“Hang on,” I say. “Rosie doesn’t need to look out for me. I’m the big sister here!”
(And the only one with superpowers.)
“You look out for each other,” Mom says.
“Mom?” Rosie asks, twisting her napkin. “What if Meena has a seizure when we’re crossing the street? What do I do?”
Mom looks uncomfortable. “That isn’t very likely.”
“But she might get run over.”
“That’s an excellent point,” Dad says. He looks at me, rubs his chin, and then raises an eyebrow at Rosie. “Think you can drag your sister to the curb?”
Rosie gasps. I groan.
“I say grab her by the wrists,” Dad continues. “Or no. The ankles might be easier. Let’s practice.” He claps his hands and stands up. “Meena. Lie down on the floor.”
Rosie is giggling now.
“Dad,” I say.
“Maybe we should practice in the driveway. The tile is too slippery.”
“I’m fine.”
“You want to try rolling her?”
“Dad!” I insist. “I am completely fine.”
His eyes twinkle. He turns to Mom and shrugs. “She’s fine. Let them go.”
Rosie hops down, puts on her jacket and backpack, and turns to me. “Ready?” she asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer before she leads the way outside.
“Wait up,” I call, scrambling for my things.
As soon as I’m out the door, Rosie runs down the block to the first crossing. By the time I catch up, she’s already checking both ways for cars. She turns and holds out her hand, like she’s the one helping me across.
I grab Rosie’s wrist and step out in front of her, taking such big steps that I’m kind of dragging her.
If anyone around here is doing any helping, it’s me.
But when we turn the corner, I see something that makes me forget all about who’s in charge. A mattress is leaning against a tree by the curb. A rickety grill is sitting next to it, along with a wooden chair without any seat.
It’s bulk trash day! This is the only day all month that people can put out trash that’s too big for the bins.
I could furnish a whole house full of workshops with this stuff! I let go of Rosie and start running from pile to pile. Just look at this! There’s a saggy couch with torn cushions, a lopsided lamp, and an empty spool for a garden hose. There’s a lawn mower without an engine and a plastic cooler without a lid. There’s even a TV as big as a dresser. I bet if you busted out the screen, you could climb inside and act out your own shows!
I’m so excited running around the heaps that I almost go right past the best thing of all.
Behind a stepladder that’s missing some rungs, I spot an office chair. It’s red with stuffing coming out of the arms and a big splash of purple paint dried across the seat. But the wheels still wheel, and the seat still seats, and when I sit down and kick, it even spins around in a circle!
I drag it onto the sidewalk. “Wait here,” I say to Rosie. “I need to run this home.”
“We’re supposed to go straight to school,” she says.
“It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”
“But we’re supposed to stay together! Mom said.”
I choke down a groan. If I leave it here, it’ll be gone by the time school gets out! “Then we’ll take it with us,” I say.
The chair rattles over the cracks as I push it down the sidewalk. When we get to the next crossing, I wheel it down the ramp into the street.
Then I get an Inspiration.
“You want a turn pushing?” I say to Rosie.
She blinks at me. “Um, okay.”
Just as she starts to push, I hop onto the seat.
“Hey!” she says. “You’re making it heavy!”
“Not too heavy for someone as strong as you,” I say, making myself comfortable. “And sisters look out for each other, right?”
“But we’re gonna be late,” she whines.
I cross my arms. “Not if you run.”
Rosie sighs and starts pushing me across the street. The chair jolts over a bump, and I grip the arms. Halfway up the ramp, we stop.
“Push harder,” I say. “Come on, Rosie!”
She grunts and pushes. Slowly, the chair inches forward, bit by bit, until we’re at the top. The sidewalk flattens out in front of us.
“Faster!”
We really get going then. It’s bumpy, but it’s awesome. For a block or so, I pull my legs up under me with the breeze in my face and the houses whizzing by. When I look back, Rosie is trotting along with her head down and her arms straight out in front of her.
“You’re doing great,” I say, because she looks like she could use a little pep talk.
“Meena?” she says, panting.
“Yeah?”
“How come Sofía gave me a bracelet but you didn’t?” she asks. “Aren’t we friends too?”
“We’re sisters,” I say. “It’s different.”
“Do you like Sofía more than me?”
“I like her different.”
“Different in a more kind of way?”
“Stop talking. You’re slowing us down.”
We round the last corner. The sidewalk slopes down the rest of the way to school. Rosie starts to run, the chair rolling faster and faster—so fast that Rosie lets go and chases me. I throw my head back and raise my fists in the air. “Woo-hoo!”
Finally, the sidewalk levels out again, and I coast to a stop by the bike rack.
Eli is standing there, parking his bike. He has on a red coat with white sleeves. There are pins and patches all over it, and it’s so big that it hangs down over his hands.
“Isn’t that Riley’s jacket?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He stares at me, a crinkle in his forehead.
