Chapter 21

 

“Miss Cook! Did you hear the question?”

Sara’s head snapped up with a jerk. Had she heard a question? The incessant drone of old lady Berman’s voice in history class would lull anyone to sleep.

“No ma’am, I didn’t. I was … taking notes.” The lined paper in front of her had precisely one thing written on it, and it had nothing to do with American history.

“I asked who was the first signer of the Declaration of Independence.”

“Sorry, I don’t know.” Why did the woman keep dying her hair that horrendous shade of orange? It wasn’t as if everyone couldn’t see the telltale gray roots every few weeks.

Ms. Berman turned to someone else, although one dark brown eye stayed on Sara as she thanked Jill Ortiz for supplying the correct answer and went on to assign three chapters and a paper for tomorrow’s homework. Sara wrote it down and envisioned herself ripping the sheet from her notebook and throwing it away the minute she got home. Three chapters—seriously?

The bell rang before she completed the thought, and she lumped the textbook and her notebook into a pile and scooped them up as she rose.

“Miss Cook?” Ms. Berman was seated at her desk now. “Sara? Come here a second.”

Oh, god … a lecture … Sara’s feet dragged as she changed direction and walked toward the front of the room.

“Sara, I have to say I’m more than a little worried about you.” The teacher’s expression softened and her mouth formed that half-smile I’m-so-concerned shape half the adults in her life were using on her right now. “I know your home situation is, well, with your mother’s medical needs …”

“Yeah, well, there’s nothing we can do about that,” Sara said.

“I know, hon, and I’m so sorry.” She sat up a bit straighter. “What is worrisome here at school, though, is the way your grades are falling and the way you keep dozing off in class. Is there a possibility of getting additional help at home so you can get a full night’s sleep? It’s really important.”

Sara would have laughed if she weren’t on the verge of crying. She merely shook her head and glanced toward the hallway full of students heading for their next class. She caught chatter about a Halloween party at Hannah Byrne’s house, one Sara had not been invited to.

“Would it help if I spoke to your mother about it?”

She snapped her attention back to the teacher. “No! I mean, don’t bother her with my school problems. I’ll do better.”

“Okay. You can go now.” Kids were filing into the room and Sara carefully avoided their eyes as she edged past them.

Out in the hall she let out a harsh chuckle. Extra help at home—right. And her lack of sleep had nothing to do with her mother’s condition. The fight between Matt and the angry guy the other day replayed through her head all night, every night. The moment they’d mentioned a bag of money, Sara knew exactly what they were talking about. She should have left that black bag on the ground where she found it. At the very least she could have brought it home instead of freaking out and leaving it in the café. Stupid, stupid.

She still hadn’t exactly figured out Matt’s involvement, only that her brother was somehow tied in with the robbery of that armored car and the woman the newspapers said was most likely going to die. The chicken burrito from lunch began to rise in her throat and she barely made it to the girls’ restroom in time.

The bell rang again. She should be in English class but there didn’t seem any point. The same worries flooded over her now in the bathroom stall as those which consumed her in the middle of the night: Matt would go to prison, her mother would die, and Sara would end up in some foster care place until she turned eighteen and there she’d be on the street with no skills and no money. Two years ago the family plan included a vacation to Disney World and Sara’s applying to colleges before she finished high school. With her marks, Dad always said, she could get into any school of her choosing.

Then the car crash when Dad fell asleep at the wheel driving alone on the interstate, Mom’s diagnosis a month later, losing their home because neither parent believed in insurance … and here she was. No Disney, no college. Without a miracle, very soon she would have no mother.

Her thoughts spiraled downward once more, and she sat on the reeking commode and cried into the folds of her sweater.