by Beth Vrabel
I slammed the door and rushed to the window, checking to make sure Brad walked past the woods and back to the road. When he reached the edge of my yard, he whipped around and I ducked. When I sneaked back up to peek, he was heading toward his house.
“What was that about?” Mom asked. “Sounded like you and Brad were kind of fighting?”
I glanced at Mom. Her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes, huge and watery brown like mine, followed Brad’s retreating steps from the window. I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Sounded like something,” she said.
“Is something burning?” I asked instead of answering.
“Shoot!” Mom scurried back into the kitchen, me trailing behind.
Two grilled steaks with salads were on plates. In the saucepan, a slightly thicker steak sizzled, an island in a melted butter ocean. Mom flipped the steak, sending flecks of hot butter popping into the air. She drizzled olive oil on top of the meat, and then spooned more of the butter on top of that.
“Looks great,” Patrick said as he grabbed one of the plates already filled with a regular oil-free steak and the salad with nuts and some dressing. “Thanks, Mom.” He sliced a piece of meat off the steak, wrapped the rest in aluminum foil, and put it in the fridge. “I’ll eat the rest after practice.”
Mom smiled and kissed his cheek. Then she slid the steak from the pan onto my plate, the fat, butter, and oil seeping from it onto the lettuce. My plate already had salad, topped with nuts and seeds, mounds of shredded cheese, and thick ranch dressing. “Here you go, sweetie,” she said. Then she tipped my meds into my palm. I swallowed all eight pills with just one swig of water. She sighed but didn’t give me the you’re-going-to-choke lecture.
I nabbed the plate and sat beside Patrick. Mom raised an eyebrow when I cut off a chunk of squishy fat. “It’s gross,” I muttered.
Mom sighed but turned toward Patrick. “How was your day, love?”
“I heard back from Dr. Edwards,” Patrick said. “He said he’ll give me a recommendation for an internship.” He grinned at Mom, and I swear the kitchen light made his white teeth glint. I forced a giant glob of steak down my throat while Mom made this high-pitched squealy sound she reserves for Patrick’s accomplishments. I’ve heard it a lot.
“Wait, my Dr. Edwards?” I asked a second later.
“Yeah.” Patrick didn’t meet my eyes, just sliced off another small portion of steak and stabbed a piece of lettuce to go with it.
“Why would you need a letter of recommendation from my Dr. Edwards?”
Patrick didn’t say anything. Mom brushed her hand across the top of mine. “Patrick is applying for a position at the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, working on raising awareness and fund-raising this summer. Isn’t that amazing?”
Suddenly I felt hot, like my skin—especially my face—had been dunked in simmering water.
“Why cystic fibrosis?” I managed. “Of all the foundations in the world, why the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed. His nose flared a little while he breathed in and out, and he mashed his lips together like they were glued. He threw his crumpled napkin on the table. “Thank you for dinner, Mom. It was great.” Patrick stood, making his chair rattle as it skid backward.
I stared at my buttery steak, at the way the brownish-red juices swirled into the melted butter but didn’t mix with it, waiting for Mom to break apart the thick silence.
“I would’ve thought you’d be honored, Caleb,” she half whispered. “Patrick has dozens of opportunities this summer. Coach Dan offered him a spot leading a summer running club for the middle school. He could’ve taught private violin lessons. Your father even secured a spot for him at his office. But instead of all of those, Patrick wants to raise awareness for cystic fibrosis.” Mom reached over her plate to mine, cutting the steak into small pieces. I guess I wasn’t eating fast enough. Finally, she said, “Why cystic fibrosis? You know why.”
“Am I supposed to say thank you or something?” I snapped.
“That’d be nice.” Mom laughed, but in a hard, not-at-all-funny way.
“You think he’s doing it for me, but he isn’t,” I whispered.
“That’s ridiculous. Who else would he be doing it for?” Mom said.
“Himself. So he can keep being the stupid hero,” I muttered.
