Medical Center, and he said even if you do have the gene, they’re making strides all the time. What with stem cell research and all. By the time you hit your daddy’s age, well, they’ll probably have a cure.”
He thought I was a carrier. Oh, God, thinking before speaking was a royal pain in the ass. “We don’t know for sure yet…if I am…a carrier.”
Just then, Mom walked in with a tray of coffee and goodies. Her hands were unsteady; the cups and saucers clattered as she put everything on the coffee table. Big Mac was adding his third teaspoon of sugar to his cup and I was three bites through a chocolate florentine when Dad and Little Mac came into the room and sat down, side by side, on the couch.
“You sure you wouldn’t rather have a rest?” Big Mac asked Grandma. “It was a long flight.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
That was another flat-out, socially acceptable lie. Grandma Mac didn’t look fine. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her freckled face was blotchy, her nose was red. Maybe it was because he was sitting right beside her, or maybe it was because I was looking forit, but Dad looked more like Grandma than he’d ever looked before. He had the same short legs and thick torso, the same square, freckled face and the same haunted look in those oh-so-familiar almond-shaped eyes.
She’s not my grandmother. She’s never been my grandmother. Why didn’t I see it before?
Mom started talking, filling the air with store details no one cared about. The rest of us silently drank coffee, ate florentines and stared anywhere but at each other.
Eventually, Grandma cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Grace, but before I lose my nerve there’s—”
Something smashed into the bay window. Glass splintered and hit the floor.
Grandma Mac gasped.
Grandpa Mac swore.
Dad jumped up to see what had happened, then stumbled and dropped his coffee cup. Mom hurried to his side.
With a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach, I stepped over the broken cup to the cloth-covered object.
It was a white towel weighted down with rocks. Inside was a turkey baster filled to the brim with clear, slimy goo.
NINE
Birds normally live in things called flocks. Living in flocks means they stick together. They have friends. One flock member is always the boss.
Cassidy MacLaughlin, Grade Four Science Project
C learly, we couldn’t hide my news from Big Mac and Little Mac.
I mean, we don’t live in the kind of neighbourhood where people chuck things through windows. Especially not turkey basters filled with slimy goo. And it didn’t help that Mom took one look at it and blurted, “Oh my God, who knows?”
Obviously someone with a really good arm. And probably not Prissy’s mom, either. The only thing she threw around was money.
Big Mac and Little Mac huddled on the couch, looking stunned and more than a little shaken. Luckily, myaunt Colleen picked that moment to phone and make sure they’d arrived safely. While the grandparents talked (could I still call them grandparents?), Mom cleaned up the glass, Frank arranged for a window replacement and I got on my cellphone.
I’d opened my big mouth in the first place. I needed to find out who wouldn’t let me forget it.
Prissy wasn’t home. Neither was Yvonne, Jasmine or Brynna. I couldn’t reach Mike, so I took a chance and called Jason’s place. No one picked up.
Who had done this terrible, vile thing? I’d find out tomorrow at school. Meanwhile, I had to tell my parents I’d blabbed.
They didn’t say anything at first, although Dad turned red when I repeated the little ditty I’d sung at the party, and Mom’s lips got so thin they practically disappeared.
Then Dad had to tell Big Mac and Little Mac the details of my conception. Feeling freakish and embarrassed, I watched for some kind of reaction, but they didn’t give their feelings away. They nodded, they listened, they looked at me occasionally, but they didn’t say a word. After Dad
He thought I was a carrier. Oh, God, thinking before speaking was a royal pain in the ass. “We don’t know for sure yet…if I am…a carrier.”
Just then, Mom walked in with a tray of coffee and goodies. Her hands were unsteady; the cups and saucers clattered as she put everything on the coffee table. Big Mac was adding his third teaspoon of sugar to his cup and I was three bites through a chocolate florentine when Dad and Little Mac came into the room and sat down, side by side, on the couch.
“You sure you wouldn’t rather have a rest?” Big Mac asked Grandma. “It was a long flight.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
That was another flat-out, socially acceptable lie. Grandma Mac didn’t look fine. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her freckled face was blotchy, her nose was red. Maybe it was because he was sitting right beside her, or maybe it was because I was looking forit, but Dad looked more like Grandma than he’d ever looked before. He had the same short legs and thick torso, the same square, freckled face and the same haunted look in those oh-so-familiar almond-shaped eyes.
She’s not my grandmother. She’s never been my grandmother. Why didn’t I see it before?
Mom started talking, filling the air with store details no one cared about. The rest of us silently drank coffee, ate florentines and stared anywhere but at each other.
Eventually, Grandma cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Grace, but before I lose my nerve there’s—”
Something smashed into the bay window. Glass splintered and hit the floor.
Grandma Mac gasped.
Grandpa Mac swore.
Dad jumped up to see what had happened, then stumbled and dropped his coffee cup. Mom hurried to his side.
With a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach, I stepped over the broken cup to the cloth-covered object.
It was a white towel weighted down with rocks. Inside was a turkey baster filled to the brim with clear, slimy goo.
NINE
Birds normally live in things called flocks. Living in flocks means they stick together. They have friends. One flock member is always the boss.
Cassidy MacLaughlin, Grade Four Science Project
C learly, we couldn’t hide my news from Big Mac and Little Mac.
I mean, we don’t live in the kind of neighbourhood where people chuck things through windows. Especially not turkey basters filled with slimy goo. And it didn’t help that Mom took one look at it and blurted, “Oh my God, who knows?”
Obviously someone with a really good arm. And probably not Prissy’s mom, either. The only thing she threw around was money.
Big Mac and Little Mac huddled on the couch, looking stunned and more than a little shaken. Luckily, myaunt Colleen picked that moment to phone and make sure they’d arrived safely. While the grandparents talked (could I still call them grandparents?), Mom cleaned up the glass, Frank arranged for a window replacement and I got on my cellphone.
I’d opened my big mouth in the first place. I needed to find out who wouldn’t let me forget it.
Prissy wasn’t home. Neither was Yvonne, Jasmine or Brynna. I couldn’t reach Mike, so I took a chance and called Jason’s place. No one picked up.
Who had done this terrible, vile thing? I’d find out tomorrow at school. Meanwhile, I had to tell my parents I’d blabbed.
They didn’t say anything at first, although Dad turned red when I repeated the little ditty I’d sung at the party, and Mom’s lips got so thin they practically disappeared.
Then Dad had to tell Big Mac and Little Mac the details of my conception. Feeling freakish and embarrassed, I watched for some kind of reaction, but they didn’t give their feelings away. They nodded, they listened, they looked at me occasionally, but they didn’t say a word. After Dad
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