Free Define "Normal" by Julie Anne Peters Page B

sweetie. Why would I do that? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
    I could tell he didn’t believe her. He scootched closer to the side window, scrunching up his shoulders.
    “Where
are
we going, Mom?” Jazz asked.
    Her mother exhaled. “Home. You’re all coming over to spend the night with us. Won’t that be fun?” She winked at us in the rearview mirror.
    Jazz smiled at me like, See? Control freak.
    Leaning around Jazz, I said to Michael, “They have an indoor swimming pool.”
    He shrugged.
    “And a game room,” Jazz added. “With a big-screen TV We have all the Disney movies.”
    That perked him up.
    She tweaked his cheek. “It’ll be fun.”
    He jerked away.
    Fun. For how long? I wondered.
    We pulled into the driveway at the Luther estate. At night, with the outdoor globes illuminated and lights twinkling in the upstairs windows, the place looked like a gingerbread house. The fragrance of cinnamon even swirled through the air. Or maybe that was Mrs. Luther’s sweet perfume. I opened the car door and slid out, carrying Chuckie. Jazz took Michael’s hand. When Mrs. Luther didn’t follow with Mom, my heart raced. “Where’re you taking her?” I said.
    Mrs. Luther smiled somberly. “I have a dear friend, a doctor. I called him at the motel and he said to go ahead and bring her in.”
    “In where?”
    “St. Joseph’s Hospital,” she said.
    I paused. “She’s afraid of hospitals. Doctors, too.”
    “She’s afraid of everything,” Michael said.
    I glared at him.
    “Well, she is.” He kicked an imaginary pebble.

    Jazz’s mom bent down in front of Michael. “Sometimes we’re scared of things that are good for us. Like doctors and hospitals. We just need someone to help us get over our fears. Okay?”
    He nodded.
    I held Chuckie tighter.
    “Come on.” Jazz tugged on Michael’s hand. “She’ll be okay, guys. Trust us.” She caught her mom’s eye, then blinked back. “Trust me, at least.”
    I looked from Jazz, all black smiles, to Mrs. Luther, all red smiles, and thought, Who are you? I don’t even know you people.
    “By the way, Antonia,” Mrs. Luther added. “Is there someone I should call? A relative? A grandparent? Sister, brother?”
    Mom’s sister, Aunt Hannah—but she and Mom didn’t get along. Besides, she lived in Ohio. “No,” I told her. “There’s no one.”
    “How about your father?”
    Jazz yanked Michael harder. “There’s no one, Mom, okay? Just go.”

Chapter 15
    I didn’t think I’d ever get to sleep, but suddenly it was morning. A vague memory resurfaced—dragging up the stairs, settling Michael and Chuckie in, falling into bed beside Jazz. Now sunlight streamed in through Jazz’s window, blinding me. I propped up on my elbows and peered over the lump of flowered comforter to Jazz’s digital clock. Nine-thirty-eight. Oh, no! School. Then I remembered it was Sunday.
    Jazz groaned.
    As quietly as possible, I took off the nightgown Jazz had loaned me, put on my sweater, and swiveled my skirt back into place. Tiptoeing out into the hallway, I slipped into my shoes and went in search of my brothers.
    Mr. Luther had put them in a guest bedroom last night. He wanted to give each of them a separate room, but I said no. Chuckie couldn’t sleep alone. He woke up crying at least once every night. He had nightmares. Monsters and bogeymen were always after him. Usually it was me who got up to calm him down. Plus he had that … other problem. Now I felt guilty. I’d slept clear through the night. Who’d gotten up with Chuckie?
    The guest room was empty. I panicked. My family was missing again. Then I heard voices downstairs. The smell of frying bacon hit my nose.
    It took a while to find the kitchen, but there they were —Mr. Luther at the table with Chuckie in his lap. Michael sat across from them. “Antonia, good morning.” Mr. Luther set down his fork and scooted back his chair. He stood. “Please.” He waved to the table. “Have a seat. Would you