The doctor had a very soothing voice. It flowed like honey, slow and sweet. But Mom seemed immune to his charm.
“How can we make sure that doesn’t happen to Anya?” Mom was asking, horrified.
“You can’t,” the doctor said.
—from BECAUSE OF ANYA
Margaret Peterson Haddix says, “Like most books, Because of Anya was inspired by several things. First an acquaintance suddenly began wearing a wig that looked almost exactly like her usual hair. I didn’t know why. Then a little girl in my daughter’s three-year-old Sunday school class developed a large bald spot on the back of her head because of an infection she got from her cat. The doctors told her parents the bald spot might never go away. Finally a wig shop across from my grocery store advertised in large letters, CHEMO, ALOPECIA PATIENTS WELCOME. It made my heart ache a little every time I went to the grocery. I didn’t know what alopecia was, but I was determined to find out.”
TEN-YEAR-OLD GIRLS DON’T WEAR WIGS.
So why is Anya wearing one? That’s what Keely’s friend Stef wants to know. She even wants Keely to tug on it, just to see if it’s real. Keely wants to know too—but when Anya’s wig falls off in front of the whole class, Keely discovers that what she really wants is to help Anya feel better. As for Anya, she just wants her hair to grow back, but no one, not even the doctors, knows whether it ever will. How can she come to terms with her disease when she can’t even look in the mirror?
In this heart-tugging story of friendship, renowned author Margaret Peterson Haddix introduces readers to a young girl with alopecia areata, a lifealtering disease that affects millions of people in the United States alone.
MARGARET PETERSON HADDIX is the best-selling author of many books for children and teens. Her books for young readers include Running Out of Time, Among the Hidden, Among the Impostors, Among the Betrayed, and Girl with 500 Middle Names. Her work been honored with the International Reading Association Children’s Book Award, American Library Association Best Book for Young Adults and Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers citations, and several state Readers’ Choice Awards. Margaret Peterson Haddix lives with her family in Columbus, Ohio.
VISIT US ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB
www.SimonSayKids.com
SIMON & SCHUSTER
BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
Simon & Schuster
New York
because of anya
Also by Margaret Peterson Haddix
Among the Betrayed
Takeoffs and Landings
Among the Impostors
The Girl with 500 Middle Names
Turnabout
Just Ella
Among the Hidden
Leaving Fishers
Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey
Running Out of Time
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2002 by Margaret Peterson Haddix
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS is a trademark of Simon & Schuster.
The text for this book is set in Janson Text.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Haddix, Margaret Peterson. Because of Anya / by Margaret Peterson Haddix. p. cm.
Summary: While ten-year-old Anya faces the difficulties of losing her hair to alopecia, her classmate Keely learns how to stand up for what she knows is right.
ISBN 0-689-83298-2
ISBN 978-1-4424-5778-2 (eBook)
[1. Baldness—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H1164 Ar 2002 [Fic]—dc21
2001057619
For Mandy and two Annas
With thanks to the Doeringer family for sharing their story with me.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Afterword
because of anya
One
The note teetered on the edge of Keely’s desk. Quickly Keely swept it into her hand. Then she flinched, waiting for Mrs. Hobson to yell at her.
Mrs. Hobson almost always yelled at Keely when someone passed her a note. Keely wasn’t like Tory or Nicole or Stef. The others could flip notes from one side of the room to the other, all day long, and Mrs. Hobson didn’t even see. But let one of them pass a note to Keely, or let Keely slide a note under her shoe and inch it toward Nicole’s desk, and instantly Mrs. Hobson would boom out in her meanest voice, “Keely Michaels! Do you have something to share with the rest of the class?”
And then Keely would have to beg, “No, Mrs. Hobson. Please, Mrs. Hobson, don’t make me read it out loud.”
Usually Mrs. Hobson didn’t. Usually she just put on her sternest look and pointed at the trash can, and Keely had to walk all the way to the front of the class while everyone else stared at her. Keely always squeezed her eyes shut as much as possible during that long walk to the trash can and back. She couldn’t stand seeing the way Tory and Nicole and Stef glared at her.
Once, Stef hadn’t spoken to Keely for three days because Keely got caught with a note she was supposed to be passing on to Tory.
Just three weeks ago, right before Christmas break, Stef had announced at recess, “When we come back in January, no one should pass any more notes to Keely. She’s going to get the rest of us in trouble.”
“But . . . ,” Keely had protested. Then she stopped because a little part of her was rejoicing, That’s right! Please don’t pass me any more notes! I don’t want your notes! They just get me in trouble! But if the others didn’t pass notes to her during class, she wouldn’t know anything. She’d get to recess and the others would be laughing at jokes she’d never heard, putting the finishing touches on plans that were brand-new to her. “I’ll practice,” Keely promised. “I’ll get better at hiding when you hand me notes.”
