Confessions of a Teenage Leper

by Ashley Little

  “Okay,” Scott said. “Well, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He gave me a little salute and walked away. I smiled all the way up to my room and was still smiling as I got into bed and pulled the covers over me.

  Jane razzed me that night at dinner. “Carville,” she said. “Higher match-making success rate than Tinder.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Sooo, how was your date? Tell, tell, tell.” She squeezed my arm.

  “It wasn’t a date, Jane. We’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

  “Honey. You and I are friends. That boy is actively pursuing your ass.”

  Barry looked over at us, his eyes wide and gooey behind his glasses.

  “Shut up,” I whisper-yelled.

  “Well, it’s true. Just look at him.”

  We looked across the cafeteria to where Scott was sitting. Other guys surrounded him. They were all talking, laughing, being loud, joking around. But Scott just sat there quietly amongst them, staring at me.

  “Oh no,” I said and put my face in my hands.

  “Oh yes,” Jane said. “He’s got it bad for you.”

  Barry craned his neck, trying to see Scott.

  “I believe the word is…twitterpated,” Jane said. Then she let out one of her big rowdy laughs that seemed to shake the whole room.

  “But how can he…? Why would he even…? I’m…”

  “Don’t think too much, Abby. You might hurt yourself,” Jane said.

  I gave her the finger and she laughed at me.

  “No, but seriously, Jane. What am I going to do?”

  She patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  When Friday finally came I was so excited. I was going home! Just for a day and a half, but still. Home! After I got back from the clinic, I packed my bag for the weekend and then looked around for Scott to say goodbye to him, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Jane walked me to the front gates where my cab was waiting.

  “Be good,” she said, hugging me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  I waved to her as the taxi drove away and she blew me a kiss.

  There were a lot of people waiting at the bus station in Baton Rouge. A couple with two loud-mouthed little kids. An old guy with a white beard and icy blue eyes. A lady with a green sequined purse. A few of them eyed me warily as we lined up to get on the bus. I wondered if they could tell I was coming from Carville. If it was obvious. I got my makeup kit out of my bag and put on some lip gloss. Then the driver called out, “FIVE MINUTES!” and people started loading their luggage underneath. I put my makeup kit away and stood in line. The bus driver checked my ticket and asked for my ID. My heart leapt into my throat. Was I on a no-fly list? Was I not allowed to ride transit because of the disease? Would I be turned away once he saw the name on my ID? I pulled my license out of my wallet, my hands shaking. The bus driver glanced at it then looked back at me. “Welcome aboard,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. My shoulders relaxed. I climbed the steps up to the bus carefully, holding on to the rail with both hands. This was not the time to turn an ankle. Plus, how embarrassing would it be to fall getting on the bus?

  Once I got to my seat I pulled up my hood and spread my bag and coat out on the seat beside me so no one would sit next to me. Probably if they thought I was coming from Carville, no one would have sat next to me anyway. It was a long ride but I slept for a lot of it, and I had tons of music and games on my phone so it wasn’t so bad.

  Finally, we pulled into the      station. Dad was there waiting for me. He gave me a hug and then took my bag. We got in the car and drove home.

  “How are you doing, Abby?” Dad said.

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Yeah.” He stared out the windshield. He looked so sad in that moment—I think the word is forlorn—I had to say something else, something to comfort him.

  “I’m okay though. I’ve made a couple of friends.”

  He looked over at me. “That’s great, sweetie. That’s really, really great.”

  “Well,” I said, shrugging. “It helps, anyway.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  We stopped at a red light and I could feel him looking at me. I wondered what he was thinking; I wondered if I grossed him out. I stared down at my hands. I pinched the end of each of my fingertips and felt nothing. Soon, we pulled into our driveway.

  “Here we are,” Dad said.

  “Home sweet home.”

  He smiled at me and helped me into the house with my bags.

  Dean was watching an old black and white movie on TV and Mom was knitting a yellow scarf. They both jumped off the couch when I walked in the door and came to hug me. It was already midnight so we didn’t stay up too late. Mom made me some toast and tea, and then I went to bed. It had never felt so good to sleep in my own bed. I lay awake for a long time listening to the familiar noises of my house. The water running in Mom and Dad’s bathroom as they got ready for bed, the click-clack of Dean’s keyboard, and the buzzes and hums of the heat and lights. I had never really noticed these sounds before. But that night, I savored them.

  I had a weird dream that I was back on the bus and the other passengers were all the guys I had ever liked or kissed or anything: Scott; Chad; Jude; Dustin; Mr. Neal, our hot chemistry teacher; even Anthony, my fourth grade boyfriend, was there. I sat at the back of the bus and looked at the backs of their heads, then they all turned around and started booing me. Chad threw a plastic bag full of condoms at me and Jude threw a basketball at my head. Mr. Neal threw a petri dish. I ducked so none of it hit me, but I was so upset. I crawled under my seat, covered my head with my arms and started to cry. They kept throwing more things. Rotten fruit and underwear. A wad of gum on the bus floor got stuck to my face and I couldn’t get it off. I was tearing at my face, trying to rip the gum off, but ripping my skin off instead. Then a hand reached out and touched me on the shoulder. I looked up. It was Jane. She had purple hair but I knew it was her.

