I said, “I want to go to Montana.”
“Ah,” Dr. Fremont said. “That’s good. Why Montana?”
I said, “Wolves.”
She said I should start planning a trip to Montana. I could look things up and write them down. Where would I go to find wolves? How would I get there? Car or airplane? How long would it take? Where would I stay?
“I can’t go to Montana,” I said. “It’s farther away than Kansas.”
Dr. Fremont looked up. “What’s in Kansas?”
“Mama.”
She shuffled some papers around and said she understood that my mother was incarcerated. She asked if I wanted to talk about that.
I said, “Nope.”
She said, “You’re allowed to have dreams, Della. You and Suki both.”
“Suki has nightmares.”
“I mean plans for the future,” she said.
I nodded. “I know.” I just didn’t, that was all.
“Keep going with the wolves,” Dr. Fremont said. “That sounded like something.”
I nodded. “I was raised by a wolf,” I said.
* * *
■ ■ ■
When I got to school Ms. Davonte had rearranged all the desks. Trevor was way in the back, near where Ms. Davonte had moved her own desk. I was in the middle of the room. I didn’t sit near Nevaeh anymore—she was off to one side. I sat next to a girl named Mackinleigh, who seemed nice enough. Luisa was only two desks way.
Nobody said anything about my coming in late, and the day went mostly like usual until we were lining up to go to lunch. Then Ms. Davonte pulled me aside. “Della, I was sorry to learn about the trouble with your sister,” she said, “and everything else you’ve been through. Why didn’t you tell me, yesterday? Before the spelling test?”
What? Shoo, like I was going to trust her with my business.
Ms. Davonte was still talking. I pulled away, hurried down the hall toward Nevaeh and lunch. Meanwhile I spelled it out in my head, S-U-O-I-C-I-L-E-D D-N-A I-K-U-S.
Dr. Fremont was right. It did help.
32
That night at home I said to Francine, “I need to learn how to make good mac ’n’ cheese. And do all the laundry. And everything.”
Francine said, “Knock yourself out,” and sat down on the couch.
The mac ’n’ cheese turned out better than the time before. The laundry turned out fine. At bedtime I curled up on the couch again and watched one of the shopping channels with the sound off. For hours.
* * *
■ ■ ■
Wednesday on the way to the Y, I said to Nevaeh, “I don’t want to swim today. I want to play basketball.” I missed basketball. Also, I really wanted to sweat. You don’t sweat in a swimming pool.
“Okay,” Nevaeh said. “Do you want me to play with you or stay outta your way?”
“With,” I said, so she did.
Coach Tony was there. I figured he would be. I grabbed a ball right away and started dribbling, running up and down the court as hard as I could without completely losing the ball. Nevaeh tried to match me but couldn’t keep up. I was some kind of running machine.
“Della.” Coach Tony’s voice. I pulled up and turned around. Sweat was already popping out on my forehead and in between my shoulder blades. It felt excellent. My heart was pounding from running, not from being afraid.
“How’s your sister?” Coach Tony asked. His face was kind. Concerned. “I heard she was in the hospital.”
“She’s having a really hard time,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m sorry.”
He said it like he meant it.
“It’s a psychiatric hospital,” I said. “She’s having mental health problems.”
I don’t know what made me say that.
Tony flinched a little. “I’m sorry,” he said again. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
“Can she still work for you?” I asked him.
He nodded again. “Once she’s better,” he said. “When she’s feeling well enough, we’ll put her back on the schedule. You can tell her that, if you want to.”
Then he blew his whistle to call all the basketball players together. He started us off on his favorite passing drill. After that we worked on layups. Nevaeh was better at basketball than I expected. “I played on the rec team last year,” she said. “Here at the Y, on Saturdays. In the winter. It was fun. We could both do it this winter, if you want to.”
“Nah,” I said.
“Why not? You said you like basketball.”
I couldn’t do things like that. Where Francine would have to sign me up, and pay extra, and drive me back and forth. Suki and me, we’d been trouble enough already. “Nah.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
I didn’t get to talk to Suki on Wednesday, or Thursday. I survived the entire week without once talking to my sister. Then it was Friday, the hardest day, and I got through that too. When Francine picked me up at the Y, she tossed me a bag of fast food. “Dinner on the way,” she said. “We’re going to go see Suki.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
The hospital smelled like a school, not a place for sick people. It was a low building stuck behind trees. The hallway walls were painted soft puke green. There were two sets of doors. The second one was locked. Francine spoke into an intercom and someone let us in.
We went into a room with a big table in it and there was Suki, sitting in a chair in the corner, her legs folded under her like always. When she saw me she made a little noise, like a startled baby. I dove at her and she hugged me and hugged me and we both sobbed.
I don’t know why I was crying. I don’t cry much. I never used to cry.
I don’t know why Suki was crying, either, but a tiny part of me was glad she was. Glad she missed me, a little at least.
After a minute or two, Francine said, “Sit down next to Suki, Della. Her doctor is here to talk with us.”
