THE FLUORESCENT lights buzz overhead, and in my mind, I’m tracing the geometric design on the floor tiles for the hundredth time. I’ve washed Zora’s blood off my hands three times but I can still feel it. I can still see it on my shorts.
I’m a horrible sister. All I can think of is Zora’s sad, mad little face looking up at me when I pointed my finger and sent her away. I was awful to my own little sister. Zora didn’t mean any harm. She just wanted my attention. Like she always does. And I yelled at her in front of everyone in Connor’s front yard.
I’m a horrible friend. If I had just told Rose about Romeo—and I could have told her about a million times—none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have been so mean to Zora. Ally wouldn’t be mad at me for not telling Rose. And Rose might be speaking to me, which I seriously doubt she will ever do again.
I’m in a hospital waiting room on the fifth floor. Through the window, I can see that it’s almost dark outside. A little girl wanders around the waiting room offering people imaginary cups of tea. Her father, in a tired voice, keeps telling her not to bother anybody, to come sit with him. It works temporarily. She sits patiently for a few minutes, starts fidgeting, then resumes her tea service. Over and over again.
I’ve had make-believe tea four times already, and still my throat burns. I’m buried in guilt and all I can do is sit here.
They’ve been moving Zora to a regular hospital room after all the hours we spent in emergency. I’m too worried to be bored.
“She’s getting settled.” I look up and see my mom. “Dad’s with her.”
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask.
“I think so,” she says. “Come on. Let’s get some food or something.”
We walk to the elevator and Mom pushes the second floor button. Silently, we ride down three floors. I’m waiting for her to say something but she doesn’t. When the elevator stops, we get out onto a quiet floor and I follow her down the hall. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
The hospital cafeteria is almost empty and we find a table by the window. Mom gets a cup of coffee and she buys me a turkey sandwich. I take a bite but don’t feel like eating.
“Zora has a hairline skull fracture,” Mom tells me. “And a concussion. So, it’s not good.”
“But she’s going to be okay, right?”
“She should be,” Mom says, and I notice the dark circles under her eyes. “She has to stay quiet and they want to watch her. She’s going to have to stay here for a few days. That’s mostly because of the concussion. They can’t do much about the fracture. We’ll just have to keep an eye on it and give it time to heal.”
“Poor Zora,” I say.
“Yeah.” She takes a sip of coffee and rests her eyes on me. “What happened, Birdie?”
“I don’t know. She got on that dumb bike. I didn’t know she was doing it.”
“Why would she do something like that? That doesn’t sound like her.”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “She might have been upset.”
Her eyes fall on me like a spotlight. “What would Zora have been upset about?”
When I was little, I found a bird’s nest in our backyard. It had fallen out of a tree but the eggs inside weren’t broken, so I picked them up and brought them into the house. Proudly, I opened my hands and showed the pale blue eggs to my mom. But instead of smiling, she frowned.
I could tell I had done something wrong but I didn’t know what. When she explained that since I touched the eggs, the mama bird wouldn’t want them anymore and they couldn’t hatch without her, I didn’t want to believe her. So I put the eggs in a box with a blanket, kept them warm, and wished and wished for the little birds to come out. When they never did, I began to wish for something else. I wanted to turn back time. If I could only go back to that day and not pick up those eggs, maybe those baby birds could have lived.
Looking at my mom across the hospital cafeteria table, I want to turn back time again. To February 14. Instead of hiding Romeo’s Valentine’s card, I could have chosen to show it to Rose. It might have stung at first, but Rose would have moved on to like another boy and she wouldn’t be mad at me. And today would have never happened. Instead of taking out my frustration on Zora, I could have been nice to her. We could have gone home, popped some popcorn, played a game. Anything not to have ended up here.
“What was Zora upset about?” Mom asks me again. “Weren’t you watching her?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Well, kind of … I mean … I tried but…”
“Hmm.”
I hate it when she does that. Her hmm makes me feel more guilty. I try not to squirm in my seat.