Stef had narrowed her green eyes, looking straight into Keely’s washed-out gray eyes.
“No,” she decided. “It’s better this way.”
And Keely knew that Stef had seen right into Keely’s head. Stef knew that Keely knew there was no way she was going to get any better at passing notes.
Keely had worried about that the entire two weeks of Christmas break.
But now it was just the first day back after break, and here was a note, passed straight to Keely, with Keely’s name on the outside. Stef was giving her another chance. And—Keely let her shoulders unhunch—Mrs. Hobson wasn�
�t yelling at her for once. Keely didn’t look up, but she could hear the scratch of Mrs. Hobson’s chalk on the chalkboard. Mrs. Hobson had her back to the class. Keely was safe.
With trembling fingers, Keely slipped the note under her desk and unfolded it. Pretending she was just looking at the bottom edge of her math book, she glanced farther down, at the note.
LOOK AT ANYA!
Even Stef’s handwriting was bossy.
Keely looked.
Anya sat at the front of the class, so Keely could barely see anything but the back of her head. Anya wasn’t the kind of kid anyone normally paid any attention to. She was just there. She had ordinary brown eyes, ordinary brown hair, ordinary brown clothes. Or maybe not the brown clothes. Keely couldn’t remember ever seeing Anya wear anything brown. But she couldn’t even remember what Anya was wearing now, and she’d just looked at her. That’s how Anya was. Anya had been in the same class with Keely every year in school—five years altogether now—and Keely probably hadn’t really looked at Anya even once since kindergarten.
Keely didn’t have the slightest idea why Stef wanted her to look at Anya now.
She glanced over at Stef, three rows away. Stef frowned and mouthed something Keely couldn’t understand. Besides not being able to pass notes without getting caught, Keely was also horrible at reading lips.
Stef frowned harder and pantomimed turning over a sheet of paper.
Keely turned the note over in her lap.
I THINK SHE’S WEARING A WIG!!!! Stef had written. Keely looked at Anya again. A wig? Weird. Keely didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone wearing a wig. Certainly not a fourth grader, another ten-year-old like Keely. Keely studied the back of Anya’s head. Maybe there was something different about her hair. It was still brown and straight and short, ending right above the collar of her sweatshirt. But it was . . . shinier than usual, wasn’t it? And maybe it was thicker. Healthier looking.
Keely glanced back at Stef again, perplexed. Depending on the expression on Stef’s face, Keely would know if she was supposed to laugh or be disgusted.
But Stef wasn’t looking at Keely. Stef was looking at Mrs. Hobson, who must have turned around while Keely was staring at Anya.
“Keely?” Mrs. Hobson said. “Do you have something to share with the rest of the class?”
“No, Mrs. Hobson,” Keely said. She could feel panicky sweat forming along her hairline. What if this was one of those times when Mrs. Hobson made her read the note out loud? How would Anya feel? Keely could just imagine the embarrassed look on Anya’s face, the red blush spreading all the way up to her hairline. (To her wig?)
But Mrs. Hobson just pointed at the trash basket. Her knees trembling, Keely got up and started walking.
Two
“You were practically waving the note at Mrs. Hobson!” Nicole said as they headed out for recess. “No wonder you got caught!”
“No, I wasn’t!” Keely protested. “It was on my lap!”
But had she lifted it up, trying to figure out what Stef was trying to tell her? Tears stung in her eyes, and she angrily blinked them away. She had to be ready. Stef was bound to lecture her again.
But Stef turned around and told Nicole, “Shh. Don’t talk about it now. Not until we’re . . .” She tilted her head in a signal they all understood. They were going out to the tree to talk.
The tree was their spot. It was at the very edge of the playground, past the swings, past the jungle gym, past the baby slides the kindergartners used. It was so far out that sometimes at the beginning of the year the teacher with playground duty had yelled at them, “Hey, where are the four of you going?”
Stef had always gone back to explain. Stef knew how to talk to teachers.
Now they could walk out to the tree and nobody said anything. And nobody followed.
The ground was frozen beneath Keely’s feet, but the sun was out and the air was warm. It didn’t feel like January. Keely didn’t even need her mittens. If Keely hadn’t been so stupid as to get caught with that note, she could be enjoying the winter sunshine right now, enjoying being back with her friends, enjoying recess.
They reached the tree. Keely leaned against the bark, letting the tree hold her up.
“Listen,” Stef said, lowering her voice even though they were a long, long way from any of the other kids. “Forget about Keely’s mistake. Do any of you know why Anya’s wearing a wig?”
