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Episode 4
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Music on the Mind
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Dad's Band
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - A Little Under
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - Band Practice
Music on the Mind
Cassandra Jones ran the quarter of a mile from the bus stop to her house as fast as she could. Christmas was over, but the cold lingered, an unwelcome guest that would not leave.
She opened the front door and rushed inside, dropping her gloves and hat in a pile. “Ahh!” she exclaimed.
Her younger brother and sister burst in behind her, also shivering and shaking from the relentless cold. “I can’t take it anymore!” Emily cried.
“Me neither,” Cassie said. She trooped into the kitchen and put her backpack on the table. “Mom?”
“In the laundry room!” her mom called back. “Where did you put your gloves?”
Cassie knew what her mom was really saying: put your things away.
As the oldest of the four Jones children, she felt a certain pressure to set the right example. Sometimes she resented that feeling, but other times she appreciated the trust her parents showed her. Returning to the entry way, she picked up the discarded winter wear and threw it into the hall closet.
“It’s too cold,” she could hear Emily saying from the kitchen. “Can’t you pick us up from the bus stop?”
“Or at least take us in the morning,” Cassie said, joining the conversation. She took her turquoise-framed glasses off and wiped the moisture from them. They always fogged up when she came into a warm house from the cold.
Mrs. Jones looked up from the laundry. “It’s good for you. When else do you run?”
Running? Since when was that the goal? “I don’t like running,” Cassie said. “I do it every day before recess. I hate it.” She picked up an apple. “Do we have any brownies left?”
Her mom frowned at her. “No. But a brownie isn’t a good snack. Just eat that apple.”
Cassie took a big bite from it, trying to pretend the fruit had a chocolate flavor. It didn’t work. She set it aside and focused on her mom. A driving thought had been pushing at her brain all morning, and she couldn’t wait to bring it up to her mother. “Mom, I want to do something with music.”
Mrs. Jones hauled the basket of clothes into the living room and beckoned Cassie to follow. “Oh? What do you mean?”
Cassie sat down to help fold the towels. “I don’t know. In school, when we were practicing songs for the Christmas program, the music made me so happy. I wanted to spend all day singing. Now it’s over, and I miss it.”
*~*
“WELL, DO YOU WANT TO do something with piano?”
Ugh, no. “I don’t think so.” She’d taken piano lessons for a year in Texas and hated it. Every practice had been agonizing, and she doubted she’d been very nice to the piano teacher. “It’s pretty boring. Besides, my fingers lack dexterity.”
“Dexterity?” Her mom giggled. “You’re funny. Give me that towel before you rip it from folding it so often.”
Cassie handed it over. “What other instruments could I play?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never played any.” Mrs. Jones frowned as she considered the situation. “But you know what, your dad has played just about everything. Why don’t you ask him when he gets home?”
“Sure,” Cassie said, brightening. She grabbed her backpack from the kitchen table and went to her room, humming a song from the Christmas program they’d put on last month.
*~*
“SO HOW WAS EVERYONE’S day?” Mr. Jones looked around the table during dinner. “Annette?”
“Great,” four-year-old Annette said, her standard answer to just about everything. Except when she said it, it sounded like, “Grape.”
“Scott?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.” Also the standard answer.
Mr. Jones took a bite from his meatball and then shook his fork at Scott. “Remember what we talked about? You need to use your descriptive words to answer the question.”
Scott sighed. “I was on yellow and missed five minutes of recess. But it wasn’t my fault. Miles was loud at lunch and I just couldn’t help it.” He raised his eyebrows and shook his head to express his helplessness.
Cassie rolled her eyes. Scott might only be in the first grade, but he had the conniving mentality of a con artist.
“Well, tomorrow you’ll stay on green, right?” Mr. Jones said.
“Right,” he grumbled.
“Emily?”
“Perfect,” she spouted, a smile on her lips. “I got a one-hundred percent on my spelling test. And Ms. Wright selected me to present for the third-grade assembly.”
“That’s great, Emily!”
Cassie forced herself to stab her food and stick in her mouth instead of making a negative comment. Emily excelled at everything she put her hand to. Of course she got perfect scores and was chosen to represent her class. Every day was roses and unicorns for Emily.
“And you, Cassie?”
Finally, her turn. Cassie adjusted her glasses on her nose and faced her dad. “I want to start playing an instrument, Daddy.”
“Oh, really?” His graying eyebrows rose above the piercing blue eyes. “What kind of instrument?”
“I really don’t know. Mom thought you could help me choose.”
He nodded, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. “Well, let’s see. I played the saxophone, the clarinet, the piano, even the drums for a bit.”
“The clarinet sounds like fun.”
“Can I play one?” Emily asked. “I want to play the clarinet also.”
