by Deena Lipomi
By Deena Lipomi
Published by Deena Lipomi
www.DeenaLipomi.com
Copyright 2015 by Deena Viviani
Cover and ebook formatting by Shana Norris
www.ShanaNorris.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
To my sister
Part I: Summer
Chapter 1
Annie’s five minutes late and counting.
A group of band kids shoves through the crowded foyer. Their instrument cases bang against me. I shuffle against the wall, rock from foot to foot, and check my watch.
Seven minutes.
A guy and girl make out while leaning against the water fountain. It sprays at my feet so I shift farther down the wall. Despite the annoying PDAs, it’d be nice if I had someone to kiss at the fountain. Or anywhere.
I check my watch again.
Ten minutes.
The last bell of the day rings.
Where the heck is Annie? She caught me in the hall after lunch (which she never does) and asked me to walk home with her (which we never do) so she could tell me something important. Maybe it’s not that big a deal and I just wish it was as big a deal as it seemed.
Fourteen minutes.
My irritation ebbs as another thought fills my head. What if something bad happened to her? What if she wanted to tell me how she was being stalked and now she’s been abducted? What if –
“Mel! Sorry!” Annie hurries from the sophomore wing. Her ballet flats pad across the floor and her black hair flutters from her head in perfect strands. It’s got to be one hundred degrees outside and not much cooler in our school and Annie is flawless. I’m not sure if it makes me more or less aggravated with her.
At least she’s OK.
“I didn’t realize what time it was,” she adds.
I blow my bangs from my forehead. My frizzy brown hair and blotchy face are proof that while Annie and I are sisters, we are not blood related.
Also, I have time management skills.
“I’ve been waiting for like fifteen minutes,” I start, but am interrupted by the couple at the water fountain.
“Yo, Annie,” the guy says.
“Hey,” Annie replies brightly. “You going out tonight?”
“Studying for finals,” the girl says. “But after that, hell yeah!”
“Annie,” I say to get her attention as I adjust my backpack on my shoulder. It’s not getting any lighter.
“Sorry,” Annie says all cutesy to me, and then waves goodbye to her friends or acquaintances or however this portion of her fan club can be defined.
Annie swings her giant purse over one shoulder and hitches her art portfolio under her other arm. “I was talking to Brett,” she says to me, “and lost track of time.”
Ah yes, her baseball playing senior ball date with the huge biceps. Of course he was more important than me.
My jealousy makes me more annoyed with myself than my sister. I turn away, slam my palms into the crash bar and am blasted with heat, sun, and lingering diesel exhaust.
“He had to tell me about the prom pictures,” Annie says, speeding after me as much as she can with her flimsy shoes and giant portfolio. “They came out really good. I’ll show you when we get home.”
I shake my head and storm off toward the sidewalk that leads to our house. To think I thought my little sister might need me. She hasn’t since she started high school so why did I let myself believe today would be any different?
“Mel, come on. Wait up. Please!”
The “please” gets me. I slow my pace and glance back at her. Annie’s a little pale, like she forgot her blush or bronzer or whatever this morning.
“What?” I ask, gentler this time. “Why did you make me wait for you?”
She scoffs. “I didn’t make you do anything. I just asked if you wanted to walk home together.”
“Which you never do,” I snap, niceness gone from my voice as fast as it came. Just like it’s been every day for the past two years between us. “So you must want something.”
Annie takes a deep breath and slowly blinks. “I’m sorry…I’m late.”
“You already said that,” I say.
She fishes her sunglasses from her purse and arranges them over her eyes. “I just got caught up. I swear, I didn’t mean to forget about you or anything.”
It’s nice to have her admit it even though this game is getting old. “What did you need to tell me?” I try again.
We walk in silence side by side as I wait for her to answer, her feet stepping lightly while mine practically leave indents in the sidewalk. Only part of it is because I weigh at least thirty pounds more than her.
“I feel crappy,” she says. “I’ve been getting all pukey and motion sick lately and didn’t want to ask Justine to pull over so I didn’t ride with her today.”
Justine is Annie’s best friend who is in love with her Jetta and drives it like a Nascar racer. Annie’s always had a sensitive digestive system. She’s allergic to dairy and nuts and gets upset stomachs a lot.
“Do you feel sick now?” I ask.
We keep walking past the post office where Mom works, past Marshall’s Deli where groups of kids from school eat sundaes and waffle cones. Annie gazes up at the Victorian houses that line North Ave and takes a deep breath.
“I –” she starts.
Honk! Honk!
There’s the Jetta now. It pulls up to the curb ahead of us.
“Annnnie!” someone shrieks out the backseat window.
“Hold on a minute,” Annie says and scurries to the car. Soon the back door opens and Annie disappears inside, portfolio and all.
When the car drives off I’m fuming but not surprised. Sure Annie wanted to talk to me, so badly that she made me wait fifteen minutes and then blew me off for the friends she didn’t want to ride with in the first place. She doesn’t even wave goodbye.
