As we got about a half mile to my house, I was about to burst out crying again because as you know, when I had tried to tell Maddie about NPC she wouldn’t listen, so like any reasonable human being, I tried again.
The car was kind of quiet because Pat had turned down the radio so I could give her directions, and it was sort of peaceful just hearing the air-conditioning and watching the trees go by, SO SUE ME, I THOUGHT IT WAS A NICE MOMENT.
I said, “Maddie, I have a disease that makes me forget things. That’s why I blanked during the round.”
Maddie was silent, which I thought was a good thing, until I looked back at her from the front seat and she was staring straight ahead.
She said, “What.”
Pat sighed and I continued. “I was diagnosed with Niemann-Pick Type C, which is a degenerative brain disease. Me forgetting where I was—that’s a symptom of the disease.”
I watched her scrunch her eyebrows together in the rearview mirror. “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Is this true?”
Pause. “Yes.”
Maddie made eye contact with me in the mirror. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since winter break.” We pulled up to the end of my driveway, and as Pat’s car started to kick up gravel on the steep hill, I said, “It’s okay, you can stop here. I’ll walk up.”
“Sammie—Jesus. I’m sorry.” Maddie didn’t sound sorry. She sounded mad. “Why didn’t you say something before?”
I unbuckled my seat belt and lifted my bag. All my papers fell out. Sheets printed with round times, scores, a welcome map of Boston. “I thought you wouldn’t want to be partners with me,” I muttered, gathering the pile.
Maddie made a sound between disgust and sadness. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Not because of you rejecting me as a friend or whatever, just because you might have thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it,” I said, shoving papers in clumps on the seat.
“That’s not the point!” Maddie yelled, then said quieter. “You lied to me!”
Pat reached behind her to touch Maddie’s knee. “Girls, why don’t you give yourselves some space?”
“Well…” Maddie made another sound, breathing air through her nose. “Isn’t that convenient.”
“What?” I said, almost ripping my bag as I closed the zipper. “What did I do this time?”
“You just drop bombs and leave,” she was saying under her breath out the window. “That’s the Sammie McCoy way. Just droppin’ truth bombs. Who cares what comes after?”
“Thanks, Pat,” I said to Maddie’s mom, forcing a smile, and slammed the door.
As I walked away I heard Maddie’s window roll down. “I’m sorry you’re sick but you can’t pretend you didn’t wait on purpose to tell me right when we got to your house!”
“Maddie,” I heard Pat say behind me.
I turned around. “What does it matter when I tell you? I’m telling you! It’s my thing! I get to decide!”
“Exactly,” Maddie yelled as they reversed. “You control everything!”
“Yeah, right,” I said to no one. “Believe me, I wish.” She has no idea how wrong she is.