Cassie felt a flash of irritation and rounded on Emily, next to her at the table. “You already play the piano! You don’t need another instrument.” Though Cassie had bored of piano and moved on, Emily had taken to it like a fish in water. She was in the middle of her third year and mastering piano pieces that Cassie couldn’t even pronounce.
“Why not? Daddy played lots of different ones.”
So he had. Cassie glared at him for revealing that. “Can’t this just be my thing?”
“I want to do the drums,” Scott said. “That’s what boys do, right? The drums?”
“Hang on, hang on.” Mr. Jones threw his hands up and leaned back in his chair. “I think we might be on to something. How many other kids in the school do you think would love to play an instrument?”
Cassie had really no idea. She blinked and waited for her father to finish his thought.
“Let’s say most of them. They’d have this same conversation at dinner, and most of them would want to play.”
She drummed her fingers on the table, still waiting for the point.
“So what if. . . .” He pointed a finger at Mrs. Jones and grinned. “What if I started a band?”
Dad's Band
“A band?” Mrs. Jones echoed carefully. “How would you do that?”
“Well, I’d have to get permission from the school, of course. But we could meet at the school, in the choir room a few times a week.” Mr. Jones rubbed his hands together, grinning like a toddler at Easter. “This could work.”
“You work full-time, Jim,” Mrs. Jones said, a note of impatience in her voice. “When do you have time?”
“Well, there’s before work, or after work. There’s always a way, Karen.” Her father’s tone matched her mom’s, a touch of irritation that she wasn’t as excited as he was.
“I think it’s a great idea!” Cassie threw in. She was already thinking about what fun it would be to have a band at school, and have her dad in charge, no less!
“I’ll talk to Ms. King tomorrow,” he said. “Why don’t I drive you guys to school?”
“Yes!” Emily exclaimed.
Cassie grinned. They wouldn't have to ride the bus tomorrow. Or stand in the freezing weather while they waited for it to come. Things were already looking up.
*~*
CASSIE SAT IN HER FIFTH-grade class, copying down the morning warm-ups from the board, when the intercom made the staticky sound that indicated the announcements were about to come on.
“Attention, please,” the voice began. Cassie kept working. She could listen and get stuff done at the same time. Most of the announcements wouldn’t apply to her, anyway. Reminders about car riders and walkers, sign ups for some activity.
“In addition to the Just Say No club, next week we are proud to announce that we will be starting a band.”
Cassie put her pencil down and straightened. Her dad had been so excited after he talked to Ms. King, but he hadn’t been sure the administration would approve his band. They must have told him yes!
“It will be under the direction of Jim Jones and will meet every Friday morning at seven a.m. in the music room. Fourth graders and above are invited to join.”
No third graders. Cassie felt a guilty twinge of satisfaction. Emily wouldn’t be able to join.
“Please bring any instrument of your choice. Instruments will not be provided for you. If you have any questions, please contact Ms. King.”
Cassie’s hand shot into the air.
“Not now, Cassie,” Ms. Dawson said. “We’re listening to the announcements.”
Cassie heaved a sigh of frustration and hunkered down in her chair. A moment later they all stood for the Pledge of Allegiance, and then the intercom clicked off.
“All right, everyone has five more minutes to finish up their warm-ups.”
Cassie lifted her hand again, sitting up very straight in her chair.
“Yes, Cassandra, you have a question?”
“That’s my dad’s band,” she said importantly. “He started it. He’s the director.”
“Well, that’s very nice, Cassie.”
“I’ll be joining it,” she continued. “It was my idea. I’m going to play the clarinet.”
“Can’t wait to hear you play. Anyone have any questions about the board work?”
Matthew Grace, the boy who had sat near Cassie all year, leaned toward her. “I’ve always wanted to be in a band. I think that’s so cool. Can I bring my keyboard?”
“Sure!” Cassie said. “My dad said any instrument.” She glanced around to see if anyone else wanted to ask her about the band, but the other students were concentrating on the assignment.
“Are you going to join the band?” she asked her best friend Riley at recess.
“I don’t think anyone will want to drive me to school that early,” she said. “And I don’t have an instrument.”
For a moment she thought about asking her other friend, Danelle, if she was coming. But Danelle hadn’t really spoken to her since they started up again after Christmas. Cassie shrugged it off. There’d be other kids she knew. She could hardly wait for Friday. It would be so much fun.
*~*
“I’M HOME!” MR. JONES called, coming in the front door.
“Hi, Daddy,” Cassie said as he came into the kitchen. She didn’t even look up from where she unloaded the dishwasher.
“What happened to all my little children that used to come running to my arms?” he asked, pausing to give her a hug.
“We grew up?”