“What?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. She took another heavy breath and threw her napkin on her plate, too. They were so alike; sometimes seeing it was like getting a paper cut across my chest. I glared at my plate, feeling my eyes sting and not able to put how I felt into words.
“Eat your steak.” Mom opened her laptop and starting answering e-mails but I knew she was making sure I finished my food. I shoveled it into my mouth as fast as I could chew. Patrick swiped Mom’s car keys from the counter to head to track practice and said bye to her but not me, not that I cared. I didn’t even look up when he walked by smelling like deodorant. Finally, with only a few sprigs of lettuce and globs of dressing left on my plate, I asked if I could be excused.
“Yes, but I don’t want you parking yourself in front of the TV,” she said without looking up from her own screen.
“I—I thought I’d go for a walk,” I said.
This time Mom did look up. “A walk?” she repeated like I had actually said I wanted to swap my fingers for hot dogs or something.
“Yeah, it’s where you go outside and move your legs back and forth so they propel you forward.”
Mom twisted her lips together but couldn’t hold in a laugh. “Yes, I know what a walk is. If you hold up for a minute—let me finish this message—I’ll join you. It’s so nice out tonight!”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “I… I kind of want to be alone. You know, to think.”
Mom smiled and she ruffled my hair. “That’s a good idea. Take your phone with you, just in case.”
This time I didn’t hesitate after entering the woods, just walked straight ahead.
When I reached the stream, I spotted Kit right away, sitting on the golden rock like a mermaid. “I was wondering if you’d show up tonight,” she said.
“Here I am.” I kept it cool—just smiling a little—but really I wanted to fist pump the air. I hadn’t been sure she’d be there. Maybe part of me still thought she hadn’t been real.
Kit patted the space on the rock next to her. “Room for two.”
“My mom thinks I’m taking a walk.” I kicked off my sneakers and skipped on rocks across the stream to Kit.
“Well, you walked here, didn’t you?” Kit reached out her hand to help me up the rock. She was right; both of us fit.
“I thought you looked like a mermaid,” I blurted.
Kit smiled as she kicked out her legs like a tail in front of her. “Then you’re a sailor.”
I sucked on my bottom lip, thinking about how Brad would bust a gut at what I was about to say and reminding myself that he didn’t even know about this place. I glanced around, just to be sure. “Maybe my ship just crashed on the rocks?” I whispered, pushing the part of me that felt stupid for playing pretend into a little ball in my gut.
Kit nodded, her eyes getting rounder and brighter. “You need me to save you.”
“And you need me to grow legs.”
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the spell. I fished it out and stared at the text from Mom. R U OK?
Kit read it over my shoulder and raised an eyebrow at me. I typed back. Yes. Ran into a friend. OK?
Immediately, Mom typed back. Be back by dark. Tell Brad I said hi.
I started to write back, but Kit put her hand over mine. With her other hand, she pointed to a tree beside the stream where two squirrels chittered. “Messengers from the sea witch have spotted us, Sailor Caleb! Let’s hide in the forest!”
As soon as I could leave the house the next evening, I trailed through the woods to Mermaid Rock, where Kit was waiting. It had been the last day of school; Bra
d and a bunch of guys were going out for pizza to celebrate. But I told them I had other plans. “Writing another essay?” Brad had asked but let it go when Jett pointed out that everyone else would meet at the park to play football after eating.
Kit didn’t ask anything about school. She didn’t want to know how the last day was or how I had gotten away from Mom and Patrick this time (I told them I was meeting a friend—not mentioning that the friend wasn’t Brad). Kit just launched right back into the story from the day before, where she was a recovering mermaid and I was an avenging sailor.
The sun slipped behind the trees, making lightning bug butts glow, when I told Kit good-bye.
“See you Monday morning?” she asked. “School’s over, right?”
“I have to go to camp at the park. It’s stupid, but I’ve got to go.”
“Says who?” She raised her eyebrow.
“My mom,” I answered automatically.
“Do you always do what your mom says?”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “Most of the time.”
“Maybe you should do what you want to do.”
