Page 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next morning, I’m awoken by yelling. My mind won’t process what I’m hearing. At first, I assume it’s Grandma and Mom at it again, but the tone is too urgent. And I keep hearing my name and Joel’s.

Then I realize it’s Mom yelling for us. I stumble out of bed and run into Joel, who’s just burst from his room, too. He gets to Mom’s room first and skids to a halt at her bedside.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I’ve pissed in my bed! Didn’t anyone take me to the bathroom last night?” Mom’s voice is a little slurred, but mostly it’s way louder than I would think someone who just had their head cut open should be able to yell.

Joel looks at me, and I shrug and shake my head. “She never said she needed to.”

My brother’s expression shutters, and suddenly he’s all business. “Let’s get you cleaned off and changed. Ava, you help Mom to the bathroom and use a washcloth to clean her off.” He strides to her dresser and pulls out another pair of pajamas. “Make sure she’s nice and dry before you put these clothes on her. Mom, if you have to poop, do it now while you’re out of bed. I’ll change your bedding while you get cleaned up.”

I blush at his matter-of-fact mention of Mom’s physical needs. But then I notice Mom is totally calm while she listens. What’s that all about? But if Mom isn’t embarrassed, then why should I be? Tossing the pajamas over my shoulder, I brace myself to pull Mom to a standing position. She grasps my hands, grits her teeth and using steady force, I pull until she’s standing on two feet. She’s panting, so I know it hurts, but she doesn’t complain. When she appears steady, I steer her out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom.

Stripping off her clothes, I’m mortified to see my mom’s bare body. Tossing the soiled clothes into the bathtub to deal with later, I force myself to stay as businesslike as Joel while I dampen a washcloth and wipe down her legs. She shivers.

“Sorry, this shouldn’t take long,” I say. My hands shake, belying my calm demeanor. Dressing her is awkward. She must sit on the closed toilet in order to lift a foot so I can slip a pant leg on. Then she wobbles when she stands again, complaining about being dizzy. I have visions of her falling and hitting her already fragile head on the bathtub or something. My hands shake even more. The pajama top is one that slides over her head. I’m afraid I’m going to jostle her or pull the bandages off as I pull the shirt down, but her head pops through the hole unaffected. “Do you have to use the toilet, Mom?”

I see her cheeks redden and wonder if she feels some responsibility for the accident even though she blamed us. She shakes her head, so I lead her back to her room where Joel is just finishing up changing pillowcases.

Since Mom is awake, I decide to make her breakfast. Joel tromps downstairs to put the soiled clothes in the wash. As I whip some eggs and milk, I hear Grandma yell at Joel for waking her up. I don’t hear him respond. Staying calm seems to work well with Grandma; I’ll have to try that. I pour the eggs into the hot pan and pop a piece of bread into the toaster. When it is all done, I plate it and take it upstairs. Mom is nodding off but wakes again when I come into the room.

“That smells good,” she says. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“A few things. Nothing fancy.” I set the plate on the table so that I can prop her with more pillows, then I hand her the plate. “I’m going to hop into the shower. Will you be okay?”

She shovels a forkful of egg into her mouth like she’s starving. “I’ll be fine, honey. Thanks.”

I double-take at the endearment. This Mom is definitely not a Mom I’ve ever known before. I wonder if she will stick around long. Even though Mom woke us up early, by the time I’m stepping into the shower, I’m running behind schedule to get to school on time. I take a fast shower and throw my hair in a ponytail. I slide on some leggings and an oversized sweatshirt and stuff my books into my backpack.

“Text me our plan for the 2:00 pm shift,” I call, as I race out down the stairs. Joel doesn’t answer, so it’s likely he doesn’t hear me. Maybe he went back to sleep.

I speed walk to Sam’s car. She’s been waiting for a good five minutes, but seems completely unperturbed. We arrive at school with time to spare. Sam and I split off as soon as we enter the school I smile when I see Dylan leaning against the lockers near mine. How does he already know where my locker is?

He pushes to a stand when he sees me, his eyes squint, and his mouth purses as he examines me. “Rough night?”

I roll my eyes. “No, just this morning. Joel and I don’t really know what we’re doing, and Mom was either too drugged to tell us what she needs, or she was just being difficult. I don’t know. But we’re making it work.” I bite my lip when I think about the 2:00 pm pill dose that we don’t have covered. Who am I kidding? We aren’t making anything work.

“What’s that face for? That is not a making it work face.” Dylan twirls his finger in a circle to indicate my entire face.

I smile. “I just remembered something we haven’t figured out yet. So, maybe we aren’t as good as I hoped.”

“What is it?”

“For the first couple of days, we have to give her pain meds every six hours. We have all the shifts covered except the afternoon shift. It’s such a waste that we can’t ask Grandma to help.”

“I can do it,” Dylan offers matter-of-factly.

“No, because you have school at 2:00 in the afternoon just like we do.”

Dylan looks around and then leans close to whisper. “The teachers, the ladies in the office, they all know I have a lot of trouble at home and have come to expect me to come and go as needed. As long as my grades stay up, they don’t give me any trouble. I really can do this.”

The memory of Principal Crowder smiling at Dylan before she yelled at him that day comes to mind. Ah! But still. Dylan in my house? I gnaw my lip, considering how weird it would be to take him up on it. “You don’t even know my mom.”

He shrugs. “I’m just giving her pills, right?”

I pull out my phone and text Joel.

Me: I got the afternoon shift taken care of.