“Daddy!” As if on cue, little Annette rounded the corner into the kitchen. She threw her arms around his legs and grinned up at him.
“Guess what?” Cassie said, putting the last knife away in the drawer. “They announced your band today in school. Said it starts Friday. I’m so excited! I can’t wait!”
He smiled. “Well, that’s fantastic news, because look what I’ve got here.” He led her back into the dining room, where what looked like two small suitcases sat under the piano bench. Her dog Scaredy sniffed them, then curled up around one and went to sleep.
“What are they?” Cassie asked, a niggle of excitement sprouting in her chest.
Her dad knelt and opened one up. The case was velvet lined, with small cylinder pieces fitted inside. “A clarinet. Let me show you how to put it together.”
“Wow.” A smile stretched across her face. She watched her dad connect the cylinders until he had a long tube. “Where did you get it?”
“I’m renting it from someone at church.”
She looked at the other case. “What’s in that one?”
“Another clarinet.”
“Oh.” She frowned as a suspicion darkened her mind. “Do I need two?”
He chuckled as he connected the mouthpiece. “No. It’s for Emily.”
“But—but they said in morning announcements that it’s only for fourth grade and up. Emily’s in third.”
“Ah, yes.” Mr. Jones handed her the completed clarinet. “But as the band director, I am entitled to certain privileges.”
So Emily got to be in the band, too. And she’d play the clarinet. Cassie accepted the instrument, a hollowness in her chest. Couldn’t she have one thing that was her own? Just one? “Is Scott coming to? Playing the drums?”
“No.” He shook his head. “First grade is too young. Scott couldn’t sit still long enough to learn a beat. But Emily’s a very advanced third-grader. I’m sure she’ll do great.” He nodded at the clarinet in her hands. “Don’t you want to try it?” he asked, oblivious to the change in her mood.
“No, that’s all right.” Cassie handed it back. “I’ll wait until Friday with everyone else. Thanks for getting it.”
*~*
EMILY KEPT UP A CONSTANT stream of excited conversation the whole drive to school on Friday. Cassie was grateful to be in a warm car, though they’d had to leave the house super early to get to practice on time. And her stomach tumbled over and around itself with nerves. She wished now that she’d let her dad give her some instruction before band started. What if everyone could play but her? What if she just wasn’t very good?
They were the first ones in the music room, but it wasn’t quite seven a.m. yet. Her dad set up a music stand and placed pictures around the room of different instruments.
“Let’s have you girls sit over here,” he said, directing Emily and Cassie to a spot on one side of the room.
“What if we’re the only ones that come?” Cassie asked.
“You won’t be,” her dad said, looking quite satisfied with himself. “I had several parents call and verify the information. We should have a good crowd.” He showed her and Emily how to put their clarinets together.
They had just finished when a few more kids walked in, toting various instruments of all sizes. Cassie recognized Konner Lane, a kid from one of the other fifth grade classes. He carried with him a small set of drums.
“Hi,” Cassie said. “I’m in Ms. Dawson’s class.”
“Hi,” he replied without quite meeting her eyes. He then moved to the farthest end of the music room and set up his drums.
Cassie frowned, then shrugged it off. Who really understood boys? Maybe he didn’t want to be friends. She waited to see if Matthew would show up with his keyboard, but he didn’t.
“All right, let’s get started,” her dad boomed, raising his hands behind the music stand in the center of the room. “I’m Mr. Jones. I’m also Cassie and Emily’s dad.” He waved at them. “Everyone should have their instruments assembled by now, yes?” He glanced around, and no one contradicted him. “Let’s see what you know. Everyone, hit middle C.”
Hit what? Cassie glanced around as the kids fumbled with their instruments. Emily put her fingers on the clarinet and blew a note. Varying sounds began to screech out of the other instruments, very few of them matching the note Emily blew.
Cassie put her mouth on the reed and blew, frustration boiling up inside her. She didn’t even know what middle C sounded like, and definitely didn’t know where to find it on the clarinet. Wasn’t her dad going to teach her? Of course Emily knew. She played piano. She knew everything about music.
Her dad walked around the room, repositioning hands, tightening strings. He got to Cassie and moved her fingers to press different buttons. She pulled the clarinet from her mouth.
“I don’t know how to play the clarinet. You have to teach me where middle C is.”
“I am teaching you,” he replied, and walked away.
A Little Under
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.
*~*
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 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.
*~*
“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.
*~*
“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.”
Itchy
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.
*~*
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.
*~*
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.
*~*
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.”
Band Practice
“Sorry that you have to miss band practice too,” Cassie said. She was back in her room now, since Emily was sick also. Her dad had taken down the bunk bed so neither girl would have to exert herself, and now they both had a twin bed next to each other. “I know how much you were looking forward to it.”