I scooted my chair right next to Suki’s. I reached out to grab her hand, but missed and caught her by the wrist. The hurt wrist, the one with all the stitches. She gasped in pain. I jumped back. She reached around with her other hand and clutched mine.
We didn’t talk. We didn’t move.
The doctors and some other people and Francine discussed Suki’s treatment and how well she was doing, which was medium well. Not hurting herself again but not ready to come home. At least another week in the hospital. At least another week away from me.
When they finally quit talking, Francine said, “We’ll give you two a few minutes alone.”
Suki’s doctor said, “Only a few minutes. Suki, we’ll be right outside.” Like maybe I was going to cause trouble for Suki.
Suki covered her face in her hands. The cuff of her sweatshirt pulled back and I could see the neat row of stitches running down the line in her wrist. She uncovered her face. Her eyes were full of tears. She leaned forward and asked, “Are you mad at me?”
Suddenly I was. I really, really was. I stood up and said, “You ever try anything like that again, I’m gonna kill you.”
She gave a tiny snort of laughter. “Well—”
“It’s not funny!” I said. “It wasn’t funny! It was worse than Clifton!”
Her smile evaporated. Her eyes flashed fire. “Was not,” she said.
“Was,” I insisted. “Clifton, he’s over. If you’d died it would have been forever.”
“I don’t feel like I’ll ever be over him,” she said.
“That doesn’t mean you won’t be.”
“That’s what my therapist says,” Suki said. “I dunno if I believe him.”
She looked so frail and scared and I still felt like punching her. “I’ve got a therapist too,” I said. “She has a dog that reminds me of you. Of a wolf.”
Suki bit her lips. “Raised by wolves,” she whispered. “I swear, I was doing my best.”
I said, “I like being raised by a wolf. Wolves live in packs. They take care of each other.”
“Wild animals,” Suki said.
Yes. “They fight back, Suki. Nothing kills a wolf.”
She lifted one shoulder. “How do you know?”
I didn’t. But I could imagine.
Francine cracked open the door. “Della,” she said. “Time’s up.” She handed Suki a plastic bag. “Here. Brought you more bras and underwear. Socks. A couple new T-shirts.”
“Thanks,” Suki said. “You showed my doctors?”
Francine nodded. I was confused, until Suki said, “I can only have what they say I can have. Things they’ve checked out, that I can’t use to hurt myself.”
“Can you have a phone? Can I call you?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Soon. I hope.” She gave me a kiss. “Be tough.”
I didn’t answer.
* * *
■ ■ ■
On the drive home, I wished I had another paper like the one Dr. Fremont gave me, with all the emotions on it. I tried to work out how I felt. Angry, mostly. Also sad. I kicked the car’s dashboard until Francine made me stop.
“Why’d you bring Suki clothes?” I asked. “Where’d you get them?”
“Went shopping on my lunch hour,” Francine said. “She needed them. I told you, I’ve got to provide the two of you with the stuff you need.”
“Yeah? Well, I need my sister back.”
“I know,” Francine said. “I’m only responsible for the stuff, Della. Suki’s responsible for Suki. I can’t help that.”
I practiced my belly breathing. I spelled names backwards in my head. Della and Suki and Francine. E-N-I-C-N-A-R-F. I was still angry.
“Who’s responsible for me?” I asked.
“I am,” Francine said. “Same as I’m responsible for Suki.”
“But you just said—”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “I’m responsible for getting you and Suki the things you need. For your food and shelter and care. You’re responsible for what you say and do.”
“Who’s responsible for loving me?”
I didn’t mean to say it. Didn’t know I was going to.
We had just pulled into Francine’s driveway. The porch light was out and the windows were dark and cold. Francine turned off the car’s ignition. She sat silently for a moment.
“Suki loves you, and you love Suki,” Francine said. “You’re lucky. You have each other. As you get older, you’ll find more people to love you and to love.”
“She loves me but she almost left me,” I said.
“She loves you, and she didn’t want to leave you,” Francine said. “Someone hurt her bad enough that she almost couldn’t bear the pain. But she can. She’s getting help. She’ll hurt less. Her life will get better and better. So will yours.”
I looked at her. In the weird dark shadows, the bumps on her face stuck out more than ever. If I put a pointy black hat on her, she’d look exactly like a witch. “How do you know?” I whispered.
“I know,” Francine said. “I been around the block a few times.” She grabbed my arm. “Clifton’s in the past,” she said. “He’s over. Leave him there. Don’t let him wreck your future too.”
33
Clifton might have been in my past, but Trevor was in my present. On Monday he pinched me on the playground. Right in the middle of my back, the way he pinched all the girls. “Baby!” he said.
I whirled around and punched him in the gut. Hard. Nobody saw the pinch, but teachers saw the punch, especially since Trevor hollered and nearly burst into tears. The slime-faced snowman.
It became this whole big deal. Apparently punching people is a lot worse than pinching them, or even calling them snowmen.
In the office, Ms. Davonte and Dr. Penny got out the student handbook and showed me where punching Trevor was very much against the rules.
