When we get home at five o’clock, Sequoia barrels into me, arms spread wide for a hug, as I get out of the van my dad rigged to run on vegetable oil and named Bessie. Thankfully, my reflexes are quick and I’m able to pull the bag of tomatoes up over my head before he smashes them against my chest.
“Watch it. Jeez.”
“Ew. You’re all sweaty,” he says, pulling away.
“It was hot and we forgot the canopy. Be thankful you got to stay here with the shade and the lemonade.”
“Phew.” He wipes his brow in relief as he trudges into the house in front of my mom and me.
“Where’s Poppy?” my mom says.
“Out back. Science stuff.”
“And Daddy?”
“He finished work early, so he’s reading another mystery. Dun dun dun.”
Our dad taught us that. He always says, “I’m off to read a mystery. Dun dun dun.” And we’re all supposed to laugh like we’re hearing the joke for the first time.
My mom pats my brother’s messy head of hair. “Well, then it looks like you get to help me make spaghetti sauce.”
“Yes!” Sequoia says, pumping his fist in the air.
I let out a hacking cough, and my mom turns to look at me again. She crinkles her eyebrows tight, making her forehead crease deep in the middle, then swipes her hand across my forehead. It comes back smeared with sweat. “You’re getting sick, June. Why don’t you go lie down, and Poppy’ll bring you some tea with honey when she’s done with her project.”
“Fine.” I don’t want to be sick, but it’s probably time to admit I don’t feel completely well. Maybe all I need is a nap.
In my room, I draw the shades because the bright sun is making my eyes water. The school day is over, so there’s nothing left to see across the street now anyway. I flip on the ceiling fan, kick off my sandals, and flop on the bed. My room is dark without the light from the window, but the breeze of the fan chills my too-hot skin, so I burrow under the covers. When I close my eyes, I realize how much my body aches. Every inch of me feels bruised, every muscle tender. I sink into the bed, hugged by the quilt my mom made for me two Christmases ago. I drift into the comfort of home and await fuzzy dreams.
Dreams of boys and beaches and sunshine.
Summer music.
The slap of waves …
I jolt awake to Poppy hovering above me like an ax murderer. She has turned on the light and made my room too bright again.
“Tea,” she says, heaving up a mug so heavy it takes two hands to hold it. “With orange blossom honey from Fresh Hive.”
“Thanks.” I prop myself up on my pillows and reach for the mug. The first sip feels good going down my scratchy throat.
“Your eyes are red,” she says.
“No kidding, Nancy Drew. I’m sick.”
“No. Red red. Creepy red. And gooey.” She shudders.
“Okay. You can go now.”
“Mom said to tell you dinner’s in an hour.”
I start to say thanks, but my body is suddenly overcome by a coughing fit. Hot tea splashes out over the sides of my mug, leaving teardrop stains on my shirt. Poppy grabs the mug from me and sets it on the nightstand before I spill it all.
“That sounds bad,” she says. “Are you possessed or something?”
“Can you go now? I just want to sleep.”
It’s a miracle, but Poppy finally shuts off the light and leaves. I turn to my side, pulling my knees up and my arms in because I’m cold again.
And soggy.
A lump.
Something’s not right, but I’m too exhausted to care.