Emily nodded in response but didn’t say anything else. The poxes covered most of her face, and even her lips looked swollen. A single tear shimmered on her lower lashes.
Cassie felt bad for her. She was into day three of being sick and day two of being home, and today seemed better than yesterday. Emily was only on day one, though. She still had two more days before she started to feel better.
“Look at it this way,” Cassie said, her voice full of fake cheer. “Scott’s not going to get our homework for us, so at least it will be a relaxing weekend.”
Emily sort-of smiled. Her hands came up, and she raked them down her face.
“Don’t do that.” Cassie grabbed her hands and pulled them down. “It just gets worse. I promise. Try not to touch it.” She settled back onto her bed and tried to think what she and Emily could do for fun. “Want to play Uno?”
Emily didn’t answer, and Cassie swung her head around to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising in falling in sleep. Cassie snuggled deeper into her own blankets, her body echoing the primitive urge to take a nap.
*~*
“HELLO, WILDCATS! IT’S a freezing Friday morning, isn’t it?” Mr. Jones grinned across the music room at the handful of students who had arrived early for band practice. “Not too much longer, and we’ll see sunshine and flowers.”
Most of the kids just stared back at him with deadpan expressions, but Cassie grinned back. Her dad loved doing this band thing.
“And I’m very happy to have my daughters back today!” he said, pointing his baton at Cassie and Emily. “Both of them decided to prove that vaccinations don’t work. Now that they’ve made their point, they’re here, bright and early.”
Cassie and Emily exchanged a smile. Cassie straightened in her chair, holding her clarinet at the ready. She’d been practicing. She felt more confident now, certain she could play whatever note he told them to.
“All right, everyone, instruments up. Once again, give me a Middle C!”
The interesting panel of musical notes filled the room, though this time, even to Cassie’s untrained ears, it sounded more in tune. Her dad walked around, listening, complimenting, correcting. He stopped at Emily first and congratulated her on her posture and the way she carried the note. Then he reached Cassie.
“Beautiful, Cassie,” he said, making the “okay” symbol with his hand. “Great job.”
Cassie didn’t stop blowing her note, but inside she beamed.
*~*
“HOW’S YOUR BAND PRACTICE going?” Leigh Ann asked Cassie as the girls gathered after school on Tuesday for their weekly Girls’ Club meeting.
“It’s great!” Cassie said. She sat down at one of the lunch tables left out for them to use. “We’re learning a song to play for the school in an assembly. I play the clarinet!”
“I’ve always wanted to play an instrument,” Leigh Ann said wistfully. She twisted a strand of curly brown hair around her finger. “Maybe someday.”
“You could always join us,” Cassie suggested. “We could use more people.”
Riley came over and sat down next to her. “I don’t like musical instruments. I think they’re boring.”
“Well, that’s your opinion,” Leigh Ann said, bolder than Cassie would ever dare to be. She wished she could say something like that.
Trisha, the assistant Girls’ Club leader, walked in with a big cardboard box in her arms. Margaret, Maureen’s mom and the leader, came in behind her.
“Small group today, huh?” Margaret said, putting her arm around Maureen and hugging her.
Cassie glanced around. Her, Leigh Ann, Riley, and Cheyenne. Half of their normal size. “Where are Stacy and Janice? Jaiden?” She chanced to meet Trisha’s eyes for a second and then looked away. She and Trisha had had an altercation at the beginning of the school year, and though they never spoke of it now, Cassie didn’t have any warm and fuzzy feelings toward her. But she was Jaiden’s mom, so she should know where Jaiden was.
“Stacy’s got the chicken pox,” Trisha said, her stern gaze landing on Cassie. “Her mom came and got her after lunch. And I made Jaiden stay home just in case it was still going around.”
Even though she didn’t come out and accuse Cassie of anything, the accusation hung in the air. Cassie shrank down at the lunch table and resisted the urge to glance around. Hopefully no one else blamed her.
Margaret cast a concerned glance Cassie’s way. “The important thing is that everyone’s okay. Cassie’s not sick anymore and Maureen will be fine. So let’s get started on today’s project, shall we?”
Cassie tried to put Trisha from her mind and pay attention as they learned how to make friendship bracelets, but the woman’s negative aura hung over Cassie like a dark cloud, casting a shadow on everything she tried to do.
Riley waited until Trisha walked away, then she leaned over and spoke in Cassie’s ear. “Don’t let her get to you. Just think about how many friends you have.”
Cassie nodded. Good advice. The more she thought about it, it was great advice. She had friends. She had Leigh Ann, and Riley, and . . . Well, the rest were only so-so friends, including Danelle. Cassie frowned. She needed more. Maybe it was time to reach out a little more.