  “Jane! Help me!”

  “What’s wrong, Abby?”

  “They hate me. They all hate me!”

  “Why do they hate you?”

  “Because…because I’m not pretty anymore. They hate that I’m so ugly.”

  She pulled me up onto the seat. Things kept flying at us. Spiral notebooks and khaki pants. A bag of marbles. More fruit. A stuffed dog. Death metal played full blast out of the bus speakers. It was so loud and so awful. “Abby.” Jane turned my face toward hers, held my cheeks in both her hands. “There are more important things than being beautiful.”

  I stared at her. “Oh,” I said. She nodded, took her hands away from my face. Then everything got quiet. The boys turned around. Stopped throwing things. Sunlight poured in the bus windows and caught little bits of dust and everything on the bus began to shimmer. I looked down at my hands. They were shimmering too. The bus driver whistled a tune I knew but couldn’t remember the name of. It was the only sound.

  The next morning I woke up and stared at the ceiling for a long time, remembering my dream. I hummed a little part of the bus driver’s tune, trying to place it, but I still couldn’t remember what the song was called or how I knew it. Finally, I got out of bed and took a long shower, enjoying every second of it, because the water pressure at Carville sucked. Then I blow-dried my hair and straightened it and did my makeup. When I came downstairs, my parents had a huge breakfast going. Banana pancakes, bacon, fresh-squeezed orange juice, cinnamon buns, coffee. All my favorites.

  “You should come home every weekend,” Dean said, crunching a piece of bacon.

  “Aww, are you saying you miss me?”

  “No. I miss bacon,” he said.

  “Well, I’m only there for two more weeks. Then I’ll be back in your life again. Fulltime.”

  “Can’t wait,” he said.

  I gave him a sugary smile.

  “Are you going back to
school when you get back?” Dean asked.

  I took a sip of my coffee, then set my mug down. “Yeah, for the last month and a bit I guess,” I said.

  “Aren’t you going to be so screwed though?”

  “It might be okay. As long as I pass all my finals, I should be able to graduate this year. I mean, I did pretty well on my SATs in the fall.”

  “You certainly did, honey,” Mom said.

  “No, I mean socially screwed,” Dean said. “Because, you know, you’re not really allowed to hang out with the beautiful people anymore.”

  “Dean,” Dad said, grinding his jaw. “Please.”

  I stared at Dean for a cold moment. “There are more important things than being beautiful,” I said.

  “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

  “Dean!” Mom said.

  I dug into my pancakes. He was right. I’d be bucked in the friend department for the rest of my senior year. But I was right too. Your priorities change when you get sick and when you get older. I was both.

  We had a really fun day. Mom and Dad said we could do whatever I wanted to do. I picked bowling because I hadn’t done it in a long time and I remembered that it was an excellent feeling to knock down all the pins and hear them crack and smash against each other. Dad let Dean drive because my dad is a crazy person. Mom and I sat in the back of the car. She put her arm around me. “It’s so good to have you home,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “Maybe you should come home next weekend too.”

  “I’ll see if I can,” I said.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you and Dean move out,” Mom said.

  “You’re not going to trip over my shoes or find moldy plates in Dean’s room,” I said.

  “Oh, I know,” she said. “But it’s coming so soon.”

  “July first,” Dean said. “For me.”

  “Dean, are you sure you’re going to be able to afford—”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Okay. It’s just that, you know, you don’t have a job, so…”

  “I told you guys, I’ve been playing online poker for years. I have a lot of savings.” Dean cut his eyes at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Is that legal?” Mom said.

  “Of course it’s legal!” Dean said.

  “But you’re not twenty-one,” Mom said.

  “But it’s On. Line.”

  “But don’t you still have to be—”

  “It’s all on the up and up, Mom. Don’t even worry about that. Just worry about what you guys are going to do when you’re bored empty-nesters and don’t have me around for free entertainment.”

  “You were never free, honey,” Mom said.

  We all laughed.

  “Reasonably priced entertainment,” Dean said.

  “Mm, that’s a stretch,” she said.

  We laughed again.

  Dean pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley. I rented a pair of baby-blue bowling shoes that I loved wearing because

  1) They were so pretty, and

  2) They weren’t my leper shoes

  I bowled the best game of my life but didn’t come close to winning. Mom kicked all of our asses by a mile because she’s twinkle toes and doesn’t know how to lose. Afterwards we went out for pizza and wings. Mom and Dad got a pitcher of beer and let Dean and I have half a glass each. It was a really good night. The best night I’ve had in a long, long time. For a few seconds there, I even forgot I had leprosy.

  Before I went to bed, I knocked on Dean’s door. I could hear him shuffling around inside.

  “Just a minute,” he called. More shuffling. Some drawers banged shut.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Okay,” he said. “What is it?”

  I opened the door a crack. “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey, Abby. Uh, what’s up?”

  I stepped inside his room. “I just wanted to say good night,” I said.