Joel: Sweet!

“Okay, I’ll give you the information at lunch. Thanks!”

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. “I’m here to please.”

We walk in separate directions to go to our classes. I walk backward. “You’re my hero.”

Dylan winks, waves, and walks off. I walk backward for a bit longer, even though it is an exceptionally dangerous thing for someone as clumsy as me to do. But I can’t take my eyes off him. He is so completely different from the boy I thought he was, and the more I get to know him, the more I think I am the luckiest girl on the planet to have discovered the real boy behind the tough-guy image.

Later at lunch, I sit on my hands and lean over my untouched food.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Dylan gently pulls my hand from under my thigh and cradles it in both of his. He captures my gaze and I feel his sincerity down to my toes. “I am sure.”

“I have no idea how my mom will react. And what if you run into my Grandma?”

“Text her and tell her I’m coming.”

I slip my hand from his grasp so I can bury my fingers in my hair and attempt to press the growing headache away. “She doesn’t text. Or answer her phone. I guess I could leave her a message so that if you end up in jail, I can use it as proof I tried to tell her.”

Dylan chuckles. “I’m not going to end up in jail. Write me a note that I can give to her if I need to.”

I sit up. “That’s a good idea!”

I tear a sheet of paper from Bek’s notebook and scribble a note that Dylan can show to either Grandma or Mom if needed. It makes me feel a little better, but a note isn’t likely to stop the full volume tirade he’ll have to endure until he can explain his presence.

Bek stares dreamily at Dylan. “He’ll be fine, Ava.”

I glance at Sam who looks more dubious. Dylan takes my hand again and squeezes.

“I’ll be fine.”

At 2:00, I’m sitting in Chemistry too busy worrying about Dylan’s livelihood to pay attention to what my lab partner is doing. I think he’s used to it, though. Brent doesn’t seem at all bothered by my lack of participation. After I knocked over a beaker with some caustic liquid in it at the beginning of the year, he’s taken care of all the lab stuff, while I take notes. Today, he’s even doing that. I should get him a thank you gift for the B- I’m getting in the class, because that is mostly due to him. Clearly, chemistry is not a place for clumsy girls.

Okay, it’s 2:02. Dylan has probably endured any yelling he’s going to encounter and is hopefully handing Mom a pill and water. Oh, God! Did I tell him to get the water from the bathroom and not the kitchen to avoid Grandma? I can’t believe he’s doing this for me. I can’t believe I’m letting him.

I have my phone in my lap. I told him to text me the second he was out of the house and safe in his car. I keep looking down at my lap, hoping to will my phone into displaying a text. I need to be more careful though, or else the teacher will confiscate it before I know he’s safe.

It’s 2:05. Seriously, Dylan! How long does it take to give a woman a pill?

2:08. Did he forget to text? I thought I was super clear about that.

2:10 and class is over. Crap! I pack up my stuff, thank Brent for being an awesome lab partner, and head to my last class of the day, American Government. It’s against school policy to carry your phone in the halls. Or for one to come out at all, except for during lunchtime, while you are seated, in the cafeteria. My next teacher is super observant, too, so it will be really, really hard to check my phone. Maybe if I keep it in my back pocket, the vibration will at least let me know when he texts.

I sneak a look at my screen super-fast before walking into the class. 2:14. Nothing. What the heck, Dylan!

2:17 my phone vibrates. I’m dying to pull it out and look at it, but we are getting another boring lecture today and the teacher is always looking at us while he talks.

2:21 my phone vibrates.

2:26 my phone vibrates.

Three more times after that, my phone vibrates. I didn’t know I was so popular. It’s the longest forty minutes ever, but finally, at 3:00, I leap from my seat and dash from the room, hand on my back pocket. I slip around the corner, away from prying teacher eyes, and open the screen. So many stupid notifications that are absolutely irrelevant to my life. How do I get on these lists? But there it is, a text from Dylan at 2:17.

Dylan: Package has been delivered. I repeat, package has been delivered.

I take a moment to geek out over his adorable spy talk before I respond.

Me: What the heck took so long? Did you have to defend yourself?

Dylan: Everything was fine. Your mom was awake, so we talked a little.

I stare at my phone with crazy eyes. Mom was awake, and they talked? That can’t be good.

Me: Oh crap. So now you are composing a breakup text?

Dylan: We have to date to break up.

Me: Friendships can break up!

I’m dying. I’m totally dying. Friendship wasn’t at all what I meant. How did I leap to the conclusion that we were dating when we literally haven’t gone on a single date?

Dylan: She was nice. Sweet, actually. You can’t get rid of me that easily.

Me: Face with wide-open eyes emoji Did you say sweet? Oh, no!! You were at the wrong house!

Dylan: I’m sure the drugs help. She was loopy and sweet. No big. I told her I’d be back again tomorrow.

Me: Did you see Grandma?

Dylan: Nope.

Me: Thank you soooooooooo much !

Dylan: Any time.

I stare at his text. Any time. He barely knows me from Adam, yet he’s willing to cut school and drive to my house to drug my psycho mom. He’s literally too good to be true. I narrow my eyes at my phone. “Are you too good to be true, Dylan? Are you really this generous?”

My heart pounds with some crazy adrenaline I don’t recognize. It’s like it’s telling me I need to capture this boy now while the capturing is good. I’ll never be able to repay him for this outrageously huge favor he’s doing for me, but maybe, if I play my cards right, I’ll have some time to make it up to him.