When I walked into math the next morning, my eyes were puffy and I had enormous dark circles just above my cheekbones. Just as I had settled down into my seat and taken out my homework, struggling to keep my eyes open, the intercom system buzzed.
"Can Evelyn Caverly please head to the front office? Again, we need Evelyn Caverly at the front office."
Everyone in the classroom turned to look at me as I slung my backpack over my shoulder and trudged out into the hallway. It was hard to concentrate on much of anything when my head was throbbing and I could barely see where I was going because I was so tired.
It wasn't even my fault that I hadn't gotten any sleep the previous night. After I'd woken up, I had been unable to go back to sleep, and so I had gotten up and spent the entire night worrying about money and fretting over the bills. I'd drank a giant cup of coffee for breakfast, but it didn't seem like it would be enough to keep me from acting like a zombie all day.
When I got to the front office, the secretary smiled at me too pleasantly for the early hour and said, "Evelyn? Mrs. Barrett wants you in her office."
I thanked her with a somewhat abrupt nod and then shuffled my feet in their worn sneakers over to Mrs. Barrett's office. She answered the second before I even knocked and gestured for me enter.
"Thank you for actually coming," she said. "I sent an email to you yesterday asking to meet starting twenty minutes ago, but evidently you did not receive it."
Pushing my hair out of my face, I leaned back in my chair and waited for her to say what she needed to say.
"I just wanted to check up on how things are going now that Cameron has started tutoring you," she said. "Your grades have increased very slightly, and I'm hoping it's the beginning of an increased effort in your academics."
I surveyed her: her skeptical expression and pursed lips, raised right eyebrow and hands folded neatly together. Right then, I very much wanted to scream at her that I wasn't a slacker, that I couldn't help what had happened and that I wanted just as much as everyone to succeed at school. It took everything I had to contain myself.
"Miss Caverly?" asked Mrs. Barrett, her voice rising to a higher pitch. "Are you going to speak at this meeting today?"
Struggling to keep my expression neutral and not disrespectful, I said, "Yes, I am. And Cameron's been a big help. I've been trying to improve my grades and yes, I hope to keep them up."
But my guidance counselor did not seem satisfied with this blunt answer. "I think everyone's interested in knowing why your grades dropped to start," she said. "You had straight A's your freshman year. What happened? Did you simply lose interest in school? Did you feel a need to rebel against your glowing report cards and compliments from your teachers?"
Somewhere deep inside me, I felt myself growing increasingly angered with this woman who called me in her office and pretended to know what was going on in my life. I gathered all my hair on one side of my shoulder and began braiding it frantically, trying to control my emotions before I said anything I would regret later.
"Well?" asked Mrs. Barrett.
I very near exploded just then, but I managed to say in a somewhat shaking voice, "I guess I lost interest, is all."
"Yes," said Mrs. Barrett dully, as if those sorts of things happened every day and it was her job to deal with them and purge the school of such indecency, "that can happen. Hopefully you've come to realize the error in your ways?"
"Yes," I grunted.
Mrs. Barrett swelled to her full (but very unimpressive) height, so that she was nearly standing out of her chair. "Do not take that disrespectful tone with me, young lady," she ordered. "It is your own fault you ended up in this office with me, because you put your academics on the back burner, likely so you could go to parties and enjoy your social life. However!" She inhaled sharply so that her nostrils quivered and then breathed huffily, "I do not think it is necessary to take your anger at being disciplined out on your counselor, who is just trying to help you. Don't you think that's rude?"
Any more back talking and I'd be sent directly to detention, which, even though the situation was very unfair, would not have improved anything at all. So I forced myself to calm down, taking silent deep breaths, and said, "Yes, ma'am."
"You wipe that self-assured expression right off your face right now, Miss Caverly," said Mrs. Barrett primly. "And don't take that condescending tone with me. I do not tolerate sassing."
This was clearly a no-win situation, so I just decided to go back to what I'd been doing at the beginning of the meeting and keep silent.
"Now, you don't have very long left in the school year, and I as well as your teachers expect you to pass eleventh grade. You'd better work as hard as you can and you better thank Cameron, because without him you would be completely lost."
I swelled with indignation at her claim that, had it not been for a boy, I would have been suffering and useless, but she continued. "Now go to math class, and try and pay attention for once."
Resisting the urge to snap at her, I pushed back my chair so that the legs scraped the floor and grabbed my backpack, dragging it out of the office behind me. Thanks to having to sit and "get disciplined", I had most likely missed the beginning of a very important lecture that would be included on our test the next day.
When I got back to Mr. Robert's room, the class was working on a review worksheet. Mr. Roberts called me up to his desk and gave me a copy of the assignment, then said, "You didn't miss much, Evelyn. We just reviewed some basic concepts of conic sections, and now everyone's studying for the test. If you know how to do everything on these sheets, you should be all set."
