about Becca’s visit to the doctor and how he made a referral for her to see a psychiatrist. I tried to absorb the whole idea, but it just didn’t seem real to me. How could it?
October 11 -
Cheese Omelets
And Cheesy Movies
I woke up too early —the morning after the horrible football game and possible serial strangler encounter—and noticed Becca’s empty bed, and when I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, she was sitting at the kitchen table, pouring so much syrup on her toaster waffles that they practically floated on top of her plate. A cigarette burned in the ashtray next to her, her hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes were caked with makeup—who knows how old it was.
She stared at me.
“Hey, Becca.”
She gave me a blank look. I went back to bed, and when I got up later, Mom was making omelets.
“Have you seen the syrup? I could’ve sworn I bought some not too long ago. I thought it would be nice to have pancakes,” she said as she flipped an omelet over in the skillet.
Becca was in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor cutting out newspaper articles.
“What’s with her?” I asked Mom, who shrugged and gave me this eye-roll look.
“She’s working on a school project.”
“Can’t we make the scissors go away?” I whispered, and she gave me a look, one that meant that was going to happen very soon.
Jill joined us for breakfast, and we ate our cheese omelets as Becca sat with two Pop-Tarts and a glass of orange juice.
At work I did random, boring things that were still better than being at home avoiding Becca, and when Rose called me to see how I was feeling after the horrible football game betrayal, I told her I was great, which wasn’t true at all, but I was about three percent better than when she last saw me. Really, though, I was just feeling numb.
After work I went to the movies with her and Bethany, even though the two of them have terrible taste, and it was a horrible slasher film, a remake of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre . I sat through half of it with my hand covering my eyes.
When I’m in the mood for a scary movie, which is rare, I prefer old-school horror like The Blob or I Was a Teenage Werewolf , even though they’re corny and ridiculous. At least they don’t have all the blood and body parts.
I’ll never let Rose and Bethany pick the movie again.
October 13 -
Why I Don’t Like Mondays
For a lot of reasons besides my usual ones , I was not looking forward to school today. When I got up, I could feel a pimple coming to the surface right in the corner of my mouth, where the really sensitive skin meets the face, so I squeezed it. I know you’re not supposed to, but who doesn’t? Nothing happened, so I kept squeezing until I saw a little pinprick of blood. Not a good sign . The corner of my lip started to swell, and a few minutes later when I looked at myself in the mirror, the pimple had apparently turned itself inside out and was now swelling to the size of a pea, or a small country.
Not only did I want to avoid Summer, the traitor, and Anthony, the other traitor, I wanted to avoid every other person I knew. And it’s not like you can put a bandage on your face to cover a zit. That just doesn’t work except in stupid teen movies. Ugh. It looked like I’d been stung by a bee.
I scanned my closet looking for something that wouldn’t call attention to my face. Not having a bag to put directly over my head, I found a black sweater and black pants. Not only would I not stand out, I hoped, but it fit my dark mood. A bonus.
Mom took one look at me. “Oh, no. What happened?”
Ugh. “Mom, I really can’t go to school looking like this.”
I pleaded with her to let me stay home. Just this once.
“Oh, Stacy, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that bad. Nobody will even notice. Don’t worry about it. You’re fine.” Spoken just like a mom (who, in fact, had noticed).
In homeroom, when I walked to the back of the class to
October 11 -
Cheese Omelets
And Cheesy Movies
I woke up too early —the morning after the horrible football game and possible serial strangler encounter—and noticed Becca’s empty bed, and when I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, she was sitting at the kitchen table, pouring so much syrup on her toaster waffles that they practically floated on top of her plate. A cigarette burned in the ashtray next to her, her hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes were caked with makeup—who knows how old it was.
She stared at me.
“Hey, Becca.”
She gave me a blank look. I went back to bed, and when I got up later, Mom was making omelets.
“Have you seen the syrup? I could’ve sworn I bought some not too long ago. I thought it would be nice to have pancakes,” she said as she flipped an omelet over in the skillet.
Becca was in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor cutting out newspaper articles.
“What’s with her?” I asked Mom, who shrugged and gave me this eye-roll look.
“She’s working on a school project.”
“Can’t we make the scissors go away?” I whispered, and she gave me a look, one that meant that was going to happen very soon.
Jill joined us for breakfast, and we ate our cheese omelets as Becca sat with two Pop-Tarts and a glass of orange juice.
At work I did random, boring things that were still better than being at home avoiding Becca, and when Rose called me to see how I was feeling after the horrible football game betrayal, I told her I was great, which wasn’t true at all, but I was about three percent better than when she last saw me. Really, though, I was just feeling numb.
After work I went to the movies with her and Bethany, even though the two of them have terrible taste, and it was a horrible slasher film, a remake of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre . I sat through half of it with my hand covering my eyes.
When I’m in the mood for a scary movie, which is rare, I prefer old-school horror like The Blob or I Was a Teenage Werewolf , even though they’re corny and ridiculous. At least they don’t have all the blood and body parts.
I’ll never let Rose and Bethany pick the movie again.
October 13 -
Why I Don’t Like Mondays
For a lot of reasons besides my usual ones , I was not looking forward to school today. When I got up, I could feel a pimple coming to the surface right in the corner of my mouth, where the really sensitive skin meets the face, so I squeezed it. I know you’re not supposed to, but who doesn’t? Nothing happened, so I kept squeezing until I saw a little pinprick of blood. Not a good sign . The corner of my lip started to swell, and a few minutes later when I looked at myself in the mirror, the pimple had apparently turned itself inside out and was now swelling to the size of a pea, or a small country.
Not only did I want to avoid Summer, the traitor, and Anthony, the other traitor, I wanted to avoid every other person I knew. And it’s not like you can put a bandage on your face to cover a zit. That just doesn’t work except in stupid teen movies. Ugh. It looked like I’d been stung by a bee.
I scanned my closet looking for something that wouldn’t call attention to my face. Not having a bag to put directly over my head, I found a black sweater and black pants. Not only would I not stand out, I hoped, but it fit my dark mood. A bonus.
Mom took one look at me. “Oh, no. What happened?”
Ugh. “Mom, I really can’t go to school looking like this.”
I pleaded with her to let me stay home. Just this once.
“Oh, Stacy, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that bad. Nobody will even notice. Don’t worry about it. You’re fine.” Spoken just like a mom (who, in fact, had noticed).
In homeroom, when I walked to the back of the class to
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