It was now or never. Today, the first official day of summervacation and my campaign to somehow, some way, make my sisterAudrey find my presence in this world a positive rather than anegative.Okay, so it’s not like I thought I could go from major irritation to
pal
in a matter of two months, or just because I’d turned fourteen on mylast birthday. But deep down, I knew I could be normal enough that shewouldn’t automatically leave when I entered a room—especially nowthat we shared something in common other than our genetics. Wecould have a real moment here—if she was willing to help me with theone little problem that surpassed the outbreak of
bacne
I’d spent mostof last night worrying about.I padded down the hall of our suburban Atlanta house, listening forAudrey’s voice, much like mine minus the rasp. Her snort of laughterrose up the second story foyer, then trailed off into the blare of the TV.“Audrey?” I called out as I came down the stairs. No answer.I snuck a peek into the den.Audrey’s pudgy friend Karen, who might actually hate me morethan my sister did, sprawled on the couch in the family room in whatGrandma would say was an unladylike fashion. Karen had spent thenight, and I’d successfully avoided her for most of her visit by stayingin my room. Taking a deep breath, I skirted through the dining room and intothe kitchen, where I found Audrey dipping her finger into a large bowlof yellow batter studded with shiny semi-sweet chips. A half dozen,super-sized muffins cooled on the rack on the granite-topped island,tantalizing me with their chocolaty scent. Compliments were usuallywelcome. I’d give it a shot. “Smells good,” I said.Audrey’s long face scrunched into a scowl. “What do
you
want?”“Um, I don’t know how to . . . ” I glanced back toward the den,where Karen still appeared to be engrossed in some reality show. Butone could never tell. “Look. Mom isn’t here, so I need your helpwith . . . something.”
11
Audrey pushed her scraggly brown bangs out of her eyes. “Fine.What is it?”Undoubtedly sensing the potential to heap psychological damageupon me, Karen scurried into the kitchen. “What’s what?”“It’s nothing. Forget about it,” I said, glancing over at the digitalclock on the oven, which had to be flashing the wrong time. Unless Ioverslept—again.“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Karen,” Audreyassured me in a half-irritated tone.“No, I can’t.”Hey, I knew my response might throw Audrey into full-fledgedaggravation, but I had to risk it. You don’t share some things in front of people who hate you more than David Butler’s armpit stench. Karencouldn’t know what my problem was. She’d text it all over Pecan Hills.“No, I can’t,” Karen taunted, mimicking my husky voice, onlymaking it sound far worse than it was.My face burned, never a good thing for someone like me withhypersensitive skin. At least I wasn’t itching . . . yet. I went to thefridge and grabbed a bottled water, hoping they’d forget I’d ever saidanything about needing Audrey’s help. I’d figure out my problem onmy own.As I tried to escape, heading toward the back staircase, Karenblocked me. She stood there examining me as if I was some freaksideshow at the circus and I wasn’t living up to the hype. “Aren’t yougoing to scratch yourself?”No ‘hey, don’t pick on my sister,’ issued from Audrey’s lips. No‘Heather can’t help having weird skin.’ No channeling of Marcia Brady,Denise Huxtable, or D.J. Tanner, all excellent TVLand examples of howolder sisters should act.“No, she isn’t!” Audrey hollered for me, not that she could controlmy skin. Not even
I
could control my skin. Audrey bit into one of herhoarded muffins, then waved her hand in front of her mouth, waitingfor it to cool down enough to chew.I should have enjoyed karma burning her, yet it barely tickled me.My sister wasn’t making even a half-hearted attempt to protect me.“Are your feelings too hurt to answer, Heather?” Karen asked, hervoice dripping fake sympathy as thick as cane syrup. “You’re not goingto cry, are you?”Not in front of her, I wasn’t. I don’t know why I let her get to me. Ihated it. I hated her.I twisted off the cap and took a swig of my water, attempting toswallow the growing lump in my throat. “Thanks a lot, Audrey,” I said,despising how even I could hear the tears in my voice. I bolted aroundKaren and out of the kitchen.“Heather!” Audrey yelled as I ran up the stairs two at a time.“Heather, come on.”
12
Doomed to solve my dilemma on my own, I made a beeline for thebathroom, then shut the door and stared at the paper-wrapped tube,hardly bigger than a highlighter, lying on the counter. It seemedharmless, but to me it was the scariest, yet most exciting object in thehouse. I eyed the pink box that had been sitting between the tower of Dove soap and the plastic sack of ultra-thin maxi pads inside the linencloset. The sheet of instructions lay unfolded across the sink, clearlywritten, yet impossible to follow.Pounding rattled the bathroom door in its frame. Probably Karencome to harass me some more.“Come on, Heather,” Audrey groaned. She turned the doorknobback and forth. “I know you’re in there.”Hope filled my heart. Audrey did care. She was looking for me outof concern.She pounded again. “I’ve gotta go. Let me in.”Deflated, I padded across the cool tile to unlock the door. “All right.Geez.”“What’s your problem anyway?” she asked.Sure, I knew it was a rhetorical question, but she was here. I mightas well give it a shot. “If you must know, my problem is that I don’tknow how to put a tampon in.”And with the pool beckoning, I had to learn fast. No way was Ishowing up in street clothes. I wanted to impress hot lifeguard DrewBlanton, not stick out as the lone dweeb, sitting on the side, dippingmy legs in the water while everyone else swam.“God, it’s no big deal.” Audrey slapped the tampon into my hand,shoved the instructions under my arm, pushed me out of thebathroom, and slammed the door in my face. “The directions are onthe paper. Duh!”Not sure if I was more hurt or angry, I stared at the bathroom door.“Where’s the welcome into the sisterhood of menstruating women?”A snort was her only response. You’d think we’d at least be able tobond over that. Especially since my period had taken forever to gethere. I was going into ninth grade in the fall, and I’d only been waitingfor this milestone since reading
Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret
atage ten. I really wanted the whole monthly cycle; I welcomed anythingthat would make me more rather than less normal, which in turn wouldmake Audrey like me. Or so I thought.I straightened out the instructions and studied the diagram as Iplodded down the narrow hallway to my room.Maybe I’d put the tampon experiment off until tomorrow. If I didn’tshow up at the pool today, Drew might wonder if I was sick. Maybehe’d call the house to check on me . . . which was pretty muchimpossible since he didn’t know my name. “Why today?” I whined.“Why
what
today?” my younger sister Claire asked. She wasstanding in the doorway of her room, next to mine, and smelled faintly