Half a dozen blocks later, I turn into my neighborhood and head downhill to our house. My stomach growls as I grab the mail and unlock the front door, anger fueling my appetite. I flip through the pile of envelopes and junk that includes the latest issue of Teen2Teen magazine, a gift from Gramma Henrie when I was eleven. Two years ago Annie and I would read it together, taking the quizzes and learning make-up tips from the articles. Two years ago we were super close sisters and best friends.
My stomach growls again and I decide baking butterscotch chip cookies will be a tasty distraction. I beat the butter and sugars in the KitchenAid mixer, my prized gift from last Christmas, then pour in extra vanilla. I spoon out a bite of dough before adding the eggs and am licking the fat-laden blob of goodness when Annie comes through the door.
“Hey,” she breathes, dropping her purse and portfolio next to the stairs.
I do my part to ignore her, pouring my entire attention into measuring flour and munching dough. But a thump behind me over the whirring of the mixer makes me spin around.
“Annie!”
She’s on the floor, slouching against the island.
I crouch beside her. “What’s wrong?” My heart is racing so hard I’m shaking. I shouldn’t have let her ride with Justine after she told me about getting sick in the Jetta. What kind of a big sister am I? No wonder Annie doesn’t come to me with her problems.
Annie rubs her forehead. “I’m fine. Just got dizzy.”
“Did you eat peanuts at lunch?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “I’m all right.”
“I’m calling Mom.”
“No! No. I’ll be fine.” Annie wobbles to her feet.
The front door clicks. Thank god Dad is home. Various camera bags hang from his wrists, elbows, and shoulders.
“Hi girls,” he says with a smile, heading for his office. “I’ve got to finish up a job. Call me when Mom’s home?”
“Sure,” Annie says before I can tell him what happened.
“Annie,” I start.
Simultaneously her phone rings and Dad disappears through his office door.
Annie reaches for her purse.
“You sure you’re all right?” I ask her, except it’s too late. She’s already talking to whichever friend or boyfriend called, taking her phone, purse, and portfolio up to her room.
I should be used to the fact that Annie only needed me to protect her from the assholes who called her names and made squinty eyes at her in elementary school and junior high. I should be thrilled that now she is accepted and loved by her friends and basically half our entire school.
I should be.
When the dough is on cookie sheets baking in the oven, I flip through the pages of the Teen2Teen magazine. On page six a perky tween jumps around in a short skirt, advertising tweeny tampons.
Then it hits me.
Annie’s late. That’s what she said.
Late.
And she’s pukey. And dizzy.
But perfect Annie? No, I’ve got to be wrong.
Chapter 2
“Barbie’s gonna have her puppies soon,” says Kasey, my best friend, between slurps of grape slushie. “You should totally adopt one.”
I break a butterscotch cookie in half and consider telling Kasey that Barbie might not be the only one popping out babies soon. But I don’t have any proof and after all the years of protecting my sister from taunts and teases, I don’t want to be the one starting rumors. Even if they could be true.
I pass Kasey half the cookie and say, “Like my parents would go for that.”
Kasey takes the cookie offering and rinses it down with slushie. She inhales sugar all day and is skinny as my pinky. If I tell her how lucky she is, she’ll say I should be happy I have boobs.
“You’ll have to bring your mom to my house and see if she can resist the puppy cuteness,” Kasey says.
Cheers erupt from the center of the cafeteria where the annual smorgasbord chili chow down is in full force. Years ago, someone convinced the entire student body that the leftovers from September through June were saved for the last day of school, and then dumped into a huge pot with a gallon of chili powder and tomato sauce. Bets are placed annually as to which student can eat the most bowls of it. Right now junior Sal Malone is beating the senior quarterback 3-2. Grunts and pounding fists echo through the room.
“Dude, they’re so gross,” Kasey says.
I stare at Sal’s black hair, tawny skin, and big smile.
“Mel, it’s time to move on. You’ll totally meet someone this summer,” Kasey says. “No one worthy of your time should be on his fourth bowl of smorgasbord chili.”
“Easy for you to say.” Not only is my best friend thin and brilliant, but she has a boyfriend. Carlos, her former exchange student, lives in Argentina but they video chat all the time.
Cheers fill the cafeteria and napkins and straw wrappers fly. The quarterback beat Sal five bowls of chili to four. If only I could channel my inner Annie and flirt with Sal like a pro.
The problem? I don’t think I actually have an inner Annie.
The bell rings so I stuff the remaining bite of my PBJ sandwich into my mouth. Kasey and I join the crowd emptying into the hall. In the crush I bang into one guy’s arm and stumble into another guy’s back.
“Watch where you’re going,” the arm guy scolds me.
“Watch it yourself, asshole!” Kasey snaps.
“Thorry,” I say with a peanut buttery tongue. God, I’m pathetic.
