I didn’t find Mom and Dad together on Sunday. I didn’t find them together on Monday or Tuesday night, either.
On Wednesday morning, Mom didn’t have to work, and Dad didn’t have class until the afternoon. Mom made her famous chocolate-chip pancakes. Sam was still in bed.
It was just the three of us.
Time was running out. I had taekwondo class that afternoon. The moment was perfect, but now that it was here, the speech I’d rehearsed flew out of my head.
I’m quitting.
It was two words. No big deal.
Only I remembered. Dad had said, “Losers quit when they’re tired. Winners quit when they’ve won.” And Mom had laughed.
“You okay?” Dad asked.
“Yeah. You look a bit pale,” Mom said. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
And that’s when I suddenly decided to go to Plan C.
“My stomach kind of hurts,” I said.
It wasn’t a perfect plan. For one thing, Mom whisked away my pancakes before I could finish them. And I ended up on the couch for the entire day with a bucket next to me, which made me a little queasy for real. But I also got to sip on Sprite with a bendy straw. And Mom rubbed my feet before she got up to clean the bathrooms.
I wondered, If I got mysteriously sick every Wednesday and Saturday would my parents notice?