“He pinched me first,” I said. “Where’s that in the rules?”
“It was an accident!” Trevor said.
“He pinched me right where—”
“He’s not allowed to pinch you,” Dr. Penny said.
“Accident,” Trevor repeated again. “Like her tripping me was an accident.”
“But punching him escalates the situation,” Dr. Penny continued. “If someone does something to you, you need to tell a teacher, Della.”
Ms. Davonte put on a pity-look. “I know you’re having some trouble at home right now, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior.”
See? Like I’d tell her anything. She wasn’t someone I could trust. I said, “I didn’t punch Trevor because of my sister.”
Dr. Penny said, “Physical violence is never appropriate.”
Wasn’t pinching me physical violence? Also the bra-strap thing—it was creepy in a Clifton kind of way. “I’m not sorry I hit him,” I said. “If I had it to do over again, I’d hit him harder.”
Dr. Penny exchanged a look with Ms. Davonte. I got in-school suspension. That meant I had to sit and do worksheets in a corner of the library all the rest of the day. Classes came in and out of the library. Once in a while the librarian came over to check on me, but mostly she left me alone with my thoughts, and that wasn’t good.
I kept thinking about Suki.
And Clifton.
And what Clifton did to Suki.
And Mama.
And everything Mama didn’t do.
Couldn’t do.
Would never do.
And how much I missed her, even though I never really knew her at all. How much Suki had to miss Mama.
How Mama left us with Clifton. Maybe not on purpose, but she still did.
Besides Trevor, I’ve only ever punched one kid. It was the year Suki and I were at the same school together, so it must have been just after Mama got arrested, when we were first with Clifton and I was in kindergarten. Suki and me had recess at the same time. I don’t remember why I punched the other kid, but I did. The kid ran off crying to the teacher, and I went and hid behind my sister. When the teacher came up to chew me out, Suki said, “Della didn’t hit him. I did.”
The kid knew that wasn’t true but he must have been afraid of Suki or something, because he didn’t say another word.
Suki got in trouble. I felt bad, but Suki just shook her head at me, and afterward, at home, said, “I’m tough, Della. I can take it. I don’t mind.”
She took too much.
I minded.
I sat in the corner of the library and practiced my belly breathing. I saw five things and heard four and smelled nineteen or whatever. It didn’t help. I still minded. I was still so sad for my sister.
* * *
■ ■ ■
I didn’t finish the stupid worksheets, but there was no way I was doing homework at the Y. When we got there I went straight to the gym. I got out a ball and started running up and down the floor.
“Hey!” Nevaeh stuck her head into the gym. “Are you mad at me?”
I grabbed the ball. “No,” I said. “Course not. Why?”
“You didn’t sit with me on the bus. And now you’re not even having a snack.”
Honestly, the snacks at the Y were not all that great. “I wasn’t thinking about you on the bus,” I said. I’d sat down in the very first seat, across the aisle from Trevor, who ignored me even though I glared at him. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to get away from school. I was all pent up today. I felt like I might punch somebody else.”
I bounced a pass to her. She caught it, awkwardly. I said, “Running helps. Sweating helps. When I’m moving enough to sweat, I don’t feel as much like punching someone.”
Nevaeh said, “I’m sorry Trevor did that. I’m
sorry you got in trouble.”
“You told me to keep quiet about it,” I said. “Maybe that would have been better than punching him.”
“I don’t know,” Nevaeh said. “I told my mom what you said, the last time he pinched me. She said maybe you were right. Maybe ignoring him was sort of like giving him permission. I don’t want to do that. So I don’t know what the right thing is.”
“I got in trouble.”
“Yeah, but maybe now he’ll quit bothering you. Ignoring him didn’t make it stop, and neither did telling the teachers.”
“I yelled at him before. This was the first time he actually pinched me.”
“And this time you hurt him back, didn’t you? You punched him. So maybe—”
I saw what Nevaeh meant, and I still wasn’t at all sorry I’d hit Trevor, but I knew punching people wasn’t a solid long-term solution. For starters, there were probably a lot of people who could hit back harder than me.
I’d never have punched Clifton, for instance. I wouldn’t have dared.
It was the photograph Suki took that stopped him. The evidence.
Nevaeh and I ran and shot baskets. Coach showed up and organized us all into drills again. I stayed as far away from Trevor as I possibly could, but one time he ran right up to me. “Hey, baby,” he said, grinning, “how’d you like getting suspended?”
“Why would my being suspended make you happy?” I asked. I honestly didn’t know.
He laughed and ran away.
* * *
■ ■ ■
I didn’t tell Francine about the in-school suspension, but when we got home, there was a voicemail about it on her machine.
Francine listened to it and stared at me.
My heart sped up. My breath came short. I thought about which cartoon face I’d circle.
Panic.
“Relax, Della,” Francine said. She deleted the message. “I’m not in the mood for cooking tonight. Want to get pizza?” She looked at me. “Why are you this upset? You’ve been in trouble, like, every week that you’ve been here.”
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