“You’ve always been so good with Zora. I know we ask you to take on certain responsibilities with her, but we think that’s good for you. And Zora thinks you hung the moon. She’d rather be with you than anyone else in the world.”
“I know but—”
“Things are changing. I get that. But you only had to watch her for an hour. Is that too much to ask?”
I stare at my sandwich, unable to speak.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Maybe it’s being twelve, but sometimes it feels like you’d rather be with your friends than your family. And it hurts Zora’s feelings. That’s one reason I wanted us to go see your grandma. For some family bonding time.” She pauses. “But you got what you wanted. We’re not going to Chicago now.”
“No, Mom! It’s not what I wanted! Not like this!” My eyes are stinging. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want anything to happen to Zora. I’m so sorry, Mom.” I wipe away a tear with the back of my hand.
We sit across from each other, this horrible tension between us, and Mom asks, “What’s going on with you, Birdie?”
I let out a sigh that comes out more like a croak. “You’ll think it’s dumb.”
She takes a long breath. “I won’t. Tell me.”
I start slowly. “It’s just so much has been going on and Rose is mad at me and I was trying to do the right thing and I ended up doing the wrong thing … with Zora.”
“What’s Rose mad at you about?”
“Romeo,” I say. “Rose likes Romeo.”
“She’s too young to like boys.”
“That’s not what Rose thinks.”
“But what does this have to do with you?”
“Romeo likes me,” I say and watch closely for her reaction.
Her mouth drops open. “He does?”
I nod. “Yeah. He likes me.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.” I pause. “And gave me a Valentine’s card.”
“He did?”
“Yeah.”
She sits back, taking this in, then blurts out, “You don’t like him back, do you?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, not like that.”
“Oh gosh,” Mom says. “A boy likes you. We’re already there.”
“But I told him we’re just friends. Problem was, I never told Rose.”
“You didn’t want to hurt her.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim. “But Rose … well … she’s been flirting with Romeo all summer, thinking he liked her. But he didn’t like her. And I knew. See?”
“Hmm. Does she know now?”
“I told her. Right before Zora’s accident.”
“Oh,” Mom says, absorbing the tween angst that is currently me. “And how’d she take it?”
“Bad. And then Zora crashed.” Mom winces when I say that. “Sorry, I mean, then I don’t know. I didn’t see her. But I’m pretty sure she hates me.”
“What about Ally?”
“She’s not so happy with me, either. She’s the one who made me tell Rose.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Mom, Rose burned her violin.”
Her eyes widen. “She didn’t!”
“Set it on fire and floated it down the creek.” I decide not to tell her about the lighter fluid, though.
“Does her mother know?”
“No,” I say. “And you can’t tell her. I just needed to tell you.” And suddenly I feel the weight of all the things I’ve been carrying by myself this summer. The weight of Romeo, the violin, the mystery. I’m used to letting my mom share my load. Whenever I’d tell her a problem, it would somehow magically lighten. My eyes meet hers and I feel the tears coming.
“What is it, honey?” she asks.
“I’m scared, Mom,” I say quietly. “I’ve always had Rose and Ally. I don’t know who I am without them.”
“Oh. Yes, you do.” She reaches for my hand. “You absolutely do.”
Shaking my head, I cry silently. “I don’t think you’re right,” I whisper, and she strokes my hand like she always does when I’m sad.
I sit there feeling guilty and sad, and my mom doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me like her eyes are the glue that holds me together. Finally, she says, “You know, there’s a blessing and curse to having great friends like yours.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, wiping my nose with a napkin.
“Best friends are wonderful. They make you feel like you always belong. But they can be a sort of crutch, too. You already have your friends, so you don’t have to make friends with new people—people who might be interesting in different ways. You don’t have to be brave on your own, because being with friends makes us braver. Maybe it’s time for you to step out on your own for a while. And find out what the world’s like for just you.” She gives me a little smile. “And maybe there will be other kids going through the same thing as you are. Kids whose friends are going to different schools, too. You never know, it might turn out better than you think.”
She might be right but I can’t see that right now. Maybe, one day. I nod, wipe my nose again, and ask, “Can we see Zora now?”