Then the guy whose back I hit turns around. “Hey, Melanie. Good luck on the final.” It’s Devon Rudnick, my bio lab partner. His red-brown hair is freshly trimmed so I didn’t recognize him from behind.
“Thankth. You too,” I manage, wondering how much peanut butter I just spit at him.
He parts his lips like he’s going to say something else, then tucks his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts and moves off through the crowd.
“Dude, you sooo need to go for him,” Kasey hisses in my ear.
I roll my eyes. Because peanut butter breath is such a turn on.
***
After school I’m watching the Food Network when the front door squeaks open, footsteps run through the foyer, and the bathroom door slams shut. Guess Annie’s home.
I roll off the couch and drop my econo-sized bag of pretzel twists.
“Annie?” I call.
No response from the bathroom.
“Are you all right?”
Still no answer. I know she had to stay after school to finish her final art project, which is supposedly why she didn’t ask me to walk home with her again. Or that’s the reason I told myself when she never explained what was up yesterday.
Annie and I used to tell each other everything up until Annie started her freshman year and I began my sophomore. She made friends of her own like she hadn’t been able to from upper-elementary through middle school.
Meanwhile, I became the one being whispered about because I didn’t wear the right clothes or have the right hair or stay skinny enough. Annie pretended she didn’t hear her new friends ripping on me. She also didn’t stick up for me the way I had defended her for years.
That hurt more than any of the other crap I got from people.
Annie no longer had time for me with all her parties and mall trips and school fundraisers and art club, so I spent my time hanging out with Kasey and researching new recipes to try and figuring out how to be a sister without being her friend.
Sometimes, like now, that’s all I want again. To be Annie’s friend.
I bang on the bathroom door. “Annie, are you all right?”
That’s when I hear the retching. My own stomach rolls. I can’t stand puking, but I don’t want her passing out in there.
I bang on the door some more. “Annie!”
The toilet flushes, the water runs, and the door inches open. Annie stands in the doorframe, hunched over. Her hair is stringy and damp at her bangs. She hasn’t gotten over her paleness from when she fainted yesterday.
“Please tell me you didn’t eat the smorgasbord chili and then get in a car with Justine driving,” I say with a smile, hoping I’m right.
Annie shoulders her way past me.
“Annie, come on,” I say, guarded, concerned, and fearful that I might be right about her illness.
She heads upstairs.
I put my foot on the first step to follow her, to confront her about my suspicions. Then my stomach churns the way it has on and off all day.
I’m afraid to ask. I don’t want to piss her off. Prying could be the exact thing that makes Annie never talk to me about anything important again.
So I let her go and she doesn’t look back.
***
“Melanie!” Mom yells for me to get to the table for dinner, a rude awakening. Literally. I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch during my pity party.
Annie’s at the table already, pasty-faced and pajama-clad, but upright. I can’t believe Mom and Dad aren’t questioning her on why she’s so quiet instead of telling them all of her evening, weekend, and summer plans.
Dad fills our glasses with water while Mom spoons chicken noodle casserole onto plates. She changed into a lime green blouse with her official polyester post office pants. I feel kind of bad that I slept through dinner preparation when I could’ve whipped up a casserole myself. It’s key to get that crunchy topping just right and Mom’s is good but not quite there.
“All done studying for finals, girls?” Mom asks.
“Yeah,” I say while Annie stays silent.
“What about picking colleges to apply to?”
A groan escapes my lips. The thought of going through more school when I don’t know what I want to major in causes an automatic whiny reflex that I can’t stop.
“You really should start thinking about it,” Mom says.
I’m about to give her a blow-off answer when Annie throws her hands over her mouth and bolts. The bathroom door slams shut a second later.
I force another bite into my mouth. I will not think about puking.
Mom and Dad are here now. They can be the ones who ask the tough questions. I don’t need to worry about this, to be something to Annie that I’m not anymore.
Mom wrinkles her forehead. “Is your sister OK?”
I shrug. Mom hasn’t noticed that Annie and I don’t exactly share our lives anymore. Probably because she doesn’t notice much about what I do at all. It comes from years of being a “good kid.”
Dad’s engrossed in his plate and the pile of negatives next to it, but he asks, “Is it that summer flu going around?”
“What flu?” Mom asks.
“I don’t know, I just assumed,” Dad replies, never once lifting his gaze from the table.
Annie returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t sit down. Instead she hovers behind her chair as if she might need to run again.
My heart races and casserole lodges in my esophagus.
“Annie?” Mom says, leaning over the table to get closer to her. “Are you all right?”
She opens her mouth then shuts it.
My mouth dries.
“Let me take your temperature.” Mom bustles off to the bathroom for the thermometer with the serving spoon still in her hand.
“Mom, no.” Annie reaches out to stop her.
Mom looks down at her wrist where Annie holds her. “You don’t feel warm. Is it food poisoning? Let me call poison control.” She rushes around the table to the phone.
