Free Trigger by Susan Vaught Page B

excuse , insisted the Mama Rush voice in my head. You told me you still had your smarts .
    “Sorry, sorry, glue,” I whispered like a little song as I ignored her. “Sorry, sorry, glue. Sorry, sorry, glue.” Moving as quietly as I could, I picked up my memory book and headed straight to where Dad told me not to go.

chapter 7
    “Do I want to know why you’re all wet?” Leza leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded. She was wearing warm-ups again, very silky, this time, gold and green. School colors.
    I glanced down at the front of my blue shirt and jeans. There was a big wet spot covering my stomach and the front of my pants, like I’d forgotten to unzip before taking a whiz. Great. I covered up the dark area as best I could with the memory book. “Whiz. I mean, pee. No, no, no. Wait. I don’t know—wait. I do know. I did the dishes. Crumbs and glue. And … and stuff.”
    She was so pretty. I was never going to be able to think straight around Leza, much less talk. Harder to talk outside the hospital. Harder to think. But I probably wouldn’t have talked that well around Leza even if I didn’t have stress and word problems and a hole in my brain. She didn’t seem to mind, though. If I ignored the whole totally-stacked thing, Leza was starting to remind me of Mama Rush, not making a big deal over much.
    “Todd’s at the lake,” she said. “And my parents have gone over to the university for a charity telethon. I just got back from the track.”
    “Are you going to be a social worker?” I asked too fast, still thinking about Mama Rush.
    Leza’s face twisted up, then she laughed. “You’re weird, you know that? But funny weird. Good weird, I think. What do you want, Jersey?”
    “Drugs,” I said all happylike, then clamped my hand over my mouth. That absolutely sealed it. I had to start carrying a sock. There was no way I dared to open my mouth again. Who knew what would come out?
    Thankfully, Leza didn’t just slam the door. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “This has got something to do with that list you and Mama Rush made, doesn’t it?”
    When she looked at me, I nodded.
    “I know you’re supposed to take it to her this afternoon. Want to take a hike to your backyard? I’ve got a little while before I’m supposed to be at the mall, so I could help you with it.”
    “Yes! I mean, thank you. That’s great.”
    This earned me a grin and an arm to help me heaven-hell down the porch steps and make it through our back gate without falling on my already-mashed-up head. I kept my memory book tucked under my bad arm, and I got annoyed with the pen bouncing against my wet shirt. Leza didn’t seem to mind this, either.
    Maybe with her, I didn’t need a sock that badly.
    We headed for the wooden picnic table at the edge of our patio, the one with a full view of our living room throughthe big back picture window. If I turned my head some, I could see my bedroom window, too, but I didn’t want to look up because I was afraid I’d see J.B. standing there, glaring at us. If he kept hanging around, I’d need to hire an exorcist. But I didn’t want to think about ghosts and exorcists, not with Leza sitting at the picnic table in her green and gold and looking so pretty and planning to help me and all.
    “I don’t need a sock,” I blurted as she sat down. My bad hand curled until I winced.
    “Okay, now you have to explain that sock thing.” She reached across the table and pulled the memory book out from under my arm. With a few graceful movements, she flicked to the last few pages, and put it down on the table with the list showing right side up to me. The pen she placed on the paper, right where I needed to pick it up.
    For some reason, Leza being nice to me and the pain in my hand made me want to cry. No. No! I didn’t want to cry. Crying was for babies and girls and I was a guy with a beautiful girl, out at a picnic table on a beautiful day. No crying. No tears.