Trapped by Melody Carlson Page A

whose parents are doctors. “Well, you don’t seem sick.”
    â€œI’m not.” I push the covers off. “I feel just fine, Mom.”
    â€œBut that nasty flu is running rampant.” She goes over to turn on the overhead light. “And I told Dad that unless I was convinced you were perfectly fine, I was going to cancel tonight’s plans.”
    â€œTonight’s plans?”
    â€œThe annual Christmas party at Dad’s clinic. Remember? It’s been on the calendar for a month now.”
    â€œOh yeah.” I stand and stretch. “The big bash.”
    She sighs. “Don’t remind me. Anyway, I picked you up some Thai food for dinner — your favorite.”
    â€œSounds great.” I pull on my UGGs.
    â€œI wish I could join you,” Mom says as she pushes her bangs off her forehead. I notice that, like me, she has shadows beneath her eyes. “But as you can see, I’m in need of some intensive primping.”
    â€œThanks for the takeout.” I lean over to stroke Rory.
    â€œAnd tomorrow evening, we’ll be sure to stay home,” she says from the doorway. “I told the hospital not to call me. I want to be around to enjoy your big night, GraceAnn.”
    â€œOh, that’s right.” I remember now. “The dance.”
    â€œDo you think Uncle Russ will let you leave the pharmacy early? So you can get all dolled up and ready?”
    â€œI’m sure five is early enough, Mom. It’s not that big of a deal.”
    â€œWell, I think it’s a big deal.” She makes a sly smile. “And your dad’s already digging out the video camera, planning to document the whole thing.”
    I groan dramatically. “Great. Can’t wait.”
    . . . . . . . . . .
    As I sit in the kitchen by myself, poking at lukewarm Pad Thai noodles, I realize that I’m not really hungry. In fact, my stomach feels like I swallowed a small bag of cement. I’m sure this is a side effect from what I did today. I still can’t believe I really cheated. In fact, when I first woke from my nap, I thought perhaps it was all just a bad dream. Unfortunately, I know that’s not the case. I did it … and there is no undoing it. My only consolation — and it’s not much — is that I will never do it again. Never.
    I feel a tiny bit better on Saturday. It helps going to work. I need the distraction, and I try to stay really busy, even doing the jobs no one likes to do, like thoroughly scrubbing down the bathrooms and “facing the shelves,” which is the tedious process of dusting all the merchandise and moving it all forward so that the store portion of the pharmacy looks clean and freshly stocked … even though some of the merchandise is a little old.
    â€œAre you feeling okay?” Aunt Lindsey asks me after lunch. She’s manning the pharmacy today.
    â€œSure.” I look up from where I’m stooped down rearranging the boxes of elastic bandages.
    â€œYou just seem awfully quiet.”
    I force a smile. “Just preoccupied.”
    â€œYour mom told me you’re going to the Winter Ball.” She looks on with interest. “Did you and Clayton get back together?”
    I stand now. “No …” I say slowly. Then I explain about Bryant and Jorge. “I guess I’m feeling a little uncomfortable about it now.” Okay, this is partially true, but it’s not the real reason I’m being quiet. Still, it seems a good smoke screen. “And these guys aren’t exactly youth group boys. Some people might even think that they’re sort of, well, bad boys. But they’re actually nice.”
    My aunt laughs. “GraceAnn with a bad boy? Now that’s something I have a hard time imagining. Make sure your dad gets photos. I want to see this.”
    â€œI’ll have him send them your way.”
    â€œAnyway, I wanted to ask if you’d make another delivery