Max and I

Chapter Seven

I had received the following note from Elli one day after school:

Dearest Meg,

Mr. R's class was just wondering how you are feeling today. We know that you went to the hospital recently and you have been badly hurt. Are you still feeling that way? How was it like in the hospital? (Many kids in our class have never been there.) I wish you good luck in your recovery, Meg. Here are a few notes some kids wrote to you.

You are the best kid ever. Love, Kat

I wish you the best recovery. I hope you are feeling fine now. You are a brave girl. Sincerely, Anne.

Now that you are better, you can finally go to Art Class. The special teacher is here this week too. Feel free to join Amanda and Sierra at recess this week. Love, Brunetta.

You rock. –Bobby A.

I love you! -Sophia C.

I reread it and felt a wave of happiness come across me.

I smiled. But then I remembered Brunetta's note. I was puzzled. Now she was faking to be nice to me?

It couldn't be. She must have been kidding. Or maybe there was a small possibility her mother told her about respect and then she decided to be nice after all of my hardships.

But probably not. All of these new thoughts jiggled in my head like countless drops of water.

I reached for my crutches standing near my bed and began to lean against them. I put my arms on it as I was instructed, opened the door, and walked into the kitchen.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey? Would you like a snack?" Mom stood near the window counting my pocket money.

"Why are you counting my money?" I asked her. She rarely paid me money for doing chores around the house, so I wasn't too happy when she simply took my money and was inspecting it.

"You gave me the money, so it's stupid to just count it. You paid it to me," I explained.

"I say, young lady, if you address me like that one more time, you are going straight to your room and you can play no video games today," replied Mom.

Mom knew I didn't even like video games a lot since Elli only downloaded boring ones. I didn't understand why she said that to me.

"Can I have a cup of hot chocolate?" I ask her.

"Meg, it's not winter and you haven't played in bitterly cold weather. I don't feel like preparing hot cocoa now. Do you want a can of seltzer water?"

"No. I'll have some chocolate milk," I said, grabbing it out of the fridge.

I inserted the straw and blew into it. It made a silly gurgling sound, the kind I made when I was a baby. Then I drank a sip. It tasted exactly like the one I had for snack when I was small. It was chilly, sweet, and with a burst of cocoa. More specifically, its aroma was exactly like a chocolate bar.

I gulped down half of it in less than three minutes. It was impossible to stop. When I had finished, Wayne came bounding into the warm room.

"I want milk like Meggie has," she pointed.

Mom smiled. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but right now we have no more chocolate milk. Would you like normal milk without anything?"

"No!" Wayne began to whine.