Luckily, I don’t have much time to worry about Dad. Seeing the bus out your front window and having to sprint to catch it will do that to you. I’m huffing and puffing worse than the wolf in “The Three Little Pigs” by the time I settle into a seat.
(There’s a reason I do softball instead of track, and the stitch in my side is exactly it.)
I’ve finally caught my breath by the time I meet up with Claudia in front of school. She’s sitting on the stone bench outside the door, playing with the Apple Watch her parents got her for her birthday a few months ago. She was totally shocked when she opened her present—she’d begged for that watch for months and months, but we both knew her parents wouldn’t get it for her. Claudia’s parents usually got her things like socks and new notebooks for her birthday. Things that she needed, yeah, but boring practical stuff. Nothing as extravagant as an Apple Watch.
But now that I see it on her wrist, I wonder if there was a reason for that present. Like her parents were setting the scene for their upcoming separation. Buttering Claudia up so she wouldn’t be so upset.
I scroll back across my own memories of the past few months. Did Mom and Dad do anything to cushion the blow of Mom going to rehab? My mind whirls, but of course there’s nothing there. Because Mom’s trip to rehab wasn’t planned. It didn’t happen because she realized she had a problem and wanted to get sober for me.
No, Mom’s “trip” happened because she got caught by her boss. Because she had no choice. She’s not on some exotic beach or taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower. She’s in treatment. She’s being treated.
“Veronica?” Claudia waves her hand by my face. I’ve stopped right in front of her at the door, lost in my own thoughts. “Are you okay? You didn’t show up this morning.”
“This morning?” I motion for Claudia to follow me inside. Mrs. Fink hates when we’re late for class. “Were we supposed to do—”
I remember just as Claudia reminds me. “We were going to meet at the softball field, remember?” Claudia points at the softball field in the distance. “You said that since your mom couldn’t do after-dinner practices with us now, we could meet up a few times in the morning?”
“Ugh.” I shoot an apologetic glance back at Claudia, even as we both continue speed-walking to our lockers. (Carefully, because Mrs. Hicks in the office is a total stickler for kids running in the halls.)
“I forgot,” I continue. “I went to bed late last night, then didn’t hear my alarm. Mom’s away and Dad didn’t wake me up.” I pause for breath. “It was a whole mess.”
My stomach grumbles and Claudia giggles. “It sounds like it. Literally!”
I laugh, glad that Claudia isn’t mad. The last thing I want to do is to start letting down other people the way Mom did to me. “See? I haven’t eaten anything all morning.”
“I think I have a granola bar in here somewhere.” Claudia opens her locker, then rummages around on the top shelf, finally emerging with a crumpled, ball-like object. “Um … well, it was a bar once. It’s more of a … granola sphere now? It probably tastes the same, though,” she quickly adds, as I raise my eyebrows dubiously.
“How long has that been in there?” I take the granola sphere and peer at the wrapper. “Do they even make this flavor anymore?”
“Hey!” Claudia puts her hands on her hips, but her mouth quirks upward. “I’ll have you know that … wait…” Now she looks at the wrapper. “Oh no, I think you’re right. They discontinued this flavor last fall. Ew!” She drops the sphere on the ground and we both burst out laughing.
Brrrrrrring!
“Ladies! Class.” Our principal, Mr. Fredette, looms above us, his glasses slipping down his nose. We both jump, then simultaneously grab our Language Arts binders and bolt down the hall. Somehow, we make it through the doorway before the late bell rings, and as I turn to look at Claudia across the room, she holds her hand up for a long-distance high five just as Mrs. Fink pulls up a new slide on the Smart Board.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” I mouth, and Claudia nods.
She’s smiling, like of course I won’t let her down. Of course everything will get back to normal—to a new normal, maybe, but still nothing out of the ordinary.
How can I tell Claudia that she’s totally wrong?