“Norah?”
I whipped my head around. Griffin was standing right next to me. His face was pale and his big brown eyes were huge. Full of questions.
“Norah?” he repeated. “What’s going on?”
I opened my mouth to explain, but I couldn’t talk. Couldn’t breathe.
So I ran.
CAPTIVITY
Norah? Come on, we see your feet, we can tell you’re in there.”
Harper was in front of my bathroom stall, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“You’re going to lock yourself in the toilet all day? Are you all right?”
Obviously not. If you’re all right, you don’t lock yourself in the toilet, do you?
“Can I do anything? Do you need anything?”
How about an escape ladder? Or a catapult?
“Norah, it’s Aria,” Aria said. “I’m here too.”
Oh, great. Let’s all eat cinnamon pretzels.
“Norah, what happened?” Harper asked. “Why were you so mad at them?”
“Don’t you want to raise money, even if those cookies looked gross?” Aria asked.
I didn’t answer. Because I couldn’t. The shock that Thea and Astrid—and maybe Griffin, too—had known about me all along, the sick feeling that I’d totally lost it in front of everyone—it was too much. Too much to have to think of words.
“We should go get someone,” Harper murmured. “I’m worried.”
“Who’s her guidance counselor?” Aria asked.
“Ms. Castro.”
“Don’t get Ms. Castro,” I blurted.
“Norah?” Harper pressed against the door. “Hey. You okay?”
“No. But don’t get Ms. Castro.”
“Promise. Will you come out, then?”
“No.”
“But it’s stinky in here.”
That’s my problem, not yours. Just leave if you don’t like it.
Pause. Now they were whispering.
“Well, fine, Norah,” Aria announced. “But if you refuse to open the door, we’re definitely getting someone. So just tell us who you want it to be.”
“Ms. Farrell.” I didn’t know where that answer came from, but it’s what I said.
Aria ran out of the girls’ room. So now it was just Harper and me. I could tell she’d sat herself in front of my stall, guarding it like she was Cerberus, the three-headed watchdog of the underworld. Although I had no idea what she was guarding it from. Ms. Castro, maybe. Or Astrid and Thea.
“Aria was right: Those cookies looked gross,” she said. “You can tell they bought cookie dough.”
Who cares about the stupid cookie dough. Do you think that’s the issue?
“Astrid’s so horrible. It was cool how you told her off. I wish I could do that.”
You can, Harper. It’s easy. Just open your mouth.
She kept chatting, but I didn’t listen. Something about Art Club. Overcoming Challenges. Whatever. I could tell she was trying her best to distract me, even though she was freaked about my behavior—so part of me kept thinking how lucky I was to have such a good friend. But another part of me kept wishing she would just shut up, let me hide by myself in peace.
The girls’ room door creaked. Aria and Ms. Farrell burst in.
“Norah, you okay?” Ms. Farrell asked. She sounded worried.
“I want to go home,” I blurted. It wasn’t until I said this that I knew it was what I wanted. I wanted it as much as I ever had in my whole life—even when I was Nowhere in the hospital, in the middle of the night.
“Absolutely,” Ms. Farrell said. “Would you like to go to the nurse’s office while we contact your parents?”
“No.”
“Really? Because I’m sure you’d be more comfortable on your cot—”
“No thank you.”
“All right, sweetheart.” It sounded weird; teachers didn’t call you names like that after preschool. But because it was Ms. Farrell, I didn’t mind.
“Your mom is in California?” she asked.
She’s done her homework. “Yes, but she’s still here for a few days. In New York.”
“Great. I’m going to go call her now. Harper and Aria will stay here with you.”
“You don’t have to. I can call her.”
“Yes, but I’d prefer to contact her myself, if that’s okay.”
Not waiting for my answer, Ms. Farrell left the bathroom.
Nobody said anything for a while. Then Aria started singing. She did some dance moves which I couldn’t see, but I could tell they involved elbows, because it was that sort of music. Anyway, it took my mind off the bathroom stinkiness.
About five minutes later, Ms. Farrell returned. Mom was on her way, she said.
By then I was feeling stiff and crampy. But I refused to leave the stall. I wouldn’t come out until Mom had rescued me from this place, and I knew I’d never have to return here, ever.
Ever, ever, ever.
Q AND A
Mom didn’t ask any questions or even say very much the whole ride home. It wasn’t until we were in the living room and she’d made us both some chai that she asked me what had happened. So I told her.
She tucked her legs underneath her in a cozy way, like it was her sofa and she still lived here. “These were the eighth grade girls you’d mentioned before? From your math class?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” Mom said. “So can you explain why you reacted—why their bake sale affected you so much, honey? Because isn’t it a good thing to try to cure breast cancer?”
“Sure,” I said limply. “Of course.”
“And, you know, not so long ago, people didn’t talk about breast cancer. Or any cancer, really. So it’s great that breast cancer is out in the open now, and so many women are embracing it as a cause, raising awareness, doing walkathons—”
“Mom, I know. It wasn’t about breast cancer.”
“Well, what was it about, then? I feel like I’m missing something.”
But so was I. It was weird how I couldn’t explain my meltdown, especially about something like a fund-raiser to end cancer, of all things. Sure, Thea and Astrid were acting smug and clueless and obnoxious—but why should their dumb behavior have set me off like that? And now I’d humiliated myself in front of everyone.
