Forget Green Gables

Seasonal Flu 1, Cheyanne 0

 "STRAIT!" Coach bellows at me. I come over as quickly as I can, which, truth be told, is not very quickly. "Strait, you look like crap."

"I know," I answer, sniffing. Do I really look that bad? Yes, I do. I know it. I feel worse than I look.

Coach puts a hand to my forehead and pulls it back almost as quickly. "You're burning up. You need to go home."

"But...halftime...the routine...the dance..." I cannot even finish, as I am having trouble breathing. This flu set in fast.

"Cheyanne, we'll be fine, but we need you in competition next week. You have to get better now if you're going to be of any use to us then. Your date will understand. Let me get an assistant coach to get the squad through warm ups and then I'm driving you home myself."

Exhausted from fever and chills, I do not argue. I gather up my stuff as quickly as I can and write a quick note to Danny. He will not be surprised, since he spent the entire day asking me if I was okay. Handing it to Jessie to give to him, I feel myself growing woozy and have to sit down. Tears stream down my face. I don't know if they are tears of fever or frustration.

"You go home and get better," Jessie says, helping me stand up. "Coach will take you home. I'll get this to Danny. Don't worry. It'll be fine. Go home and call me if you need me, okay?" She slips off to go find Felix and let him know what is going on. I pull my coat tighter, my teeth chattering.

When Coach Hill gets me home, Dad meets us at the door. He is still in his Holt High School gear as he had planned to go to the game. Taking the shivering, shaking, coughing bundle that is me, he thanks Coach Hill and helps me down the stairs to my bedroom. I am rarely sick, but when I do get sick, it is always serious. I change into pajamas (the ones with footies on the bottom) and climb into bed. Dad comes back with a thermometer.

"104...you need to go to the emergency room, Cheyanne."

"No," I say weakly. "Just give me some medicine and make sure I have w-w-water." I disappear under a heavy quilt, hoping that I can break the fever if I keep myself warm enough. I hear Dad leave and then come back a few minutes later with a bottle of water and two Tylenol.

"If your fever isn't down to at least 101 when your brother gets home from the dance, you're going to the emergency room."

I do not answer. I am almost already asleep.

I do not wake beyond the barest of awareness when my father checks in on me each hour, or when Felix creeps in after the dance to leave me some Nyquil, Vick's Vaporub, Cherry Chapstick, Kleenex, the Advil bottle and more water. My father fell asleep, and so when I wake at 2 am desperately thirsty, I take my own temperature. 102. Close enough. I take some Advil and go back to sleep after gulping a bottle of water. I want my mom, circa 1990.