Next, she wasn’t going to be a nuisance anymore—not to anybody. She’d get her homework done; she’d stop getting C’s and only get A’s; she’d stop making wisecracks; no more practical jokes; no more rude retorts; no more thoughtless, careless, heartless Stevie. She had a new and wonderful person inside her, and that person was going to be a loving, kind, supportive sister to her beloved twin brother. Alex would get better. He’d have to get better. And when he did that, he’d find that he had a better sister, too, and she would never, ever again have a fight with him.
As soon as the doctor said it was okay for her to be in Alex’s room, she’d be right by his bedside. She’d wipe his forehead with a cool cloth. She’d read to him. She’d make him his favorite marshmallow crunchies—the ones she never let him have any of when she made a batch with Lisa and Carole. Well, those days were gone. Alex was going to be her number-one concern from now on.
Stevie sat upright. She had work to do—homework. She remembered that her English assignment for tomorrow was to write a brief essay about metaphors. She couldn’t do her math assignment or study for her history test without the textbooks, but she could write the essay as long as she had some paper.
She fished in her pocket for some change and called home. Chad answered. She told him Alex was the same and asked if he would bring her school backpack to the hospital when he came after dinner. He agreed and promised they’d bring her a sandwich, too.
“Don’t bother. I really can’t eat,” she said. “I just need to work a little bit, though.”
Chad agreed, though he seemed a little confused, and Stevie wasn’t surprised. Usually, Stevie found the weakest possible excuses not to do her homework. Now that she actually had a real excuse, one that was a lot stronger than a recent one she’d used about having an ingrown toenail, she was choosing to work on her assignments.
As soon as she hung up with Chad, Stevie went to the nurses’ station and asked if anybody had a pad of paper and a pencil she could borrow to do her homework. One of the nurses, a young woman whose name tag identified her as Beverly Earl, provided a yellow pad and a ballpoint pen.
“Will this do?” she asked. “There are only about three sheets left on the pad. I hope that’s enough.”
“Sure,” said Stevie. “I have to write an essay on everything I know about metaphors. Three sheets should do it.”
The nurse smiled at her. “A scratch pad would do it for me on that subject,” she joked.
Stevie smiled at her in recognition of a sort of common bond. That’s exactly what she might have said, too, before. Now she was sure she could come up with more than a scratch pad’s worth.
She returned to the bench outside Alex’s room, peered in, assuring herself that he was still sleeping restfully, and sat down with determination.
She looked at the pad. She looked at the pen. This essay wasn’t going to write itself. She was going to have to do the work. She could do it.
Metaphors are the heart of all great literature, she began.
AT THE FIRST sound of her alarm, Stevie was up and out of bed in the morning. She showered, dressed, packed up her books neatly, made her bed, and was downstairs even before her mother. She poured herself a bowl of cereal, added milk—no sugar—ate it, drank a glass of orange juice, rinsed the bowl, spoon, and glass, put them in the dishwasher, and left the house for school. She glanced at her watch. In earlier times she would have been giving the snooze button on her clock radio a third slap at this hour, rather than leaving the house. She smiled to herself, feeling good about what she was doing. It was working already. She was a better person. The walk to school was a short one, only about fifteen minutes, but this morning it took longer because she ran into so many friends of hers and Alex’s. Everybody wanted to know how he was.
“He’s very sick,” she said. “He’s got meningitis, but the doctors are doing everything they can for him, and he’s going to get better. I just know it.”
A lot of the kids didn’t know much about meningitis, and Stevie was glad to tell them everything she knew. That included what the neurologist had said as well as what she’d looked up in the encyclopedia the night before. She explained about the difference between bacterial versus viral meningitis and how antibiotics were used to combat it and how they were testing to find exactly the right one, but in the meantime they were using everything. When she got to school, it seemed that the whole rest of her class was there, wanting information as well. Stevie stood on the steps of Fenton Hall, explaining everything all over again. The thing they mostly wanted to know was about Alex, though. How was he?
“He’s been sleeping,” Stevie said. “I guess it’s a coma. That’s what the doctor said. I think it’s like a deep sleep so that his body can work on fighting the infection without having to worry about anything else, like walking, sitting, or talking. That’s what I think, anyway.”
She glanced at her watch. It was just fifteen minutes until the first bell rang, and there was so much to do. She had to go to her locker and then get to her homeroom. This was an activity that usually took her two minutes because that was as much time as she usually allowed for it. This morning, however, the new Stevie had other chores. She had some pencils to sharpen, too. “Got to get inside now,” she said. Her friends stepped aside and let her pass.
Inside, the teachers had all the same concerns that Stevie’s friends had. Even Miss Fenton, the headmistress, came to Stevie for information. Stevie was used to talking to Miss Fenton and explaining things to her, but those things were usually unexplainable—like how a wad of bubble gum got onto a teacher’s chair, or why Veronica diAngelo’s sneakers had turned green overnight. This time Miss Fenton was very gentle and caring and sympathetic.
