Sleet crackles against my window and wind howls through the eaves, waking me before my alarm clock blares. The thought of chipping ice off my car makes me crawl further under the covers and consider taking the school bus.
Twenty minutes later I drag myself from bed, trip over my backpack, and bang my knee against the dresser where I turn on the TV. According to the news channel, school is not closed due to weather. Damn.
I dress in jeans, knee-high wool socks, and a fleece turtleneck, and then blow-dry my hair for warmth, not style. There’s no way it can look good in hat-wearing, blowing-snow weather. I slip my hand-carved beads on my wrist and think about how Devon has seen me at work, smelling of cafeteria food and wearing a hairnet, and still loves me. He’s seen my body, curves and all, and makes me want to embrace rather than hide them. That’s all that matters.
Annie’s door is still closed. If I’m running late, she’s running later. I knock and call, “Hurry. It’s gonna take us forever to get to school.” I run outside to warm up the car and when I return, Annie’s still not up. I open her door and flip on the light.
Annie lies in bed, her eyes cracked open and puffy, her face shadowed but pale. “I don’t feel good.” She lapses into a coughing fit.
“I’ll get Mom.” I run down the hall and knock on Mom and Dad’s door before busting in. One day I might regret that action. Thankfully it’s not today. “Mom, Annie’s sick.”
Mom bolts upright, leaving Dad snoring lightly. She makes a pit stop in the bathroom for the thermometer and then enters Annie’s room.
“Mel, go to school. Annie will be all right,” she tells me, though her voice wavers with sleep and worry.
“Do you want me to get Dad?”
She puts her hand on Annie’s forehead. “No, it’s fine. I’ll get him if I need him. Go to school.”
I open my mouth to argue again but there’s no point. Mom wants me out of the way.
“Angel?” she says to my sister as I back away. “Angel, you’re not feeling well? What hurts?”
Mom’s right, I can’t do any good here. I return to my car, clean off the windshield, and crawl to school on the slippery roads. Despite the freezing temps, my back is covered in sweat by the time I reach the parking lot. I almost welcome the cold wind whipping through my layers as I head for the building. Inside, I stuff my coat into my locker and grab my math books, rushing so I’m not late for homeroom.
“Hey,” Devon says, grabbing me around the waist. The sleeves of his sweater fall down over his hands so only his fingertips stick out, cozy and warm.
“Hey.” I turn to kiss him, slowly relaxing at the familiarity of his car shop fingernails, strong body, and crooked baseball hat attempting to hide his messy hair.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, backing away to study my face.
“Besides the crappy weather?” I ask, shaking my boot to let loose a layer of slush.
He frowns. “Besides that.”
I pull my books against my chest. “Annie was sick this morning. It’s probably nothing, just the flu, but still….”
Devon nods and kisses me again. “You’re worried about the baby.”
I stiffen and look around to see if anyone heard. The hall is almost empty since homeroom is about to start.
Devon sighs.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. I know why he’s upset and I don’t blame him but I can’t help my reflex reaction. “No, you’re right. I’m worried. About both of them.”
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Not talking about it isn’t going to make her go away.”
“Obviously,” I mutter.
“Can I ask you something?” Before I can answer, Devon asks anyway, “Why do you care so much about what other people think of you?”
I flinch so hard he takes his hand away. “I don’t.” Didn’t I come to school with crazy hat hair this morning?
“Come on, Mel. You’re beautiful and have the best boyfriend in school.” He cracks a half smile. “Whatever anyone knows – or thinks they know – about your sister is not a reflection on you. You don’t have to worry about being judged.”
I know I should’ve been expecting Devon to get sick of my paranoia at some point. Still, it hurts to hear the impatience in his voice. So does the resemblance to Annie’s accusation about me.
It’s amazing how self-absorbed you can be while also being completely clueless about who you are.
With all the secrets and lies, I do deserve the accusations even if I don’t like them. Still, my instinct kicks in to defend myself. “My whole life has been spent being judged by other people so of course I worry about it. Me and Annie both. I’m sick of it. We shouldn’t always have to defend ourselves for being us.”
Devon puts his hands up. “Whoa, you don’t need to yell at me.”