I scratch the back of my neck, wondering if one of us is supposed to apologize. “Did you hear from him?” I ask finally.
He reaches his hands out of his sleeves and grabs the straps of his backpack. “He’s coming home Friday.”
I nod. “So you can still do your concert.”
“Yep.” He squints at me then. “You okay?”
It takes me a second before I understand why he’s asking. The seizure! I wave my hand in the air. “I’m fine.”
Eli gives a slight nod. I bounce my heel against the sidewalk. His eyes flick to the chair and back to me. Finally, the corner of his mouth twitches. “Bulk trash day?”
I hop up, grinning. “Can I lock it up with your bike? I don’t want anyone to steal it.”
He full-on smirks now. “Sure.” He loops the metal cord around the neck of the chair, through his tire, and around the rack. “Did you get a turn, Rosie,” he asks, “or did she make you push her all the way here?”
She bounces on her toes. “It was like pushing a wheelchair!”
Eli laughs and starts heading for the playground.
“No, it wasn’t!” I hiss, loud enough for him to hear. “It was like one of those thrones that servants carry so their rulers don’t have to walk.”
“You’re not my ruler,” Rosie says, hands on her hips.
“I’m your big sister. It’s the same thing.”
“Is not.”
“Is too. I look out for you on the way to school, don’t I?”
I try to take her hand, but Rosie yanks it away. “We look out for each other,” she says. Before I can grab her, she runs to the entrance, pulls the glass door shut, and sticks out her tongue.
No way am I letting her be my sidekick now.
“Meena!”
I barely turn around before Sofía runs up and slams me with a hug.
“Ooof! What the heck?”
“Are you okay?” She squeezes me hard then pulls back and checks me over. “I tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear me. Then I tried to call you after school, but your mom said you were asleep.”
“I’m fine,” I say, wriggling out of her grip.
“
I’ve seen those little seizures where you space out,” she says, “but I didn’t know the big ones were so”—she takes a breath—“big.”
“Did everybody see it?” I ask.
“Until they made us leave.”
“Mom says you got to finish lunch in the classroom.”
Sofía bites her lip. “Nobody really felt like eating.”
I nod, remembering. “Salisbury steak.”
“No, it was just—” She shakes her head. “It was scary, Meena.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I rock back on my heels. “Well, everything’s okay,” I say. Now that I have my Ring back, I shouldn’t have to worry about having a seizure.
Sofía wrinkles her forehead at me. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine!” I say, throwing back my shoulders. “I’ll even race you to the swings.”
I take off running. My backpack bounces against my shoulders. Sofía’s feet pound against the sidewalk behind me. When we round the corner, and the soccer field opens up in front of us, I shoot past the Taylor twins throwing a football and the fifth-grade girls standing in a circle, shuffling their feet.
I’m about to tear across the grass when the bell rings, so I change directions and run for the door instead. With my super speed, I’m the first one there! Sofía catches up and stands next to me, panting. The playground empties as kids hurry toward us to line up, noisy and laughing, filling the space around us.
Then something strange happens.
Aiden sees me and stops short. Maddy bumps into him from behind. Lin slows down and stares.
The noise dies down. The laughing stops. Aiden nudges Maddy, who whispers to Lin, who’s already elbowing Pedro.
None of them get into the line.
I turn and face the first graders. I give a little wave to the girl I saved, but she winces and hides behind her friend. When the playground monitor calls her class inside, they duck their heads and scurry past without looking at me.
What’s going on? All last week, kids picked me for their teams. They sat by me at lunch. Why are they acting like they’re scared of me now?
Is this because of my seizure? But that didn’t count! I wasn’t wearing my Ring!
Eli is the last to arrive, bouncing a basketball in his too-big jacket. Pedro tugs on his floppy sleeve and whispers. Eli bends his head to listen, then raises his eyebrows at me.
I feel my cheeks getting hot. I look at Sofía. Something fierce comes over her face.
She steps closer to me, standing so close that our shoulders are touching. She crosses her arms and sticks out her chin, daring everyone with her eyes.
Eli hugs the ball to his chest and moves to stand next to her. One by one, the other third graders get into line behind them.
When the playground monitor calls our class, I turn and lead the way inside.
I don’t check to see if anyone follows.
12
My whole class avoids me all day. When I try to join in for kickball at morning recess, everyone suddenly decides to go play soccer instead. When Nora and Maddy see that the only lunch seats left are next to mine, they stand there shifting from foot to foot until Sofía smacks her apple juice down on the table and snaps, “She’s not contagious.”
They sit down. By the time I’ve finished my tater tots, they’re stealing glances. When I’m done, Nora springs up and says, “I can take your tray.” She whisks it away before I can answer. On my way out, Maddy rushes to open the door for me like she thinks I can’t do it myself.
I liked it better when they were scared of me.
Sofía is the only one who acts normal. Except for Eli, who just unlocks my chair at the end of the day and says, “See you,” like usual, before riding away.
