bookshelf.
I didn’t expect to find my baby book tucked away there. I didn’t know I had a baby book.
So I read through it. I found a lock of my hair pasted into the book — and it was mouse brown!
Then I saw this incredible photo. At first I thought it had been taken recently, because Mom’s lying in a hospital bed, all tired and ragged-looking. But she’s smiling. Radiant. Plus she has all her hair, and she’s holding this screaming little newborn, me. I’m wrapped in a white cotton blanket, and my face looks disgusting, all scrunched up and red.
But I wasn’t really looking at me.
I couldn’t take my eyes away from Mom. It was as if she were alive, right there in my hands.
Talking to me. Telling me she was happy, and everything was going to be okay.
It was like seeing someone I haven’t seen in years.
I had to stop looking at it. It made me feel all knotted up inside.
So I ripped the picture out and put it in my pocket.
I’ll show it to Mom on my next visit.
Anyway, as I was taking down the photo albums, I saw Mom’s old Jane Fonda pregnancy
workout video on the shelf.
I mean old. The cover is hilarious. All these huge women in leotards and dorky hairstyles bouncing around.
I figured, hey, Mom’s not going to use this anymore. But it was perfect for Carol.
So I left the albums on the kitchen table for Dad. And took the video to the Schafers’.
Carol, of course, went nuts over it. She hugged me and said a million thank-yous.
I thought I’d catch Dawn, but she’d left for school already. As I started to go, Carol put on the tape.
Then she started exercising along, and I thought she was going to kill herself. The exercises were for early pregnancy. I could not leave the house. I ran in and fast-forwarded to the late second. I mean, she is 7 months! You don’t get much later than that.
Then I saw it. The look on Carol’s face.
It was a lot like the look on Mom’s face in the picture.
That was when I left.
Tuesday 3/17
girls’ [sic] room
Big news.
Saw Brock in the gym hallway. Before 7th period. Don’t usually take that route. Will from now on.
He was all sweaty from playing basketball, his hair in little wet ringlets.
I said hi. He said hi.
I talked all about the Chicago Bulls — and guess what? He loves them.
I can always spot a guy with good taste.
He walked me to class, and we talked and talked — well, I did. I was kind of blabbering. I was hoping he’d ask me out, but he didn’t.
So I asked him.
Sunny “Guts to Spare” Winslow.
And guess what?
He. Said. Yes.
Later
Poor Ducky. He looked so sad after school. I thought he was about to cry. I grabbed him and sat him down by the big palm tree outside school.
I was worried. I thought it was something serious.
But it was just the usual stuff about his friend Alex — Alex is depressed. Ducky’s worried he’s going to do something “rash,” blah blah blah.
I tried to listen. But frankly, this is so old. I told Ducky he deserved better friends than Alex.
The guy is a drip. A loser. I mean, if I were his best friend, by now I’d have only 3 words for him: get a life.
Anyway, I was bursting to tell him my news about Brock.
I may have cut him off. I probably should have paid more attention.
But this is important. To me, at least.
Friday’s only three days away, and I needed Ducky’s fashion advice.
Wednesday 3/18
5:18 P.M.
I know what a ghost looks like.
It doesn’t smile like Casper. But it does wear a white gown.
It has wispy white hair, papery gray skin, and large purple circles under its eyes.
It looks out the window when you’re talking. It doesn’t eat. It is cold to the touch, and you can feel its bones through its skin.
It forgets the topic of conversation in the middle of sentences. It doesn’t recognize the photo you show it. It keeps asking the same questions over and over.
And you hate seeing it, because it breaks your heart.
9:54 P.M.
I went home after the hospital visit, but I
I didn’t expect to find my baby book tucked away there. I didn’t know I had a baby book.
So I read through it. I found a lock of my hair pasted into the book — and it was mouse brown!
Then I saw this incredible photo. At first I thought it had been taken recently, because Mom’s lying in a hospital bed, all tired and ragged-looking. But she’s smiling. Radiant. Plus she has all her hair, and she’s holding this screaming little newborn, me. I’m wrapped in a white cotton blanket, and my face looks disgusting, all scrunched up and red.
But I wasn’t really looking at me.
I couldn’t take my eyes away from Mom. It was as if she were alive, right there in my hands.
Talking to me. Telling me she was happy, and everything was going to be okay.
It was like seeing someone I haven’t seen in years.
I had to stop looking at it. It made me feel all knotted up inside.
So I ripped the picture out and put it in my pocket.
I’ll show it to Mom on my next visit.
Anyway, as I was taking down the photo albums, I saw Mom’s old Jane Fonda pregnancy
workout video on the shelf.
I mean old. The cover is hilarious. All these huge women in leotards and dorky hairstyles bouncing around.
I figured, hey, Mom’s not going to use this anymore. But it was perfect for Carol.
So I left the albums on the kitchen table for Dad. And took the video to the Schafers’.
Carol, of course, went nuts over it. She hugged me and said a million thank-yous.
I thought I’d catch Dawn, but she’d left for school already. As I started to go, Carol put on the tape.
Then she started exercising along, and I thought she was going to kill herself. The exercises were for early pregnancy. I could not leave the house. I ran in and fast-forwarded to the late second. I mean, she is 7 months! You don’t get much later than that.
Then I saw it. The look on Carol’s face.
It was a lot like the look on Mom’s face in the picture.
That was when I left.
Tuesday 3/17
girls’ [sic] room
Big news.
Saw Brock in the gym hallway. Before 7th period. Don’t usually take that route. Will from now on.
He was all sweaty from playing basketball, his hair in little wet ringlets.
I said hi. He said hi.
I talked all about the Chicago Bulls — and guess what? He loves them.
I can always spot a guy with good taste.
He walked me to class, and we talked and talked — well, I did. I was kind of blabbering. I was hoping he’d ask me out, but he didn’t.
So I asked him.
Sunny “Guts to Spare” Winslow.
And guess what?
He. Said. Yes.
Later
Poor Ducky. He looked so sad after school. I thought he was about to cry. I grabbed him and sat him down by the big palm tree outside school.
I was worried. I thought it was something serious.
But it was just the usual stuff about his friend Alex — Alex is depressed. Ducky’s worried he’s going to do something “rash,” blah blah blah.
I tried to listen. But frankly, this is so old. I told Ducky he deserved better friends than Alex.
The guy is a drip. A loser. I mean, if I were his best friend, by now I’d have only 3 words for him: get a life.
Anyway, I was bursting to tell him my news about Brock.
I may have cut him off. I probably should have paid more attention.
But this is important. To me, at least.
Friday’s only three days away, and I needed Ducky’s fashion advice.
Wednesday 3/18
5:18 P.M.
I know what a ghost looks like.
It doesn’t smile like Casper. But it does wear a white gown.
It has wispy white hair, papery gray skin, and large purple circles under its eyes.
It looks out the window when you’re talking. It doesn’t eat. It is cold to the touch, and you can feel its bones through its skin.
It forgets the topic of conversation in the middle of sentences. It doesn’t recognize the photo you show it. It keeps asking the same questions over and over.
And you hate seeing it, because it breaks your heart.
9:54 P.M.
I went home after the hospital visit, but I
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