Shaken

Chapter 3

 Shaken 

Copyright © 2012 by Susan Hatler 

All rights reserved. 

Chapter Three 

                                                                                                               Thursday, 7:08 a.m. 

Dear Mom,

Yesterday was a complete nightmare. Thanks a lot for not telling me I was a super freak. I know you died when I was four, but that’s no excuse. I could walk and talk, so you should’ve clued me in.

Now I’m supposed to go to class today and pretend I didn’t freak out in the Chem Lab and the cafeteria. Like anyone’s gonna just forget that overnight. How did you deal with this when you were my age? 

I so do NOT want to go to school. Seriously, I’d pay a million dollars (if we were rich) not to go. 

Maybe Dad would buy that I’m sick and let me stay home. He’s not dumb, but how can he prove I didn’t get hit with a virus last night? It’s worth a try.   

I just have to muster an “I feel like crap” look. Shouldn’t be hard to do under the circumstances. So pathetic what my life has come down to. Faking sick to ditch school. And I don’t even care if it lowers my GPA. 

I’m really mad at you, Mom. You should’ve told me. 

Love,

Kylie (the social screamer/class cutter/fake illness girl)

“Dad?” I scooted down the hall with my hand on my belly—for visual effect—and found him at the kitchen table with a coffee mug between his hands. “I have bad news. My stomach’s doing loops, my throat feels scratchy, and my glands are swollen. I’m totally coming down with something.” 

It wasn’t a lie. As soon as I said the symptoms, I felt them. Maybe a new power? Oh, please no. 

Dad stared at his full cup of black coffee. He didn’t look convinced, or like he was even paying attention. 

“I’m not saying I need to go to the doctor or anything. I’ll feel better if I get some rest. At home.” I studied him, wondering if he was falling for any of this. “Can you call the school and let them know?” 

He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. “You’re not going to school today.” 

Wow. If I’d known it’d be that easy, I wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed. “Great. Thanks. You’re the best.” And completely forgiven for last night. “I guess I’ll go back to bed. Probably make some tea later or something.” 

“Wait.” His voice was abrupt as he gestured for me to sit in the chair. “We need to talk.” 

I sat down slowly. Did my performance suck that bad? Should’ve gone with something simpler like a headache. “All right.” 

He grasped his mug till his knuckles were white, but he still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t quite know how to say this, but I need something from you. Something important.”  

“Oh, really.” Why did I have the sneaky sensation he was hiding something yet again? 

“That phone call yesterday afternoon? It wasn’t Julie.” 

I breathed a sigh of relief and shrugged. Was that all? Sure, it was a little rude that my best friend hadn’t checked up on me, but could I really blame her for not wanting to be associated with a screamer? “So, who called?”