  “Okay. Yeah. Good night.” His computer monitor was off but he kept glancing at it.

  “Are you still doing the…?” I pointed to the computer.

  “Yeah. Yep. Same old, same old.” He laughed, nervous.

  “And it’s…okay? I mean, you’re good with everything?”

  “Oh, you know, it can get a little hairy.”

  I laughed.

  “But, yeah, no. It’s fine. For the most part…”

  I nodded. “How’s Aaron?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. We haven’t hung out since he started dating that stupid Canadian chick.”

  “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

  “No, she’s actually really smart. If he doesn’t flunk senior year, it’ll be because of her.”

  “Still sucks, though. Losing a friend like that.”

  “Well.” He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “I guess that makes two of us.”

  “Yeah.” I looked down at the carpet. It was worn and gray from years of abuse.

  “You doing okay?”

  I sighed. “I think so. Mostly. You know, all things considered…”

  He nodded. “That’s good.”

  “I guess…”

  “Abby, I know I never thanked you properly…for saving my life that day.”

  I shrugged.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I nodded. Stared at a stain on the carpet. “You would’ve done the same for me,” I said.

  “I don’t think I could have,” he said. “I never learned CPR.”

  “Well, you’re welcome then.”

  “And thanks for not telling Mom and Dad about it.”

  “Okay. Well…Good night, Dean.”

  “Abby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Good night.” He smiled his lopsided grin at me and I smiled back. Then I closed his door softly behind me. It wasn’t exactly “I love you,” but it was the closest we ever got.

  After another luxurious morning shower, I went downstairs. Mom and Dad had made another massive breakfast: scrambled eggs, sausages, waffles, fruit salad and cranberry muffins.

  “Dean!” Mom shouted up the stairwell. “Breakfast!”

  No response.

  “Oh well,” she said. “He’ll be down in a minute. It’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”

  Dad dished out eggs onto everyone’s plates. I poured myself a coffee and refilled Mom’s coffee.

  “Dean!” Dad yelled. “Your eggs are getting cold!”

  “Will you go see what’s taking him, Abby?” Mom said. “You might need to wake him up.”

  “Sure.” I went upstairs and banged on Dean’s door. “Breakfast time!” I waited a moment, then opened the door and stepped into his room.

  His bed was made up neatly, which was not like him at all. And his backpack was gone. Oh, Christ. Was my brother enough of an idiot that he would go meet some stranger off the Internet? Yes, yes, he was. I turned on his computer. He had deleted his browser history, nothing was open, and I couldn’t hack into his email. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I got a leaden feeling in my stomach. In my seventeen years of knowing him, Dean had never once made his bed. Something was very wrong with this picture.

  “Abby! Dean!” Mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

  I took out my phone and dialed Dean’s number. Straight to voice mail. I hung up. Shook my head. “What a dumbass,” I said under my breath. I went downstairs and took my seat at the table.

  “Dean’s bed is made and his backpack is gone. Looks like he’s gone off somewhere.”

  “Hm. That’s odd,” Dad said. “His bed was made?”

  “I don’t think that’s ever happened,” Mom said. “Did he have any plans that you know of?”

  “Nope.” I stabbed into a sausage.

  “Strange,” Mom said. “He didn’t mention going anywhere this weekend.”

  “He’s been acting queer lately,” Dad said, chewing thoughtfully.

  I choked a little bit on my saus
age.

  “There’s something going on with him,” Dad said.

  “He has been pretty quiet lately,” Mom said.

  “Dean? Quiet? There must be something very wrong, then,” I said.

  They both looked at me. I chewed my food and stared at my plate. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but I kept eating so I’d have something to do with my hands.

  “What time is your meeting with your coach?” Mom asked.

  “About an hour,” I said.

  “Need a ride?” Dad asked.

  “I can drive. If I can borrow your car?”

  “Are you sure?” Mom said.

  “Yeah, I can still drive, Mom. I may have leprosy, but I can still drive.”

  They looked at each other. Dad nodded.

  “Okay,” she said. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  “It is.”

  We finished breakfast and I helped Dad do the dishes. He didn’t say much, but he ground his jaw the way he does when he’s anxious about something.

  “I’ll see you later on, okay?” I said when it was time for me to go.

  “Alright, kid. Hope it goes well.” He gave me a small smile and drained the sink.

  Both of their cars were in the garage, so wherever Dean had gone, he hadn’t driven there. I cranked the radio on the way to meet Coach Clayton and tried to pump myself up by singing along, but there was no good music on any of the stations.

  I met Coach Clayton at the coffee shop near our school. She sat at a small table near the window sipping a latte.

  “Abby!” She beamed at me. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay, Coach. How are you?”

  “Good, good.” She nodded. “Have a seat.”

  “I’ll just grab a drink first,” I said.

  “Sure, sure.”

  I ordered an iced cappuccino and sat down across from Coach Clayton.

  “So I understand you’ve had some medical issues lately,” she said, eyeing the flaky red skin around my hairline.

  “Yeah, um. That’s what I have to talk to you about.”

  “Okay.”

  “So…because of my, um, medical issues, I’m not in the same physical shape as I was before…”