Free Chasing Boys by Karen Tayleur Page B

trying to exist among the fumes. A gray house has some ivy twining in and out of its chain fence and I note it under the section for introduced species. The convenience store has a pot of something green out front but it’s pretty wilted and I don’t know if I should mark it down or not.
    It’s a busy place. I’m amazed at how life goes on when we are locked away at school. Trucks arrive to deliver supplies. Mothers come and go with tribes of children—one kid comes over and leaves his grubby paw prints on my school pants. A man with a haircut meant for someone much younger pulls up in a red convertible.
    All the while, through these comings and goings, I watch Dylan out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes I think he is watching me. I wish it were Eric instead. In a perfect world it would be Eric standing on the corner. If it were Eric standing there, I could go over and discuss the project. We could talk about other things. Find out what we had in common.
    But it is not a perfect world.
    Sarah finishes early so I get her to take photos of whatever vegetation she can find. Then Mr. Ray blows his whistle and Dylan comes over to wait for the bus.
    “I think we are definitely going to get an award for this project,” says Sarah. “Group photo.” She bunches the three of us together, holds the camera at arm’s length, and clicks.
    I’m in the middle, between Dylan and Sarah, and my head only comes up to Dylan’s shoulder.

36.
    T hat afternoon I get home from school to find Mom home already. I ask her what’s wrong and she mumbles something about leaving early as she shuffles around the kitchen. I’m not really listening. My head’s full of my own problems as I grab a bowl of cereal and head to my bedroom. Half an hour later I’m lying on my bed with my earbuds plugged in when Bella thumps through the door. She’s wearing a scowl that could wilt full-grown trees.
    “What?” I ask, removing one earbud.
    “You lazy cow,” says Bella. “Are you going to be a leech all your life?”
    Wow, you seem upset.
    I hate to see you like this.
    Is there something I can do to make you feel better?
    Also, am I a cow or a leech?
    “Shut up,” I say, as I put the earbud back in.
    But Bella pulls both earbuds out.
    “When are you going to grow up, El? You treat this place like a hotel. I’m sick of sharing a room with you—you’re a pig. There’s no housekeeper to clean up after you anymore. Mom’s not home to pick up your slack—”
    “Well, whose fault is that?” I snarl.
    “It’s not Mom’s,” she says.
    But I don’t want to hear it. I blame Dad the most, but I blame Mom too. She should have been keeping an eye on things. The word “bancrupt” flits around my mind like a mosquito. I swat it away but it returns.
    “Sick . . . lazy . . . bed . . . drugstore . . . medicine . . . dinner,” are Bella’s words that filter through to me.
    “What? Slow down. What are you talking about?” I finally manage.
    Bella’s lips are a thin grim line. “Our mother is sick,” she says slowly. “That is why she is home from work so early. So you need to get your lazy butt off that bed and make dinner while I go to the drugstore for some medicine. Got it?”
    Then she leaves before I answer. I wait until I hear the door slam before I creep into Mom’s room. Her blinds are down. She takes up hardly any space in her big bed.
    “Mom?” I say.
    She answers with a coughing fit. “Looks like I have your cold, Ariel,” she says finally, with a shaky laugh.
    Great, so it’s my fault.
    She reaches out to me, but I pretend not to see.
    “I’m going to make dinner,” I say.
    Mom always used to make dinner.
    When Dad had his own business, Mom would go into his office every weekday, but she would always be home when we came back from school. She’d have a snack for us. Make sure we were warm enough, cool enough, happy enough. She’d sit down and help with math. And listen to our funny stories. We might have had a cleaning