I did not have to lie to the nurse.
Because I was actually feeling terrible.
“My stomach hurts,” I told her. “My head, too.
And I just want to go to sleep.”
“Which side of your stomach hurts?” she asked.
“The whole thing,” I said.
and called my mom.
“Eleanor doesn’t have a fever,” she said.
“But she doesn’t feel good. Or look good, either.
I think she’s coming down with something.”
Then the nurse listened for a second
and said, “I’ll let her know.”
She hung up the phone and told me,
“Your mom will be here very soon.
Why don’t you go to your cubby
and gather what you need.”
I felt a little lighter then.
I was going home!
The hallway was empty
because everyone else was in class.
I felt relieved, not seeing anybody.
But that didn’t last long.
Because
after I got to my cubby
and started gathering everything I thought I’d need,
I noticed some pale pink fabric
wadded up
in a back corner.
My heart fell then.
I knew exactly what that fabric was.
It was the sparkly sweatshirt Ainsley had given me,
so very nicely.
The one her mom had made.
I lifted it slowly out of my cubby
and unwadded it.
It had been so neat and smooth and new
when Ainsley gave it to me.
Now it was wrinkled
and covered with greasy cookie crumbs
and marked up
with ink.
I tried to brush off the crumbs,
but the chocolate left streaks.
And my eyes filled with tears.
I should’ve taken care of that sweatshirt!
I should’ve brought it home
and kept it safe in a dresser drawer
and worn it today
and said to everyone,
“Ainsley’s mom made this sweatshirt!
Isn’t it great?”
Instead of saying she had a crush on Adam!
She’d given me a present, just to be nice.
And I’d ruined that present
and her life!
I stopped brushing crumbs off the sweatshirt
and tried to get out the chocolate.
And the ink.
That’s how my mom found me:
scrubbing at my pale pink sweatshirt
with a finger covered in spit.
“There you are,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
I shook the sweatshirt at her.
“You have to get the stains out!” I said.
“You have to!”
She looked at me funny.
“I mean it!” I cried.
She put her arm around me
and said, “Let’s get you home.
You can explain on the way.”
So I explained, slowly, on the way.
A lot of it was hard to say.
I didn’t know how she’d react
when I got to the part
about announcing Ainsley’s secret.
I thought she’d get mad at me
or say, “Eleanor,”
in a very disappointed tone.
But she didn’t say anything at all.
She just looked very sad
and very serious.
When I’d finished my whole story, she said,
“There’s a lot to fix, isn’t there?”
I nodded. There was a lot to fix.
“We might as well start with the sweatshirt,”
my mom said.
“But your dad is the stain magician, not me.”
“Right,” I said.
I’d forgotten—that was true.
And then my mom said,
“We’ll see what he can do.”