“These are difficult times, Stevie,” she said. “You may find your attention wandering more than usual. If you need extra help, just let me or your teachers know. We’re here to help you, and we’ll be here to help Alex—when he gets better.”
Stevie thanked her. “I don’t think you’ll have to help me, though,” she said. “I’ll be doing fine, I’m sure, and as soon as Alex is a little better, I can tutor him and help him to catch up on all the subjects, except maybe Spanish because he takes that and I take French.”
“That would be wonderful,” Miss Fenton said. “But sometimes things don’t work out exactly the way we expect them to, and you may find that sometimes school work seems less important than other things. We understand this, Stevie. Just let us know.”
“Thanks, but it won’t be necessary,” Stevie assured her again. Then she had to dash off to her homeroom. Now she had only eight minutes to sharpen those pencils. Miss Fenton had meant well, but she hadn’t understood. That was okay. Like everyone else, she would see the change in Stevie eventually. For now it was enough for Stevie to know about it.
It turned out that Stevie didn’t have any time at all to sharpen her pencils, because the minute she got to her classroom, Miss Fenton announced a schoolwide assembly. All students, faculty, and any parents who were at the school that morning were invited to come immediately.
As they entered the assembly hall, Stevie felt a lot of eyes on her. The looks were of concern, sympathy, and wonder. She realized that by now just about everyone knew that Alex was in the hospital and they were all curious. Some had other reactions, too.
It turned out that the assembly had to do with Alex. Miss Fenton told everybody—as if they didn’t already know—about his meningitis. Then she explained what she knew about the disease. She also said that to the best of their knowledge nobody else at the school was infected, and it seemed very unlikely that they would be. It was a disease that was spread only by close contact, and since Alex had been out of school for a couple of days already, a doctor had assured her that he almost certainly wouldn’t have infected anyone at school. Then she explained that Alex’s family had been given vaccinations, so they wouldn’t infect anybody, either. What she was getting at was that school was going to continue as usual,
and nobody should stay home just because Alex was sick.
Stevie looked straight forward, gazing firmly at Miss Fenton. She was very aware of the fact that almost everybody in the assembly hall was looking at her, and she could imagine what was going on in their minds. Some of them were feeling pity, most of the rest were wondering if she was carrying any germs they should be worried about.
Stevie didn’t care what they were thinking. All she knew was that her brother was ill and she had a job to do to see that he got better.
Miss Fenton dismissed the assembly. The bell rang. It was time for math class.
Miss Snyder always began the class by having the students correct one another’s homework papers.
“Okay, everybody swap papers,” she said. She did allow the students to choose which other student got to look at the work they’d done, which had often spared Stevie the humiliation of having somebody she didn’t like sneer at her mistakes. Stevie was reaching for her bag with her assignment in it when Miss Snyder suggested that she just look on with somebody else.
“But I’ve got the assignment here,” she said, producing it.
“You do?” The teacher was clearly surprised. Stevie knew she was recalling dozens of weak excuses she’d heard from Stevie, and that she’d just assumed Stevie wouldn’t have gotten her homework done in the face of a real problem.
“Sure,” she said. “I had a lot of time to work at the hospital yesterday. It was pretty quiet, so I just did my work.”
“Well, uh, good,” Miss Snyder said. “Very good.” She smiled, her surprise turning to pleasure.
That made Stevie feel good. Finally somebody was appreciating her new way of living her life. That must mean that it was working. She was sure Alex must feel her own happiness at the new and improved Stevie.
It turned out that she was a new and improved Stevie, because she got eighteen of the twenty problems correct. Miss Snyder was even more pleased by that than she was by the fact that Stevie had done them.
“Very good,” she said to Stevie as the members of the class filed out. “I knew you could do it.”
“I have to work extra hard these days,” Stevie replied. “See, I’m going to have to help Alex catch up when he gets better.”
“Yes,” said Miss Snyder. “I understand.”
Some of Stevie’s other teachers didn’t understand as well as Miss Snyder did. They weren’t used to the new Stevie, and a few of them even indicated that they didn’t believe the new Stevie—as if this were just another one of her practical jokes. They’ll see, eventually, Stevie told herself, especially when her history teacher graded her test. She was pretty sure she had aced it.
As soon as the last class was over, Stevie checked to make sure she knew what all her assignments were, and then she selected the books she’d need, made sure she had paper and sharp pencils, straightened out her locker, and left for the hospital.
Chad and Michael got out of school at the same time, but they were going home. Stevie didn’t want to waste any time at home when Alex needed her by his bedside.
She got a lift from a parent who lived near the hospital. She was there by three-thirty—the hour she usually arrived at Pine Hollow.
Alex was still sleeping. Beverly, the nurse, told Stevie that he seemed to be doing well.
“His fever is down a little,” Beverly said.
“But he’s still unconscious.” Stevie had been hoping that he’d be more improved by now.
“There is no way to predict how long he’ll be unconscious,” Beverly reminded Stevie. “You have to look for other signs. The fever dropping is a good sign. It means the antibiotics are working.”
“Oh.”
