Free Lisdalia by Brian Caswell

know it by reading anything he writes for school.
    Anyway, Maddie became my friend. Not on the same level as Tanja, naturally — “sisterhood” is something special — but a friend, just the same.
    I could just imagine Miss Vegas sitting back in her staff-room, patting herself on the back, and congratulating herself on her extreme cleverness. Good luck to her. It’s not often you try something that actually works.

19
    THE WORDS BEHIND THE WORDS
    â€œOkay, what’s black and brown and would look good on Shane Thomas?”
    I didn’t have a clue.
    â€œA pack of Rottweilers!”
    Tanja was in her usual mood, and to tell you the truth, I needed it.
    Dad had gone in that morning for the second operation, and I didn’t really want to be at school at all. Mum was being all logical about it, pointing out that there was no point in sitting around the hospital all day, when there would be no news before about four anyway, but I noticed that she wasn’t being too logical when it came to herself. I had to spend the day at school, but she spent it sitting around the hospital, waiting for news.
    Mothers!
    â€œAll right, what’s the difference between Shane Thomas and three dollars worth of horse manure?”
    I just looked at her. I’d heard that one before. Every one had heard that one before. She finished it anyway.
    â€œShane Thomas doesn’t come in a plastic bag!”
    I couldn’t help smiling, even though I knew it encouraged her.
    â€œSo, how’re you feeling, kid?” She wasn’t looking at me as she spoke, she was staring off somewhere in the distance, past the shopping centre over the road.
    I didn’t answer for a few seconds. I was trying to figure out exactly how I did feel. It was nothing I could explain, but I felt … scared. Like there was some strange force building up against me; as though something terrible was about to happen.
    â€œOkay, I guess. A little bit worried. Still, the last op turned out fine, so …”
    But saying it didn’t make it true.
    I spent the rest of the day walking around with my mind somewhere else.
    Aunt Grace was waiting at home when I got back. Her real name was Gracia, but no one except family ever called her that; to me, she’d always been Aunt Grace. She was my father’s sister, a few years younger and a few centuries more up-to-date, and we’d always got on really well. I guess that was why they sent her to be with me.
    There were none of the usual smiles today.
    â€œDalie —” Somehow, her pet name for me sounded different this time; strained. And the sound of it sent an icicle of fear through me.
    â€œDad …?” I tried to speak, but my throat locked. She didn’t reply, but her face said enough.
    I forced the words out. “What is it? What’s happened?”
    She sat down. “They don’t know. The operation went fine, but then …”
    â€œWhat? Then what …?”
    â€œIn recovery. He stopped … breathing.” She was trying to sound calmer, and almost succeeding. “You remember last time, the trouble he had breathing afterwards?”
    I nodded.
    â€œThis time it was worse. By the time they got him breathing again, it was three or four minutes … He hasn’t woken up yet, and they —”
    I was still holding my school bag. I let it drop to the floor. “Take me there.” It was not a request, it was an order.
    For a moment, my aunt looked at me, I could see her mind working.
    â€œI’m not supposed —” But I cut in.
    â€œI want to be there!”
    She nodded, and we made our way out to the car.
    P.R.T., they called it. Post-operative respiratory trauma.
    Sometimes, I wish I didn’t remember every damn thing anyone ever tells me. That is one phrase I never wanted to hear, and one I’d be more than happy to forget. But that’s just the trouble; I can’t forget. Anything.
    Not