
The light was still on in her parents’ room. She followed it down the hall, slowing when she heard their murmur of voices. She couldn’t make out what they said, though. From here she could hear the quiet sobs coming from her and Emily’s room. Cassie peeked around the corner and saw her mom at the dresser, putting something away. She cleared her throat and tapped on the open door. Her mom looked up, and her dad poked his head out of the closet.
“Sorry,” she said, doing her best to look concerned and not nosy, “I heard Emily crying. Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” her mom said with a heavy sigh. “She’s got the chicken pox.”