When Stevie was satisfied that Alex was comfortable and everything needed had been done for him, she made a quick call to Pine Hollow. She knew her friends would be worried about Alex and wondering about her. Mrs. Reg answered the phone. Stevie told her what was happening and explained that she wouldn’t be riding for a while. Mrs. Reg seemed to understand. She told Stevie that Lisa and Carole were just in the paddock and offered to call them to the phone. Stevie said no, she didn’t have time for that now. Mrs. Reg sounded surprised at that, but Stevie didn’t offer any explanation. Stevie said a hurried good-bye and then settled down on the bench she’d claimed as her own the night before and began her assignments.
In spite of all the activity around her, Stevie found it very easy to concentrate on her work. She was determined that the only thing that would distract her would be Alex, so she allowed herself to stand up and look through the glass at her resting brother every five minutes—or after every math problem when she was doing math.
Once she thought that Alex had changed positions. She wasn’t absolutely certain, but he seemed to be comfortable. That was what was important.
At about five-thirty her mother arrived. She’d been there earlier and she was coming back, just to check on Alex and to bring Stevie home.
“He’s better, I think,” Stevie said to her mother. “Beverly told me that his temperature is down. That’s a good sign.”
Her mother nodded. “Yes, it is,” she said. “Very good.” Her mother put her arm around Stevie’s shoulder, and the two of them looked through the glass at Alex.
“It’s time to go home,” Mrs. Lake said. “Dinner. Dad’s cooking. He wanted to make a meat loaf.”
“I’m staying here,” Stevie said. “You can bring me something later.” Much as she wanted to be with Alex, she wasn’t completely willing to miss her father’s meat loaf.
“No, I want you to come home,” said Mrs. Lake. “We should all have dinner together tonight.”
Stevie began to protest. She really felt her place was with Alex, but she remembered that part of her promise to herself about self-improvement was that she wasn’t going to be a fussy nuisance anymore. If her mother wanted her home, then she would go home. She packed up her books neatly, and the two of them left together.
Stevie found that Michael had set the table. Usually he hated setting the table and did anything he could to get out of it. Stevie wasn’t at all surprised. Michael must be feeling a little bit the way she was. Chad, on the other hand, was up in his room, reading The Yearling. It had been his favorite book when he was ten.
Stevie put the glasses on the table and poured milk. When Mr. Lake pronounced dinner ready, everybody came to the table.
“How’s Alex?” Chad asked Stevie. She told him she thought he was a little better because his fever was down and he’d moved some.
“Wow, Dad’s meat loaf!” Michael said enthusiastically.
Michael had already known what was for dinner. It seemed odd that he would express surprise at this point. But Stevie understood. She found, in fact, that she understood a lot of things. She understood that every member of her family was worrying about Alex in his or her own way. Dad was cooking; Michael was pitching in; Chad was hanging out by himself; and Stevie was staying by Alex’s bedside. Stevie wasn’t sure how her mother was coping until she saw the gigantic pile of freshly ironed sheets. Her mother never ironed sheets. They always used them just the way they came out of the laundry.
Stevie understood, too, that when Alex got better, everybody would probably revert to their old selves—everybody, that was, except Stevie. She was a better person, and she was determined to stay that way.
The family ate in silence, nobody knowing what to say, except for the frequent compliments to Mr. Lake for his meat loaf.
“I never make it the same way twice,” he said. That’s what he always said.
“I’ll do the dishes,” Stevie volunteered when she’d taken her last bite.
“No, I will,” said Michael.
“Why don’t you all do them together?” Mrs. Lake suggested, looking at the three children.
“No way!” said Chad. “If those two want to do the dishes, they can. Count me out. I’ve got a lot of work to do, anyway.” He stood up from the table and dashed upstairs. Nobody said anything.
When morning came, Stevie reminded her mother that she’d be going straight to the hospital after school again.
“It’s not a good idea, Stevie,” Mrs. Lake said, putting the finishing touches on one more well-ironed sheet.
“I have to, Mom,” Stevie said, protesting.
“Not today,” said her mother. “The doctor has scheduled a test for this afternoon. Alex won’t be in his room most of the time. I think you should go be with your friends.…”
Her friends? Stevie had almost forgotten about them, and that surprised her.
“You should go to Pine Hollow,” her mother continued. “Take a trail ride or work on the decorations for the dance.”
Stevie hadn’t been thinking about the dance. It was going to be a week from tomorrow. That was a long time away. A lot could happen in a week, but one of the things that almost certainly wouldn’t happen was Stevie’s going to the dance. There was no way she could romp around a barn while Alex was ill.
“Mom, I don’t think—”
“You can go to the hospital after dinner if you want,” Mrs. Lake said firmly. “You shouldn’t be there this afternoon. Go. Be with Carole and Lisa. I bet they miss you a lot.”
Stevie hesitated. If her mother wanted her to go to Pine Hollow, then she should go to Pine Hollow. She wouldn’t have any fun there, because she’d be thinking about Alex all the time—but she’d go. That would ease her mother’s mind, and her mother’s mind could probably use some easing about now.
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