My hands are shaking and my whole body trembles like I’m in the freezing wind again. I can’t control it or the fact that I am yelling. “It sucks, having everyone look at you and your sister when you’re kids, asking why she has squinty eyes and why you weren’t good enough for your parents. Why they had to get a Chinese replacement for you. It sucks having to protect both of us from everyone who would tear us down!”
“Mel, calm down,” Devon says, taking a step back.
“Calm down?” Doesn’t he know how important it is, what I just told him? “Calm down?”
“Mel –”
“Calm down?”
The bell rings, stopping me from screaming. I wrap my arms tightly around my books and turn for homeroom, edging past groups huddled around their lockers. If I try to explain anything else to Devon, I’ll end up in worse shape, sobbing in the hall where more people can judge and stare.
But Devon apparently isn’t done with our conversation. “So your sister is pregnant. So what? Thousands of women in the world are pregnant right now. That’s life. Why does talking about it drive you away from me?” His voice cracks.
I turn on the squeaky wet floor so fast I almost slip. I don’t care that he’s right; he shouldn’t be yelling about Annie in front of all these people. What is he thinking? That embarrassing me will convince me that he’s right?
“If you can’t talk to me now, we probably shouldn’t worry about what we’re going to do when we’re at different colleges.” Devon slams a locker door shut (my locker that I left open) and storms off in the opposite direction.
Tears spring to life and fall down my face. I don’t blame him for running after how crazy I acted. How crazy I am.
It takes all my concentration to make it through homeroom and to first period without completely breaking down. Just as class starts there’s a knock on the classroom door. Mrs. Chuck, my math teacher, beckons the girl in.
“I have a message from the office for Melanie Mainer,” the girl says.
Mrs. Chuck absently points in my direction, but it’s clear from the way she marches down the row of desks that she knows who I am: the pregnant junior’s older, virginal sister. She hands me a pink slip of paper and I hold my breath. Messages from the office are never good news.
I read the office secretary’s scrawl. The gist is that Mom called and said Annie has a fever of 104 so they went to the emergency room. Don’t worry and she’ll call again with an update the message says. I wonder why she didn’t text me until I realize I must’ve left my phone at home in all the drama and rushing.
The eyes of the whole class are on me, even Mrs. Chuck’s. I bet they wonder if Annie had her baby.
“May I be excused for a minute?” I ask the teacher. “To use the bathroom?” The tears I recently suppressed well up in my eyes. I have to get out of here.
“Just let me write you a pass.” Mrs. Chuck scribbles something on another slip of paper, this one white, and I leave the classroom carrying both. I bang the bathroom door open but it stops halfway, slamming into something on the other side.
“Owww!” Chloe freezes when she sees me, but only long enough to formulate a nasty reply. “Sisters of sluts are not allowed in here. Sorry.”
Justine is behind her. I hear her laugh.
I should turn around and leave. Instead I say, “Why? There’s already the maximum occupancy of them inside?”
“Ooooh!” Justine says. “Good one. Too bad it can’t change the fact that your sister had sex with an old man.” She moves and I see Samara at the mirror, spraying perfume. She avoids my eyes.
Chloe tosses her lipstick into her purse. “He was fat, too. I always thought she had better taste than that. Then again she chose him over us.”
“You dumped her,” I spit with anger I’ve never felt before.
“She got herself dumped by taking Phil Langos for herself when she knew I liked him,” Justine says, “and then goes off with some college baby daddy!”
I shake my head. They can’t know. If they did, Harris would already be public knowledge, right?
Chloe ignores me. “Annie didn’t even tell us about the guy. Sam had to tell us.”
Samara bites her lip and I catch a flicker of her green eyes on me.
“Annie never did and never will owe you anything,” I say.
“Whoa, moody.” Chloe laughs. “Maybe Mel’s preggers, too.”
They all laugh now, including Samara, the one who somehow found out about Annie and Harris. The one who spread the word to the last people in the world that Annie wanted to know. My next words slip out before I can stop them.
“Don’t worry, Samara. I’ll make sure to tell Belle that her sister’s a spineless bitch the next time I see her.”
Samara’s mouth is opening to reply, her face white, but I’m determined to have the last word even if it’s one of the cruelest things I’ve ever said. I charge into the hall, stop for my jacket at my locker, and run to the parking lot. I forget how icy it is and slip halfway to my car, twisting my ankle inside my boot. I swear but don’t slow down so no one will catch me ditching school. I wish I had my cell to leave a message with Kasey, but all I have are my two crumpled passes and coat with my keys in the pocket.