“It doesn’t work that way.” I pulled on my shoes and socks at the stream’s edge. “Not for me.”
When I looked up, Kit was gone.
I guess I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been as I headed home. When I opened the screen door, Patrick was sitting by the window. “Hanging out at Brad’s, huh?” he asked, and I knew he had spotted me leaving the woods from the opposite direction of Brad’s house. Next time, I told myself, I’ll find a different spot, one closer to the street.
Mom saved me from replying by walking into the living room with my vest and a nebulizer treatment. “Hey! I was just about to call Brad’s house to get you to come home.” I shrugged and put the mask over my mouth and nose as Mom plugged in the nebulizer. Within seconds, the machine turned liquid medicine into a mist that I breathed in through the mask. Maybe this time the medicine would be serum. Maybe I’d wake up strong as a superhero, as magical as Kit.
CHAPTER THREE
“Do you have everything you need?” Mom asked for about the thirtieth time that Monday.
I nodded, but she grabbed my bag anyway and checked. “Caleb!” she scolded. “Your cell phone is only half charged! What if it dies during camp?”
“It won’t,” I said, staring out the car window. All around us, kids were running from their cars with beach blankets and water bottles, barreling ahead to the pavilion where camp counselors were checking them in. Some were already wearing swim trunks. None of them had parents with them.
“And you already have a layer of sunscreen on, right?” Mom asked.
“Yes!” I snapped. “You watched me put it on before we left, remember?”
Mom huffed. “I have a busy day today, Caleb. If you need anything, I’m not going to be able to leave the office, and it’s Patrick’s first day at his internship—”
“I get it,” I grumbled. “I’ll call Dad if I get sick or something.”
Mom didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. We both knew Dad wouldn’t answer the phone.
“I still don’t see why—”
This time Mom cut me off. “I’m not discussing this again, Caleb. You’re not staying home by yourself.”
“I’m twelve years old! I can handle it!”
“No.” Mom opened the door to leave but just as abruptly slammed it shut and leaned into me. “Caleb, you need to get out and enjoy life, do fun things like camp, instead of sitting home alone. It’s important.”
I pointed to the port-a-potty in front of our car. “You think this is going to be fun?”
“Ugh!” Mom threw her arms in the air, slamming them down on the steering wheel. “Would you stop taking yourself so seriously? Just have fun? Just be a kid? For once, Caleb. Go and have fun, and let me go to work without feeling like the worst mom in the world!”
“So sorry to ruin your life!” I opened my door, hopped out of the car, and stomped toward the pavilion.
“Caleb, wait!” Mom was right on my heels. “I need to talk with the counselors.”
“You already did, remember?”
“Yes, I talked with the organizer last night, but I have no idea if that person actually passed on the message to these guys.”
“Mom! You’re the only parent here…”
She stared straight ahead not looking at me.
I grabbed her arm, trying to hold her back. “I can tell them the rules,” I hissed.
Mom shook off my grip, looking at me at last. She raised her other hand, shaking my backpack a little and then pushing it into my arms. “I can’t even count on you to remember your backpack let alone to tell the counselors your restrictions. Besides, most of these kids have been going here for years. I need to at least introduce myself and you.”
I glanced around. She was right. Kids were giving counselors fist bumps and laughing, already fitting in. I didn’t see anyone I knew all that well. Our town was small enough that I knew most of the other kids’ faces, but I didn’t know them. This was my first summer having to do camp. Usually Mom took a couple weeks’ vacation at the start of summer break, then Dad would do the same. But Dad had moved in with his girlfriend six months ago and said the cruise they went on together shortly afterward used up all his vacation. (And “besides, Caleb, you’d be bored out of your mind. What do Kristie and I know about entertaining a twelve-year-old?”)
I used to hang out with Brad at his house for the rest of my summer break. We were friends for so long that Mrs. Williams—his mom—knew everything there was to know about me. But this year, Brad had football practice every day. And with Patrick’s internship, that left town camp as my only option.
