Girl in Shades by Allison Baggio Page B

and a blue gel cold pack on my eye. Who knew that shampoo could cause so many problems? What would my mother say? I can’t even think of anything. All the things she actually said are jamming up my head, “You may not believe this, Maya, but it’s almost a relief to know how you’re going to die. If it wasn’t for you, I’d almost be ready to go.”
    If it wasn’t for me. If it wasn’t for me.
    Am I a cause of suffering? Did Mother deserve it? Why isn’t she here to help me now? She left me all alone. I almost hate her.
    â€œHow’s that eye doing?” the nurse, a chubby woman I have never seen before, asks when she returns.
    â€œFine, I guess,” I say, lifting the cold pack.
    â€œYou’re gonna have a shiner, that’s for sure!” she says, laughing.
    â€œSo what?” I am tired of being laughed at today. She tells me that I will be okay and should go back to class — if I feel up to it. Instead, I meet Mr. Wigman in the hall. His arms are crossed so that his hands grab at his elbows, creasing his white dress shirt.
    â€œAll done?” he says.
    â€œI guess so. Do I have to go back in there?”
    â€œIt’s up to you. Jackie went home for the rest of the day. What do you feel like doing?”
    â€œDigging a hole and going to live in it for the rest of my life,” I say to him.
    â€œIt would be so dark down there.”
    â€œI would bring a flashlight or something.”
    â€œBet it feels pretty dark up here these days too,” Mr. Wigman says, and I suddenly feel itchy all over my body.
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œI’m sorry about your mother, Maya.”
    â€œWhy? Did you give her cancer?”
    â€œNo.” The bell buzzes to signal the end of class.
    Of course not , I think. She gave it to herself.

    I decide not to go back to class, only they won’t let me go home until my father comes in to meet with Mr. Wigman and talk about what they now refer to as “The Incident.” By the time my father arrives, called from his office on account of what they must have told him was some sort of emergency, my eye has swelled as far as it is going to go and is starting its way back down. Blood swims to the spot like a magnet.
    â€œMaya, my God! Are you in pain?” my father asks at first sight of me. He wears a blue suit with tiny lines and a thin, red paisley tie.
    â€œYou should see the other girl,” Mr. Wigman says, and I am not sure if he is joking because, really, Jackie looks fine. Those scratches weren’t deep enough to turn into anything. Mr. Wigman coughs into his fist. “Thanks for coming, Mr. Devine.”
    â€œNobody punched me,” I tell my father. “Must have been an elbow or something when they were trying to get me off her.”
    â€œI have to say, Mr. Wigman, this is very unlike Maya.”
    Mr. Wigman answers my father like I have spread my body with a mysterious substance that turns me invisible.
    â€œI don’t think she has quite been herself lately. Some of the girls were bugging her about the shampoo commercial.”
    â€œThey’re just jealous,” my father says. “She beat out a lot of other girls for that spot.” I see that droplets of sweat are growing along my father’s hairline.
    From inside Mr. Wigman’s head: Is this guy pushing her too much? And I feel thankful to have Mr. Wigman sticking up for me — even if he’s only thinking it.
    â€œShe had it coming,” I say into empty space. “Jackie. She made a crack about Mother. She said she was a psycho.” My father scrapes at his bottom lip with his upper teeth while Mr. Wigman looks towards the black and white clock above the door.
    The next words are my father’s. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to call the office. I forgot to tell them something important.”
    â€œOf course, Mr. Devine. You can use my phone.” Mr. Wigman pushes a black