points her finger at Shelley, then at the food on the floor.
"That's why I haven't taken you to a restaurant in months," she says.
"Mom, stop," I say. "You don't need to escalate the situation. She's
already upset. Why make it worse?"
"And what about me?"
Tension starts building, beginning inside my veins and spreading to
my fingertips and toes. It bubbles up and bursts with such force I
can't keep it inside any longer. "This isn't about you! Why does it
always go back to how everything affects you?" I scream. "Mom, can't
you see she's hurting? Instead of yelling at her, why don't you spend
the time figuring out what's wrong?"
Without thinking, I take a washcloth and kneel beside Shelley. I
start wiping her pants clean.
"Brittany, don't!" my mom yells out.
I don't listen. I should have, though, because before I can move
away Shelley's hands go in my hair and she starts pulling. Hard. With
all the commotion, I forgot my sister's new thing is pulling hair.
"Ow!" I say. "Shelley, please stop!" I'm trying to reach around and
push down on her knuckles like her doctor told us to do to make her
release her grasp, but it's no use. I'm in the wrong position, crouched
at Shelley's feet with my body twisted.
My mom is swearing, droplets of food are flying, and my scalp feels
raw already.
Shelley isn't loosening her hold, even though my mom is trying to
pull her hands away from my hair.
"Knuckles, Mom!" I yell, reminding her what Dr. Meir suggested.
Holy crap, how much hair has she pulled out? It feels like an entire
section of my head is bald.
After my reminder, my mom must have pressed hard enough on her
knuckles because my hair is released.
Either that, or Shelley pulled out whatever chunks she'd grabbed.
Falling onto the floor, I immediately put a hand to the back of my
head.
Shelley is smiling.
My mom is frowning.
And tears come to my eyes.
"I'm taking her to Dr. Meir, right now," my mom says, shaking her
head at me so I'm aware she's blaming me for the situation spiraling
out of control. "This has gone on long enough. Brittany, take your
father's car and go to O'Hare to pick him up. His flight comes in at
eleven. It's the least you can do to help."
SIXTEEN : Alex
I've been waiting at the library for an hour. Okay, so it's been an
hour and a half. Before ten, I sat outside on the cement benches. At
ten I came inside and stood looking at the display case, pretending to
be interested in upcoming library events. I didn't want to look overly
eager to see Brittany. At ten forty-five I sat on the couches in the
teen section, reading my chem book. Okay, so my eyes skimmed the
pages even if no words registered.
Now it's eleven. Where is she?
I could just go hang with my friends. Hell, I should go hang with my
friends. But I have a stupid urge to know why Brittany blew me off. I
tell myself it's an ego thing, but in the back of my mind I'm worried
about her.
She'd hinted, during her freakout in front of the nurse's office,
that her mom isn't a candidate for a Mother of the Year award.
Doesn't Brittany realize that she's eighteen now and can leave home if
she wanted? If it's that bad, why stay?
Because her parents are rich.
If I left home, my new life wouldn't be so different from my old
one. With a girl who lives on the north side, a life lacking designer
towels and a maid to pick up after you is probably worse than death.
I've had enough of standing here waiting for Brittany. I'm going to
her house, to confront her on why she ditched me. Without thinking it
through, I get on my motorcycle and head to the north side. I know
where she lives . . in the big honkin' white house with pillars flanking
the front.
I park my bike in her driveway and ring her doorbell. I clear my
throat so I don't choke on my words. Mierda, what am I gonna say to
her? And why am I feeling all insecure, like I need to impress her
because she'll judge me?
Nobody answers. I ring again.
Where's a
"That's why I haven't taken you to a restaurant in months," she says.
"Mom, stop," I say. "You don't need to escalate the situation. She's
already upset. Why make it worse?"
"And what about me?"
Tension starts building, beginning inside my veins and spreading to
my fingertips and toes. It bubbles up and bursts with such force I
can't keep it inside any longer. "This isn't about you! Why does it
always go back to how everything affects you?" I scream. "Mom, can't
you see she's hurting? Instead of yelling at her, why don't you spend
the time figuring out what's wrong?"
Without thinking, I take a washcloth and kneel beside Shelley. I
start wiping her pants clean.
"Brittany, don't!" my mom yells out.
I don't listen. I should have, though, because before I can move
away Shelley's hands go in my hair and she starts pulling. Hard. With
all the commotion, I forgot my sister's new thing is pulling hair.
"Ow!" I say. "Shelley, please stop!" I'm trying to reach around and
push down on her knuckles like her doctor told us to do to make her
release her grasp, but it's no use. I'm in the wrong position, crouched
at Shelley's feet with my body twisted.
My mom is swearing, droplets of food are flying, and my scalp feels
raw already.
Shelley isn't loosening her hold, even though my mom is trying to
pull her hands away from my hair.
"Knuckles, Mom!" I yell, reminding her what Dr. Meir suggested.
Holy crap, how much hair has she pulled out? It feels like an entire
section of my head is bald.
After my reminder, my mom must have pressed hard enough on her
knuckles because my hair is released.
Either that, or Shelley pulled out whatever chunks she'd grabbed.
Falling onto the floor, I immediately put a hand to the back of my
head.
Shelley is smiling.
My mom is frowning.
And tears come to my eyes.
"I'm taking her to Dr. Meir, right now," my mom says, shaking her
head at me so I'm aware she's blaming me for the situation spiraling
out of control. "This has gone on long enough. Brittany, take your
father's car and go to O'Hare to pick him up. His flight comes in at
eleven. It's the least you can do to help."
SIXTEEN : Alex
I've been waiting at the library for an hour. Okay, so it's been an
hour and a half. Before ten, I sat outside on the cement benches. At
ten I came inside and stood looking at the display case, pretending to
be interested in upcoming library events. I didn't want to look overly
eager to see Brittany. At ten forty-five I sat on the couches in the
teen section, reading my chem book. Okay, so my eyes skimmed the
pages even if no words registered.
Now it's eleven. Where is she?
I could just go hang with my friends. Hell, I should go hang with my
friends. But I have a stupid urge to know why Brittany blew me off. I
tell myself it's an ego thing, but in the back of my mind I'm worried
about her.
She'd hinted, during her freakout in front of the nurse's office,
that her mom isn't a candidate for a Mother of the Year award.
Doesn't Brittany realize that she's eighteen now and can leave home if
she wanted? If it's that bad, why stay?
Because her parents are rich.
If I left home, my new life wouldn't be so different from my old
one. With a girl who lives on the north side, a life lacking designer
towels and a maid to pick up after you is probably worse than death.
I've had enough of standing here waiting for Brittany. I'm going to
her house, to confront her on why she ditched me. Without thinking it
through, I get on my motorcycle and head to the north side. I know
where she lives . . in the big honkin' white house with pillars flanking
the front.
I park my bike in her driveway and ring her doorbell. I clear my
throat so I don't choke on my words. Mierda, what am I gonna say to
her? And why am I feeling all insecure, like I need to impress her
because she'll judge me?
Nobody answers. I ring again.
Where's a
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