Keely breathed out a silent sigh of relief. She waited for Nicole or Tory to answer. That was how their friendship went. Stef was in charge. She was the one who had decided when they had all gotten too old for dolls. She was the one who had decided soccer wasn’t really very much fun after all. She was the one who had decided glitter gel was stupid. She was the one who usually decided what they were going to play every day at recess.
Nicole and Tory were next in line. Sometimes Nicole or Tory could even tell Stef what to do. Just not very often.
And then there was Keely. Sometimes she felt like she was just hanging on by her fingertips. Sometimes it seemed like she was just one mistake away from not having any friends. That’s why she tried to keep her mouth shut, whenever possible.
She didn’t want to be like Anya. Did Anya ever have anyone to play with?
Nicole shook her blond hair so it bounced against her shoulders. “Maybe Anya thinks she’s going to start a new fashion or something,” she giggled.
Tory ran her hand through her dark hair. “Well, it’s not going to catch on. I’d hate wearing a wig,” she said.
Keely noticed that no one waited for her to answer. “No, no, guys, think,” Stef said impatiently. “What if she has to wear a wig? Because her own hair is falling out?”
“Eeww,” Nicole said, turning up her nose.
“No, listen. What if she has cancer? And her hair’s falling out because she has to have chemotherapy?”
Nobody said anything. The tree’s empty branches rattled overhead.
Cancer? Keely thought. Cancer? She felt like her heart skipped a beat.
“But Anya’s just a kid. Like us,” Tory said.
“Yeah,” Stef whispered. “And she might be dying.”
Keely had a sudden memory of kindergarten. The first day, Anya had held the door of the classroom open for Keely to go in in front of her. Keely could remember what Anya had been wearing that day: a frilly pink dress. And Anya’s mom or somebody had curled Anya’s hair and pulled it back in a big pink bow. Keely had watched those bobbing curls and felt her own fear fade away. Someone was being nice to her already. Maybe school wouldn’t be so bad after all.
And now Anya, the first person to be nice to Keely at school, was going to die?
“Somebody would have told us,” Nicole said. “Mrs. Hobson or . . . or Mrs. Wiley.”
Mrs. Wiley was the guidance counselor. She came into their classroom every month or so and talked about feelings and friendship and having good self-esteem. Stef, Nicole, and Tory always laughed at Mrs. Wiley, but Keely wanted every word she spoke to be true.
“Maybe Anya didn’t want anyone to know,” Stef said. “Maybe she’s being brave and strong, and doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. We ought to do something to help her.”
Stef got like this sometimes. Just when Keely had decided Stef was the meanest person she knew, Stef would turn everything around and act like the kindest person ever. Keely could tell that Nicole was feeling bad now for making a face and saying “Eeww” about Anya’s hair maybe falling out. Keely herself felt bad for thinking Stef had passed her the note about Anya’s wig so Keely would laugh at her.
“What do you think we should do?” Keely asked in a small voice.
“I don’t know. . . .” Stef let her voice trail off. She stared off into the distance, watching the other kids on the playground. “There’s got to be something we can do to cheer up Anya.”
“My mom read this thing in the newspaper,” Tory said. “There was this high school football player, see? And he got cancer and had to hav
e whatever that stuff’s called—”
“Chemotherapy,” Stef said.
“Yeah, that. Anyway, he lost all his hair. And to show how much they cared about him, all the other boys on the football team shaved their heads too. So he wouldn’t stand out, because they were all bald.”
For one horrible second Keely thought Stef was going to say that was what they’d have to do for Anya. No matter how bad she felt for Anya, Keely didn’t want to be bald.
Then she saw Stef’s hand fly up to her hair, and Keely knew: Stef would never say they should shave their heads.
Keely had never thought about it much before, but all her friends had really great hair. Tory’s was dark and sleek and shiny—it reminded Keely of the seals she’d seen at the zoo, flashing through the water. Nicole’s was long and blond, and didn’t everyone always want to be blond?
But Stef’s was the most impressive of all. It was red and wavy, and stood out like a great cloud around her head. People always noticed Stef, because they noticed her hair.
“Anya would probably just think we were making fun of her if we cut off all our hair,” Stef said, like that was the only reason she didn’t want to shave her head. “Besides, we don’t know that she’s bald, just that she’s wearing a wig. No, we’ll just have to go out of our way to be nice to her. That’s what we’ll do.”
As if Stef had planned it, the recess bell rang just then. All four girls took off running, back to the school. Keely felt her long hair thumping against her shoulders as she ran.
I’m glad I have hair, she thought. I’m glad I don’t have to wear a wig.
I’m glad I don’t have cancer.
Three
Anya pushed open the door. One more step and she’d be inside. Then she could run straight to her room and scratch the place in the middle of her scalp that had been itching all day long. She’d been scared to scratch it, scared she’d knock the wig crooked.
Because of Anya Page 1
