Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu, Erin Mcguire Page B

Hazel.
    “Maybe she means great -aunt. But why would they send Jack? I mean, what about school ?”
    “I don’t know,” said Hazel.
    “And it’s not like he’s particularly qualified for elder care. I mean, he’s eleven . What do they expect him to do, teach her to play Zombie Assault?”
    “I don’t know,” said Hazel, shifting a little. She was beginning to feel like it was her fault.
    “Weird.” Her mom shook her head. “They have to be making it up. But why wouldn’t they make up something believable ? I mean, his elderly aunt is named Bernice .” She shook her head again. “And Mrs. Campbell told you this? How did she seem?”
    “Um . . . “ Her mom wouldn’t respond well to the soul-switching theory. “Kind of . . . weird.”
    Hazel’s mother sighed. “I suppose it’s none of our business. Maybe it was better to have him away right now. It has to be so hard on him. But at least this will make it easier for you, right? Not to have to see him all the time?”
    Hazel looked at her feet.
    “Come on, hon. I’ll make some pasta.” She let out a small laugh. “I know, I know. For a change.”
    “Mom?” Hazel pointed her toe. “What if he doesn’t come back?”
    Her mother put her hand on Hazel’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. “Then you’ll be okay. You will. Now, come with me.” She straightened and motioned to the kitchen. “I’ll teach you how to boil noodles.”
    Hazel smiled a little. “And microwave some sauce?”
    “Don’t get carried away,” said her mom. “I can’t give you all my cooking secrets in one day.”
    Hazel looked down at her feet, poised in perfect third position, and then undid them and followed her mom into the kitchen.

    When Hazel woke up on Tuesday morning, the truth of things finally hit her. Jack was gone. Just gone. He didn’t call her, or come over, or leave a note, or anything. He didn’t say good-bye, because he didn’t care to. He didn’t try to explain the things he said, or the way he acted. He was perfectly happy to leave her feeling like this. And there was no witch, no wraith blade, no evil corporate brain-thingy that had caused the change in him. He had just changed. He just didn’t like her anymore.
    And that meant, even if Jack came back from his elderly aunt—or wherever he was—he was still gone.
    She dragged herself down to the kitchen for breakfast to find her mother sitting at the small breakfast table waiting for her, with a face that made Hazel think she should turn right around and crawl back into bed until summer.
    “Sit down, hon. I need to talk to you.”
    Hazel slid into the hard chair.
    “I talked to your father,” her mom continued, and Hazel’s eyes snapped to the long gouge she’d made in the table when she was seven and wanted to play Excalibur. “I’m so sorry. About the ballet lessons. Your dad says he can’t do it right now. With the wedding, you know . . .”
    Hazel moved her head in an approximation of a nod.
    Her mother exhaled, and moved to put her hand on Hazel’s. Hazel did not let herself blink. “About your dad . . . you know . . .” Her voice was fraying from the strain of picking words so carefully. “I know he’s not being that . . . communicative now, but that’s his way. If he’s not calling you, it’s not because he doesn’t want to . . . but because he feels . . . bad. I wish it were different. Believe me. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you to the stars, do you understand?”
    Hazel near-nodded again. The scar on the table blurred.
    “We’ll get you lessons someday, hon. I promise.”
    “I better go,” Hazel said, standing up from the chair. “I’ll be late.”
    At the bus stop, Hazel took her spot at the edge of the sidewalk, a few feet away from the twins. When the bus came, she boarded it with her eyes down. This is how she was going to get through the seven-hour leper-o-rama of school—with her eyes always on the ground.
    Of course,