The dreaded Saturday dawned. I had wanted to leave all my homework undone, in the hopes that Mom or Dad would forbid me from going. No such luck. Even if they’d meant to, Clara called me on Friday night to talk about our math assignments and suddenly the damn thing was done. Then she wanted to talk about costumes. “I have my whole costume ready to go. And lots of blue candies. We’ll be the witchiest witches there.” “We?” “Manju’s doing it, too. Aren’t you?” “Uh, no.” “Janine! Come on, it’ll be fun.” “No, it’s dumb. And it’s too late for me to put together a costume anyway.” “It’s never too late.” “Wanna bet?” I hung up before she could. A part of me spent all of Saturday waiting for the doorbell to ring with Clara and Manju bearing a giant dress up box. They didn’t, but it kept me antsy all day. Or maybe it was Samantha, swanning around the house like she was already in love. “Jesus, it’s just one date,” I finally said. “So? It’s still going to be fun. I’m allowed to be happy.” I wish she weren’t. Clara’s mom dropped her and Manju off about fifteen minutes before we were all supposed to leave. They were both dressed up, looking witchy with long black dresses, ugly boots, long nails… Manju just looked so relieved to be here, almost giddy. “I have to study with Aditi and Prabha tomorrow afternoon but I’m good for tonight!” “Uh, [...]

I was feeling pretty damn sulky by the time I got home. Stupid mathtards, luring Manju in with their promises of good grades and test scores. * * * Normally the Nemeth’s driveway was empty at this time of day. Saul lived on campus and his mom worked, but I knew he was coming home this weekend to take Sam out. My stomach rolled a little at the thought. Then it leapt. I thought I saw someone moving in their windows. No, stop, none of my damn business. He sure didn’t care. I let myself in through the open garage. “I’m home!” I called to abso-freakin-nobody. “Hi, hon.” I jumped a foot. “Mom?” “In the kitchen.” Sure enough, there she was, in her soft house clothes and bedroom slippers. There were remnants of her work makeup still on her lips, but she definitely looked unwell, sort of swollen and gaunt in all the wrong places. “Are you ok?” “She came down with a bit of flu,” Grannie Tillie said. “Nothing a bit of tea can’t sure.” I jumped again–she’d been getting more tea from the pantry so I hadn’t seen her. “Don’t stand there gawking, girl. Give your mother a hand.” “I’m fine, Tillie, thank you.” I looked at Mom. “Are you sure? You don’t usually get sick like this…” “Well, I was going to tough out the day but Tillie called to talk about something and she thought I sounded ‘peakish’,” Mom said with a wan smile. “She’s right.” [...]

Home was tense, still. But I thought that might work in my favor when it came to wriggling out of this stupid Halloween thing. I went downstairs a little before dinner. Dad was watching television. It was on the Clark Bannon Shown again. The man was pointing to a large diagram of something or other. Dad was listening intently, leaning forward in his seat. Mom was sitting in the kitchen, making up the grocery list. I sidled over, dragging my fingers along the table’s edge. “What do you want, Janine?” she said without looking up. “Nothing. Not really…” She flipped through a stack of coupons for the one she wanted. “Whatever it is, the answer is less likely to be yes if you keep that up.” “Are we doing anything on Saturday night?” “I don’t think so, why?” “Are you sure? Nothing at all? No dinner plans? No special dinner for Grannie?” Mom took a sharp breath through her nose. “What do you know that I need to know?” “Nothing! No, I’m not hinting. I’m just asking.” She gave me a look, then got up to check the family calendar. “Mmm, no. That’s the thirtieth? No, there’s nothing going on.” Fuck. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Jainine. I’m looking at the square and it’s blank.” I racked my brains for some other way. Mom was looking at me funny. “What’re you up to? What’s going on on the thirtieth?” “Manju and Clara want to go to this thing at the mall. [...]

[Apparently this is one chapter. My proportions are very, very off.] I lost a week of school. No one was happy about this, least of all me. My workload was suddenly in1sane, and I didn’t feel up to tackling any of it. I mean, what did they expect me to do, turn off my emotion faucet? The Vice Principal, Mr. Broyles, sat down with me first thing on Monday morning. He was fatter than I remembered. He eased himself into the chair behind his desk. “You have my sincere sympathies, Janine. It’s never easy to lose a loved one.” “Yeah. It’s not.” Brilliant assessment of the human condition there. I bit my tongue. Don’t piss off the VP when he’s trying to be nice. “Your teachers have all been kept up to date, and they’ve agreed to extend deadlines for you.” He slid a large folder across the desk to me. “I gather attempts were made to email you some assignments, but there’s a copy of everything in here just in case.” The folder was made up of a bunch of thick packets stapled together. One for Algebra, Bio, American History… Standard stuff. Mr. Broyles passed me a hardcover book. “Your English class started Catcher In the Rye on Friday. The assignment was to read the first six chapters. Ms. Rodriquez said you’ll be fine if you can reach chapter thirteen by next Monday. It’s all in the folder.” I glanced at it and put it on top of the [...]

I can’t think of anything worse than a funeral. Everything was a mess after that phone call. Dad told us what he knew, which wasn’t much. His father, Grandpa Buck, Tillie’s husband, had died of a heart attack at his home in upstate Maine. Then Samantha came home and we had to tell her. She was inconsolable. She just broke down into tears in the living room, sobbing like a baby even though she was wearing her work clothes and still had all her makeup on. Mom put her arm around her, but it was Dad she wanted. She wept into his shoulder like the world had ended. I sat on the stairs, my backpack on the step above, hugging my knees. Mom and I made eye contact, and I knew neither of us cared about the damn bag anymore. When Samantha had calmed down enough to let Dad go, he went into the kitchen to call Tillie. I just felt numb. I barely remembered Buck. I was about five the last time we saw him. To me, he was a knobby old guy who told bad jokes, handed out cinnamon candies, and smelled like cigarettes. That used to bother Mom. Most importantly, I knew he loved me. Grandpa Buck = Love. When you’re five, you’re closed to the fundamentals like that. I sat on the stairs and watched everyone else deal with the fallout. Samantha started in on the tissue box with a vengeance. Mom got a notepad and [...]