Mick
I’ve been driving Dalma to school almost every day. It’s going to get me in trouble. I can’t seem to make it from the parking lot to class on time.
I walk into English with a big smile on my face. Ubu goes, “Why, if it isn’t the late great Mr. Staynor.” I brace myself, but all he says is, “How wonderful to see someone so obviously delighted to take my class.”
Jade’s been late a few times herself, so I don’t notice her empty seat until he calls her name for attendance. I’m flipping through my textbook, trying to remember if there was anything I was supposed to do for today, when Lily says, “She quit.”
Mr. Ubu takes off his glasses. They dangle by the string around his neck. “Quit?” He’s as shocked as I am.
Lily checks her phone. “That’s what she said.”
“Quit English?” Ubu loves Jade. She’s his star student.
“No. Quit school.”
The whole class starts to talk. I hear someone mention my name, and Fariq say something about Jade’s little brother, but mostly I zone out. This is bad news. I can feel it.
Ubu rubs his hand back and forth over his head a few times, then says, “All right. Enough. Turn to page two hundred and sixty-nine. Let’s hear what our friend Bill Shakespeare has to say about the vicissitudes of life.”
He asks me what vicissitude means. He’s told us before, but I say I don’t know. He lets me off. He asks Kyle instead. He must know I’m upset.
I call Jade as soon as class is out, but there’s no answer. No answer after Chemistry or Biology either.
I’ve been here before. Part of me thinks she’s not picking up the phone because she wants me to worry.
The other part of me thinks she’s in the hospital with Gavin. I’ve googled migraines before. All the pages say the same thing. They’re painful but not serious. Kids get them all the time. Most grow out of them. Gavin’s got all the classic symptoms. There’s no reason to worry.
Then I remember Jade saying, “It’s probably not a tumor.” I’m standing in the school lobby, staring at the trophy case, and it hits me. Probably not means almost exactly the same thing as might be.
I promised Dalma I wasn’t going to let this happen again, so I meet her for lunch like we planned. I don’t say a thing about Jade. Afterward, I walk her to class. She reminds me about dinner tonight at her place.
“I can hardly wait,” I say.
She says, “Sure,” and we both laugh. We had a long talk yesterday about how sometimes sure means the opposite of what it sounds like.
“No, really,” I say. “I love intestines.”
We laugh some more. She told me they eat cow intestines in Croatia. I’m not sure if she was joking. Her English is really improving, but we still have some misunderstandings. I hope this is one of them.
I’d kiss her goodbye, but Ms. Lumsden says, “So long, loverboy” and pulls the door closed.
I go out into the parking lot and try Jade again. She’s still not answering. I think of calling Angie, but I don’t want to make things worse. This could just be one of Jade’s moods, and I can talk her out of it.
I get into the car and drive to her apartment. I’m not doing this for her or even Gavin anymore. I’m doing this for me. I’m never going to be able to get on with my own life until this problem is solved. I think Jade should talk to the guidance counselor. Mr. Brownell’s a nice guy. He’ll know what to do.
I run upstairs. Someone’s home. I can hear movement. I knock. The sound stops. I knock again. Nothing.
“Jade? It’s me.”
It goes even quieter. I can actually hear the silence inside.
“Jade?”
Footsteps, then the door opens a crack. “I’m busy, Mick.” She’s whispering.
“Just for a second? Jade. Please. We need to talk. I won’t stay long.”
She lets the door creak open but turns her back and walks away before I get a look at her.
The place is a mess. Toys everywhere. Unfolded laundry. What looks like last night’s dinner. I don’t see any barf, but I can smell it.
Jade sits down on the couch. She’s wearing baggy sweatpants and that old shirt of mine. She’s obviously been crying. The skin around her eyes is all pink and blotchy.
“You okay?”
She nods and starts throwing Gavin’s toys into a rubber bin. She won’t look at me. I move some laundry aside and sit next to her on the couch.
“Jade. You can’t quit school.”
She rubs her fingers up and down her forehead.
“Jade. You can’t. This is crazy.” I touch her back. I can feel her shaking. “There’s a way around this. There has to be.”
She swings around. She’s whispering, but her voice is as hard as if she were screaming.
“How? GooGoo’s sick. I take him to the doctor’s. I take him to the hospital. No one can help him. Certainly not his parents…”
“What about talking to Mr. Brownell?”
“You think I haven’t?” Her chin is trembling. She puts her hand over her mouth.
My parents would help. I know they would, but I’m afraid to say that to Jade, not when she’s like this. She’s never liked them very much, and she’s proud, too. I’m not sure she’d want that.
“You’re exhausted,” I say. “You should go to bed. Get some sleep. I’ll stay here.” She closes her eyes. Tears pour down her face. I put my arm around her and help her up. I’ll talk to Mom about it later.
“Why don’t you sleep in your mother’s room? It’s nice and quiet there.” Jade normally sleeps on the couch. She’s so tiny and frail, I almost want to carry her. She doesn’t put up any fuss.
“Why is Jadie crying?”
Gavin is hugging Kanga and peering at me from behind his door. Jade turns into my side so he can’t see her face.
“Just tired, buddy,” I say. “I’m going to put her to bed, then you and I are going to the park.”
He starts running on the spot and waving his hands. His headache must be better.
I tell him to get ready, then help Jade into bed. I grab a box of Kleenex from the chest of drawers and put it on the nightstand. She takes my hand and pulls me down closer to her. “Thank you, Mick. You know I couldn’t do this without you.” She goes to say something else but starts to cry again.
“Don’t worry, Jade,” I say. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
I turn out the light and close the door. Gavin is already dressed and raring to go.