Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content by Melody Carlson Page A

out of proportion, Kara. I’m just trying to figure this out with you.”
    I pick up my tea mug and start to walk away now. “The only thing wrong with me is that I feel sick.
Sorry!
I guess no one’s allowed to be sick in this place.”
    “That’s not it—”
    “Well, I don’t know what ‘it’ is then. But I am going to bed. Goodnight,
Mother.”
We both know that I only call her “Mother” when I’m mad. And I’m mad now. Following my little sister’s example, I too slam my door. Only louder. I feel just slightly sorry for my mom. I know this isn’t her fault. But at the same time I don’t know what makes her think she can fix anything. All I wanted was a little sympathy and permission to stay home tomorrow. Of course, I realize, my mom can’t actually make me go to school if I don’t want to.
And I don’t want to.
    I stay up really late. It’s not like I’m doing much of anything, just quietly listening to my Alanis Morissette CD. Jordan can’t stand Alanis, she says all she does is complain, but I happen to like her and relate to her lyrics. Ironically enough, I am also flipping through a stupid
Cosmo
magazine that Jordan left the last time she spent the night, which must’ve been in August shortly before school started. Finally I open the window and close my heating vents, allowing my room to fill with cold air. Then I actually take off my pajamas and lay on my bed until I am shivering. I am thinking perhaps I can catch a cold. I know that colds are really a result of germs, but I’ve also heard that if you get run down or chilled or whatever, you can wear down your resistance to germs and then get sick. That’s what I’m hoping for—either a cold, or if I’m lucky, pneumonia. It would be so perfect if I were to get pneumonia and have to be hospitalized.
    I wonder if Jordan would come to visit me in the hospital. I can imagine her coming into my room with a big bouquet of flowers and balloons, maybe even a stuffed rabbit (since she knows how I love bunnies), and she would stand next to my bed and plead and beg for my forgiveness. But I would just turn my head away from her without speaking. Perhaps I might even breathe my last breath while she was standing there. But I wouldn’t forgive her. No way! I would make her suffer for the rest of her life for hurting me like this.
    My teeth are chattering like castanets now and I wonder how much longer I can take this form of freezing torture. But then I realize it’s also a pretty good distraction to the cruddy way I feel inside. Maybe it’s worth it. Now, if only I can wake up half dead!

nine
     
     
    N O SUCH LUCK . I WAKE UP FEELING PERFECTLY FINE . W ELL, AT LEAST physically. I still feel rotten on the inside.
    “How are you feeling today?” my mom asks after she cracks open my bedroom door and peeks in.
    I am still in bed, tired from staying up so late. “Awful,” I mutter, making my best attempt at looking sick.
    She comes into my room and touches my forehead again. I do not understand what makes mothers think they are walking-talking thermometers. But I think somewhere during the process of giving birth and changing diapers, they actually begin to believe they have this supernatural sense.
    “You feel normal to me, honey.” She pushes some hair off my forehead and smiles. “But I can make you an appointment with Dr. Peterson if you like.”
    Okay, I’m not dumb. Despite that warm motherly smile, I know this is a threat. I absolutely hate going to the doctor. I hate it when I’m sick and even more so when I’m not.
    “Fine,” I growl. “I’ll
go
to school, but if I spread some really horrible disease to everyone, they will all have you to thank.”
    “Well, I’ve got to run, Kara. I’m already a little late. Have a good day.”
    Have a good day!
Yeah, you bet. I grumble all the way to the bathroom. Thankfully, Bree is done now, but she’s left her usual trail of wet towels and shower debris all over the place. I kick them