I thanked him and took the papers, heading back to my desk and spreading out the three separate sheets so that I could look at them all. The first page and a half was guided notes, and then the rest of the assignment was dedicated to practice problems—all of which looked very simple after Cameron's difficult word problems.
~*~*~
My car, which had worked fairly well on the drive to school that morning, started malfunctioning when I was driving Maddie and Clare to their daycare after school. There was construction being done to the carpool line, so signs indicated that parents were to park their cars and walk their children in building. I had just turned into the parking lot and was trying to open my door when I discovered that the lock wasn't working and I couldn't get out of the car.
Frustrated, I had to climb over into the passenger seat and open that door before having to try several times to get open Maddie's car door. Finally, both of them were out of the car and I was walking them inside.
I told Clare to take Maddie to her appropriate room, since I was running late for work, and then hurried back outside, having to climb back through the passenger side into the driver's seat before starting my car.
I could already tell it was going to be a very long day.
In Skyport Creamery, there were two customers: an elderly lady and two teenagers who looked like they were on a date. I dropped my apron around my neck and tied it in the back, then went behind the counter to take the two teenagers' orders.
"Hi, what can I get you?" I asked brightly, snapping on my gloves.
The two were so preoccupied with each other that they couldn't properly order ice cream without flirting obnoxiously, but ten minutes later I had finally given them their complicated orders and they were paying. The boy paid for both of the desserts but didn't tip a single penny, and I was grumbling slightly as he took his girlfriend's hand and they left the shop.
In fact, upon closer inspection of the tip jar, I noticed that it was completely empty. I stuck my head into the back of the shop, where Katie was running inventory, and asked, "Where's all the tips?"
"It's been a really slow day," said Katie, glancing up from her clipboard. "And some guy came in and took your tips around lunchtime, when I was in the back room. I couldn't really stop him." She ran her hands through her hair and added, "It's just a few dollars, though, isn't it?"
She had no idea just how much a few dollars meant to me. Feeling disappointed, I tramped back to my post behind the counter and passed the time waiting for more customers by cleaning the ice cream scoopers, even though they were already spotless.
Three more groups came in before my shift ended. I'd only received four dollars and ten cents in tips, and I dejectedly dumped the bills and lonely dime into my coin purse before finishing cleaning the shop and untying my apron.
"I'm leaving now!" I called out to Katie, who was in the back room still.
She poked her head out into the main shop and said, "Okay, hun. Drive safe."
I hung my apron on the hook and then left the store, walking a few feet on the sidewalk until I reached my car that I'd parked along the curb.
When I got to the daycare twenty minutes later, a frenzied teacher greeted me with the news that Maddie had become sick with some sort of stomach virus and had been throwing up for the past hour. It was an interesting car ride home, and I had to carry Maddie up to her room and lay her down before telling Clare to watch her and starting in on some food.
Just as I was halfway through making breakfast for dinner, Clare entered the kitchen, a worried expression on her face. "Can you check on Maddie?" she asked, twisting her hands together nervously. "I don't think she's doing well."
I set the pan of frozen waffles onto the stove and hurried up to the bedroom, where Maddie was lying down. She looked pale and sick, her dark hair sticking to her paper-white cheeks and her eyes glassy.
"You okay, Maddie?" I asked her.
Maddie nodded, but the movement was so small that I barely caught it.
Just as I was applying a wet washcloth to my little sister's face, the doorbell rang. I glanced at the pink clock hanging on the wall and saw that it was already seven o'clock—I had been delayed at the daycare and now I hadn't even finished dinner!
"Clare, go let Cameron in, please," I said. She nodded and disappeared around the corner, and I knew it was a sign of how bad she felt for Maddie that she didn't roll her eyes or backtalk me.
Minutes later, as I was whispering soothing words to Maddie, the bedroom door opened and Clare reentered, followed by Cameron. He saw Maddie laying down and hurried over.
"You okay, Maddie?" he asked, carefully touching her sticky hair. Her eyes widened a little bit when she saw him and she smiled slightly, but the movement must have made her nauseous because she leaned forward and threw up again into the bowl I'd set out for her.
"Poor thing," Cameron said. He had backed away a few steps but was now standing right in front of the nightstand, his hands in his pockets. "Should you call your parents?"
I could feel Clare's eyes on me as I lied. "I already have," I said, busying myself with Maddie and avoiding his gaze. "They didn't answer the phone. Um...is it okay if we have tutoring up here today?"
"Sure." Cameron sat down on the pink carpet and opened his backpack, and I hurried downstairs to grab my things. I had a feeling I wouldn't be able to concentrate much on school this evening, but even the thought of having Cameron there to help me with Maddie eased my worries even slightly.