BROKEN

Part 4 of 5

21

My dad’s on the road four days a week, so nights around our house are pretty quiet. Usually it’s Mom telling me all about the crazy and funny things kids at school did, but tonight I’m the one doing the talking as I drink my evening protein supplement and she relaxes with a glass of wine and Chinese takeout. It smells awesome, and as always I try to psych my taste buds into thinking they’re savoring General Tso’s chicken instead of artificial vanilla. But after what happened in biology, we’re Playing It Safe.

I’m lucky Mom didn’t decide to go with a clear liquid diet until she was sure my stomach had settled. I lied and told her I felt fine, even though I still had a pounding headache and my heart was doing crazy zigzags, speeding up and slowing down. Just excitement, I tell myself. My vitals are normal enough that Mom’s okay with me drinking a shake for dinner.

Then the doorbell rings. We both look up, our gazes meeting across the kitchen table. “Who could that be?” Mom says as she gets up to answer the door.

I follow behind, equally curious. No one ever visits our house. At least not since I’ve been old enough to stay home alone. Before then, Mom would always have to arrange for a sitter who knew CPR and how to handle an Emergency or Set Back—this was before we had Phil or knew my heart was behind all my vomiting and stomach cramps and headaches and breathing problems—which basically boiled down to one or two of her nurse friends. Somehow I’d always get sick while they were here, making them have to call Mom home early. They’d never come back to sit for me again. Mom said she couldn’t Risk It.

She opens the door, the evening air breezing in and making me smile as its rich scents wash over me. Then I hear a boy’s voice and my smile grows wider.

“Good evening, Mrs. Killian,” he says. For a moment I think it’s Jordan and my heart does a flutter kick. I move around Mom to see and realize it’s not Jordan. It’s Anthony, the kid who rescued me in biology class.

“Anthony Carrera. What are you doing here so late?” Mom asks. I’m wondering the same thing.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it sooner. I had soccer practice.” He’s talking to Mom like they’re equals. For the first time, I realize how tall he is. Taller than my dad even. Then he turns to me. “Hi, Scarlet. Are you feeling better?”

I nod, suddenly my mouth is dry. “Yes, thanks.”

“You left your bio text and notebook in class.” Right. Ms. Blakely had grabbed my pack with Phil when she brought Mitch to Mom’s office. I hadn’t looked inside to see if all my books were there.

“Thanks.” I take the books. Our fingers touch. He waits, smiling at me. I know I should say something more but my mind is a black hole, sucking down all intelligent thought or conversation.

Mom is staring at me staring at him. “We appreciate you going out of your way, Anthony—”

“Oh, it’s not out of my way,” he interrupts, ignoring Mom’s scowl. She hates being interrupted. By anyone. “I live just around the block. And please, call me Tony.”