And that meant I’d spend nine hours every day at the town park, being watched by counselors only two or three years older than me, hanging out on the baby playground or in the swimming pool with kids as young as five, all of us wearing matching electric-green T-shirts and being miserable. Well, I guess the last part wasn’t a requirement, strictly speaking, but it was a given, for sure.
I trailed behind Mom as she made her way to the counselors. I recognized one from the bus, a girl named Ava with hair so long I doubted she had ever cut it. It hung in a blondish-brown braid down her back. She was one of those girls whose smile seemed to stretch to her ears but never her eyes, like she wanted you to smile back more than she really wanted to smile at you. Just picture the kid who always volunteers for every single position. That’s Ava. I should introduce her to Patrick, I thought. No one out-volunteers Patrick. I smirked a little, thinking of how Ava and Patrick might duke it out to see who was the best all-around person.
Mom squeezed my shoulder. “That’s a much better attitude,” she said, I guess thinking my smirk was a this-might-not-be-so-bad-after-all smile. I rolled my eyes and she dropped her hand.
“You must be Caleb Winchester,” Ava said in a super chipper voice as we approached. She put out her hand to shake.
“We ride the same bus,” I said, shoving my fists into my pockets.
Mom grabbed Ava’s hand. “I’m Stephanie. I need to go over a few of Caleb’s restrictions.”
“Let me guess,” came a snarly voice behind me. “You’re going to need the pavilion to be air-conditioned.”
Sure enough, when I turned around there was Shelly Markel sitting on a picnic bench with her legs crossed at the ankles and looking as miserable as me in her electric-green T-shirt. Awesome. As if I weren’t already dreading camp.
“Mom,” I hissed. Mom’s eyes darted from me to Shelly and back. For once in her life, she actually seemed to understand me. “Could we discuss these issues privately for a moment?” Mom asked Ava.
Ava’s smile stretched farther (to the point of having to hurt and possibly being impossible). It was like she was trying to smile Mom into trusting her. Ava turned toward Shelly. “Shelly, sweetheart, why don’t you go join the other campers?”
“I’m fine here.” Shelly nibbled at a
fingernail.
Ava’s smile shook, but she kept the same too-bright voice as she said, “Shelly. Go. Now.”
Shelly rolled her eyes. It took her the length of a mega sigh to reach her feet. As if she were part turtle, she ambled away.
“Now,” Ava said, crossing her arms, “what would you like us to know? I’m sure you’re aware that all counselors are CPR certified and graduated from the Red Cross babysitting class.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Mom said, and glanced at her watch.
“Most parents are a little nervous about dropping off their children on the first day of camp. We’ll keep a special eye on your little man. Don’t worry, Mrs. Winchester.”
I groaned and Ava’s smile turned to a grimace for a half second.
Mom stiffened, her neck rising, her expression reading: I’m-about-to-offer-an-education. I’ve seen this face a lot. Oh, man. Here we go. “It’s Ms. Baker, thank you,” she said, each word sounding like a bite into a crisp apple. “And I have more concerns than the typical nervous mommy. My son has cystic fibrosis, which means he needs quite a bit more attention than simply being around someone who is CPR certified, although that is certainly lovely. Caleb’s lungs are filled with thick, sticky mucus and easily become infected. He’s going to cough a lot—and that’s a good thing. The not coughing is when we need to be concerned. He also has to eat all of his lunch.” Mom zipped open the backpack and pulled out my enormous lunch box. “Even if he doesn’t want to, you need to make sure he eats it.”
“Mom!” I grabbed the bag back from her, zipping it up. “I’m twelve years old. I can tell her what I need.”
Ava’s eyes widened when I told her my age.
“Yes,” I said, “twelve.”
“Wow,” Ava murmured.
Mom continued on her tirade. “If he goes into distress, call me. If he seems tired, let him rest, but call me. If he needs to use the facilities,”—Mom jerked her head toward the port-a-potty—“let him, without hesitation. If it’s humid, let him sit in the shade, and call me.” Mom said all of these quickly, as if I weren’t standing right there.