A new layer of ice has formed on my car. My teeth chatter as I scrape away a spot on the windshield just large enough to see the street in front of me. I plot a route to the hospital and my car rolls along unsteadily as the windshield wipers squeal against the glass.
It takes me forty-five minutes to drive the usual ten minutes to the hospital. By the time I reach the entryway, my eyes and nose are running from the icy wind. I don’t stop moving until I’ve followed the red arrows to the emergency room information window, an area of the hospital that I’ve always avoided like canned lima beans and spray cheese product.
“Can I help you?” asks the woman at the window.
“Yes, I’m looking for my sister? Can you tell me where she is? Annie Mainer. M-A-I-N-E-R.” I take off my gloves and hat and stuff them into my jacket pockets, leaving my hair a mix of staticky dry patches and sweaty wet strands.
The woman’s long lavender nails clack across the keyboard. “Ummmm…she’s already been moved to another room. Room 2154.”
“Can I see her?”
“Sure.” She writes down the number and another slip of paper is handed to me, this one yellow. “Go down this hall, take a right, then take the blue elevator up to the second floor. You’ll find it from there.”
I attempt to calm myself as I press the button for the blue elevator, repeating that she wouldn’t have been moved to a non-ICU room if she were in danger. The elevator dings open and the smell of antiseptic stings my nose until I’m released again on the second floor. Room 2154 is right around the corner. One bed is empty and the far one is concealed with a curtain.
“Mom? Dad?” I call quietly as I walk in, still sniffling. I should’ve stopped for a tissue.
“Melanie?” Mom says. She squeaks over to me and wraps me in a big hug. It’s the first time in ages that I’ve seen her in public without make-up on, without her hair done, even without earrings. The wrinkles around her eyes are more noticeable. So are the strands of silver hair that she usually hides behind her ears.
“How’s Annie?” I ask, following Mom to the other side of the curtain where my sister sleeps. Dad sits by her head, holding one of her hands in both of his.
“She’s all right now,” Mom says. “They just finished settling her in here. She must have picked up a virus. She’s dehydrated – that I.V.’s to hydrate her – and the doctor gave her some temperature lowering drugs that shouldn’t affect the baby.”
Annie looks small and weak, even with her bulging stomach.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Mom asks, checking her watch.
“I couldn’t sit through classes waiting for an update,” I say, wishing I could take back everything that happened with Devon this morning.
“I told you, Jo, you shouldn’t have left that message at the school,” Dad says.
“Well, she didn’t answer her cell,” Mom says about me.
“It’s at home,” I say.
“I should call the school again to tell them you’re with us.” Mom, always the doer, squeezes my arm and goes out to the hall to make the call.
Annie’s belly rises and falls with each breath. A nurse pops in to check her vitals and I take that moment to nab Dad’s phone and call Kasey. I leave a voicemail telling her that I won’t be able to go to the mall after school, asking her to grab my math book from Mrs. Chuck’s room, and saying I’ll call her later tonight.
Then I call Devon’s cell, not sure what to say. I go with, “It’s Mel. I’m sorry.”
That’s a sure way to win him back.
***
I drive home around 5:30, tired and starving. The wintery mix of weather has stopped, but the trip is slow going. Mom and Dad will be home after eight, when visiting hours end.
After I’m safely parked in the driveway, I grab the mail and let myself into the house. I have a vision of that day back in June when a magazine gave me the idea that Annie might be pregnant. It feels so long ago and not long at all.
Today I don’t expect to find anything important between the bills and ads until I come across an envelope from Pennsylvania College of Technology.
I wish someone were here to hold me steady while I open the envelope. It’s thick, not the kind that would have a so sorry letter, but it could tell me that I’m on the waiting list. Or be addressed to the wrong Melanie.
“Just open it,” I say to myself, and before I can overthink things any more, I tear a jagged rip through the flap. Out falls a packet of papers and a course catalog featuring color photos of happy students. A note is stuck over a girl who looks a lot like me: We look forward to seeing you this fall!
I scream, I jump, I flail. Finally I fall back on the couch and search the packet for the acceptance letter. I grip it like it could disappear into another dimension if I’m not careful. I have to call Kasey and swear when I can’t find my cell. I give up and grab the home phone from the kitchen.
