that I was awake, healthy and ready to go home. While Mom battled about protocol and hospital rules, Dad bent down and hugged me so hard that a nearby machine started beeping. And throughout this, I kept studying my body, marveling at my freckles, small breasts, and chubby thighs.
I loved being me.
At some point during the insanity, a phone rang and my father handed it to me.
“Dustin!” I exclaimed.
“Amber?” he asked cautiously. “Is it really you?” “Yes! But how did you find out already?”
“I have my sources,” he said in his typical know-it-all tone. “Wow! You sound like the real you again.” “Great, huh?” I heard myself and smiled.
“Supreme greatness. So when can I see you?”
“Soon, I hope.” I glanced over at my mother, who was glaring furiously and arguing with a doctor. “My parents are working on getting me released ASAP.” “So you’ll come home tomorrow?”
“I think so. Home — what a beautiful word.”
“I’ll bet it is. So chill and enjoy being back, but then I want to know everything. Like, how did the audition go?” “Don’t ask.” My smile faded.
“You bombed?”
“Worse. I never made it. But I can’t talk about that here,” I added in a whisper. “I’ll explain later.” “Call me when you’re home.”
“I will,” I promised.
“And Amber, just so you know … ” he paused, suddenly awkward.
“Yes?”
“It’s great to have you — the real you — back.”
I looked around at my parents and swelled with emotion. “I know.”
After a long night of tests and examinations, I was released the next morning. My little sisters tackled me when I walked through the front door, a tiny team of triplet football players wearing protective plastic trainer pants.
“Sissy, Sissy, Sissy!” Melonee, Olive, and Cherry screamed as they grabbed my legs and hugged.
I winced at the pain from my bruises (I had been hit by a truck, after all), but hugged them back. I couldn’t get over how they’d grown. I was like Rip Van Winkle returning home after a hundred years, although it had been less than two weeks. But a few weeks for little kids is like a century. My sisters had learned new words and could string some together in short sentences. They each had new talents to show me. Olive could do a backward somersault (obviously not taking after her gym-resistant big sister), Melonee could count to eleven, and Cherry kept saying “Knock, knock,” then giggling whenever I said, “Who’s there?” I was thrilled to see my cat Snowy, but she wasn’t as friendly as Kitty Calico and gave me attitude (until dinner, when I snuck food to her under the table). Mom made a welcome-home, triple-layer caramel cream cake for me, and I showed my gratitude by taking two slices. Afterward, feeling sleepy and full, I went to my room — where I finally found some alone-time to make an important phone call.
But he didn’t.
The stupid phone rang and rang until the voicemail picked up. Where was Eli? I agonized. Why hadn’t he answered? By now he must have realized I’d switched back to myself, so he should have tried to call me. Yet he hadn’t.
Discouraged, I left a short “Call me ASAP!” message.
Then I tried Alyce’s number.
I was still reeling with regret over not being there when she needed me. But now I was home and I would help her through her crisis — no matter what it was. It wouldn’t be guy troubles, since she was too picky to go out with anyone. So that left either school/homework issues, complications with graveyard photographing, or something to do with her mother.
Usually her problems were mother-related.
So when her mother answered my call, I got a sick feeling in my gut.
“Hello … Is Alyce there?” I asked nervously. “This is Amber.” “I know who you are,” she said coolly. What did she have against me, anyway? I’d always been extremely nice and polite to her.
“Can I talk to Alyce?” I asked.
“Why would you want to do that?” Her hostility was sharp enough to draw blood.
“Because I’m her best friend.”
“My daughter has no friends.”
“That’s not true!” I argued. “Please tell her I want to talk to her.” “Unfortunately, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Click. Dead phone.
Oh, great, I thought grimly. That went well …
I stared at the phone in my hand, blaming myself for handling that all wrong. But what else could I have said? Did Alyce really hate me or was her mother lying? I thought back to our last conversation, how insistent Alyce was that I come home right away, then her anger when I’d refused. She’d needed me and I’d let her down.
Was our friendship really over?
Reaching across the bed, I scooped up my cat before she could protest and hugged her to my chest, a tear trickling down my cheek and landing on her silvery fur. If only I could read Alyce’s mind to know what was wrong. She wouldn’t talk to me, so how could I help her? I didn’t dare go to her house now. Not when Attila the Horrible Mom might answer the door and slam it right in my face. But I could try at school. Alyce and I shared classes, so she couldn’t ignore me forever. Somehow I’d fix everything and we’d be BFFs again.
The phone rang, and I grabbed it.
“Alyce?” I cried, hopefully.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” came an amused male voice.
“Oh, Eli! I’m the opposite of disappointed,” I assured him, sitting up and further disturbing Snowy, who hissed at me and indignantly scampered over to the edge of the bed. “I’ve been worried about you … and Sharayah.” “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “And Sharayah seemed okay when she called a few hours ago. She’s with Hannah.” “She is?” I relaxed against my pillow. “That’s a relief. I worried about what happened after I left, but Sharayah will be fine with Hannah. I think Hannah is great — despite the stun gun.” “Stun gun?”
“A Taser. I’ll tell you everything when I see you. Are you back home?” “Not yet.”
“Well, hurry! It’ll be so cool to be with you and be myself. We can … ” I hesitated. “Well, finish what we started without breaking any moral or legal laws.” “I’d like that — but it could take awhile. There’s something you should know about the Voice Choice competition.” “Oh … that.” I frowned. “Sorry I bailed on you but I couldn’t help it. Hannah forced me into an intervention.” “What?”
“You know, an intervention. It’s usually for someone on drugs, or alcoholics, but Hannah did it to remind me — I mean, Sharayah — of their friendship. She had all these albums and—” “That’s really interesting,” he interrupted. “But something major has happened that you need to know about.” “What?” I gripped the phone, imagining illness, car accidents and Dark Lifers.
“Relax, it’s nothing bad. It’s ridiculous, really,” he said with an odd laugh. “I mean, I never expected anything like this to happen. I only stayed in line because I thought you were coming back. When I handed in the form, which I’d filled out fast and sloppy, they saw the name Rockingham and kept calling me ‘Rocky.’ Before I could explain, these official dudes led me to a stage, handed me a mike, and told me to start singing.” “Oh, poor Eli! How embarrassing!”
“It was at first, but all my goofing off with karaoke kicked in and I had fun.” “You’re just being nice so I won’t feel guilty for leaving you in such an awful situation. I’m so sorry I ever made you take me to that contest.” “Don’t be sorry. I’m not, and neither were the judges.” He chuckled. “I made it to the finals.”
25