“Kasey,” I say when she answers, “guess who’s going to Pennsylvania next year?”
She screams in my ear loud enough to challenge my own celebration. “I’m not surprised. Dude, I can’t believe how fast graduation is coming up. Isn’t it crazy? I mean, in a few months, we’ll be shopping for dorm-sized sheets and refrigerators.”
“Right,” I say, “I’ll be lucky if my parents spring for a hot plate.” I fill Kasey in on the rest of my day, starting with Annie’s illness, then my fight with Devon minus any details about Harris, and lastly my run-in with Justine.
“Justine needs to get a life,” Kasey says.
“I know,” I say. “But what about Devon? What do I do?”
Kasey shushes her barking dogs in the background before answering. “Devon’s a good guy. He won’t give up on you over a misunderstanding.”
I wish I could tell her about how Harris came by this summer, how lying about why he was there started the whole suspicious mess between me and Devon all those months ago. If Kasey knew that, she might not be so quick to think Devon will be crawling back to me within twenty-four hours.
“If it’s meant to work out with Devon, it will work out,” Kasey says. “If not, it won’t.”
“Oh, right, it’s that simple.”
“That’s the way the world works. It’s why Carlos and I didn’t work out. Someone better for me – and for him – is out there.”
“So I shouldn’t do anything to get him to talk to me tonight?” I ask. “If it’s meant to be, he’ll let me know?”
“You have to do what you feel is right,” she says. “If you think you should call him, call him. If not, then don’t.”
I laugh, surprising myself. “Aren’t you so full of advice tonight.”
“As always,” Kasey says. “I’ve gotta help my mom with the birds. Call me later and let me know if he called? And how Annie’s doing?”
“I will,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
When Kasey hangs up I know that if she learned the truth about Harris, she wouldn’t be mad. She understands that things happen for certain reasons. Maybe that means she’s right about Devon and me, too.
Still, I will the phone to ring, for it to be Devon on the line. I worry that he already called and texted my cell and thinks I’m ignoring him since I can’t find it, but he has my house phone number too and shouldn’t be afraid to use it. Not if he wants to talk.
I need to cook to distract myself. I put water on the stove for spaghetti, pour tomato paste and crushed tomatoes into another pot, and alternately re-read my acceptance letter, add herbs and spices to the sauce, and map out what I want to say to Devon when he calls.
If he calls.
By the time Mom and Dad get home, I’m on the couch under a blanket, watching TV.
“The Discovery Channel?” Mom says. “No cooking shows?”
I don’t tell her Discovery is Devon’s channel and I’m hoping to reach his subconscious by watching programs that remind me of him. Rolling my beaded bracelet up and down my arm is my only consolation that he hasn’t called.
“How’s Annie?” I ask.
“She’ll be fine,” Mom says with a long exhale of relief.
“Our Angel’s a trooper,” Dad says, tossing his hat onto the heap of winter clothes on the entryway chair.
“I made you guys spaghetti. And I got this.” I hold up the letter over my head.
“What’s this?” Mom snatches it from me, initially concerned, but her expression changes as she reads it.
“Oh, congratulations, honey! That’s wonderful!” It’s the first time in a long time she’s seemed truly happy, especially with me.
I turn off the TV and sit with my parents while they eat reheated spaghetti. We talk about the classes I’ll take and how far a drive it will be from home. Then we talk about Annie.
“Assuming her fever and sinus infection are under control, I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning. She asked me before we left if the baby was all right. I told her she was fine, and I think that made her feel a lot better.”
“The baby will be fine,” Dad repeats and slurps some more spaghetti.
Before I go to bed, I return to the living room for my acceptance letter and grab the rest of the mail off the couch where I abandoned it hours ago. Once it’s spread out on the kitchen table, a postcard catches my eye, one that had been stuck in the pages of a department store flyer.
Paris. That’s what it reads beneath pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and the Métro.
I know who it’s from without reading the signature. For a second I think I’m going to set the cardstock on fire with my glare. I’m only able to calm down when I read my PCT acceptance letter again. Then I pick up Harris’s postcard with two fingers and carry it upstairs with me. I set it on my dresser to deal with it tomorrow.
Along with everything else.