I wish Rosie were here to push me. I turn my chair around and kick it like a gym scooter, holding on to the seat and rolling myself backward down the sidewalk. Halfway home, I park under the tree where the mattress was leaning this morning and sit there spinning, staring up through the leaves for a while, wondering how everything can change so fast. Last week, everyone acted like I was one of a kind—like the Ring made me different from them. Now they’re acting like having seizures does.
I don’t want to be that kind of different.
What did they see, anyway? What could be bad enough to make them forget how I saved that girl and clipped to the top of the chart and even won elimination?
I wheel the rest of the way home and park my chair behind the garage where Mom won’t see it right away. “There you are,” she says when I walk through the door. “I was about to go looking for you.”
I shrug off my backpack and turn to face her. “I want to see what a seizure looks like.”
She glances up from her computer.
“Everyone knows but me,” I say, “even the kids in my class.” I stand up straighter. “I want to know what they saw.”
Mom takes off her glasses and sets them on the table. “You might not like it, honey.”
“I don’t care.”
She twists the end of her ponytail around her finger and lets it go. “I could look for a video,” she says, “but I’m not sure what’s out there. Could I describe it to you instead?”
“You’ve already done that. I want to see it.”
Finally, she sighs and puts her glasses back on. “Let me see what I can find.” I kick off my shoes and step up to the table while she clicks. After a minute, she holds out her arm and pulls me in close. “Let’s try this one.”
It’s a video called “Absence Seizures in Children.” It’s pretty boring, actually. It’s just a bunch of kids staring into space, one after another.
But then I start to notice something. All the clips look alike. Not the kids. They’re all different sizes and shapes and colors. It’s their expression that’s the same. Their faces are blank and still. Their eyes are empty, like someone turned out the lights inside their bodies. They stay like that for a minute, then they blink, and it’s like the light goes back on again.
When the video ends, I stare at the frozen screen and swallow down a shiver in my throat. “Is that what I look like when I space out?”
“Pretty much,” Mom says.
“What about the other kind? Like in the lunchroom.”
“It’s called a convulsive seizure.”
“Can you show me one of those?”
Mom tucks a lock of hair behind my ear without meeting my eyes. “I can understand why you’d want to see that, Meena, but…” She closes the computer. “I need to think about it, okay?”
I stiffen. It must be bad if she won’t show me.
She squeezes my arm. “I talked to your doctor today.”
“Doctor Suri?”
“No, your neurologist.”
“The guy with the fish tank in his office?”
“That’s the one.”
The last time I saw him was after my EEG—this weird test where they put wires all over my head and made me look at flashing lights and blow on a pinwheel until I was out of breath. They even kept me hooked up to the machine while I took a nap in the office. “What did he want?” I ask.
“He thinks it’s time for you to start taking medication to prevent your seizures.”
I pull away from her. “You mean a shot?”
“Not a shot,” she says. “Just a pill. You’ll take it twice a day.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as you need it.”
* * *
When I come downstairs for dinner, there’s a brown bottle next to my plate. My name is on the label, above a word so long it looks like it’s written in code. I try to open it, but the lid just spins.
“It’s childproof,” Dad says.
That should be no match for my super strength!
But Dad reaches across the table, pops the bottle open, and taps out a pill.
It looks like a little blue submarine. I sigh and gulp it down. At least I’ll be eating something blue every day
. I wish it were purple.
All through dinner, I think about superheroes. I wonder if they ever mind being different from everyone else. It must get kind of lonely. After all, Superman got dumped on earth all alone. Wonder Woman left her island to fight evil. Spider-Man never really fit in with people or with spiders. Even when superheroes hang out together, they all have different powers, so they aren’t even like each other.
When we finish eating, I help Dad with the dishes while Mom puts Rosie to bed. “Do you still have your old comic books?” I ask, drying the last plate and handing it to him.
He stacks it in the cabinet. “If your mom didn’t throw them out in a burst of tidying.”
“Can I see them?”
“Really? You’re interested in those?”
“Sure.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not going to cut them up, are you? Like you did with my running magazines?”
“I was making you a motivational collage!”
“Yeah, well, it motivated me to cancel my subscription.”
“So I saved you money, too,” I point out. “I just want to read them.”
He brightens. “Okay, then.” I follow him into the garage and watch while he sets up a stepladder and climbs up to a high shelf. “Last I knew,” he says, “they were right about… Here they are!”
He grunts, lifts down a big plastic bin, and sets it on the floor. The lid is gritty, but when I pry it off, I see stacks of comic books, each in its own plastic sleeve.
“Do you have any Wonder Woman?” I ask, rummaging through the stack.
“Nah, I never really read DC. I’ve got Spider-Man, Iron Man, Hulk.…” He holds one up. “This one’s even autographed. Limited edition. Only one thousand signed.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Your mom bought it for me when we were dating.”
“Mom liked comic books?”
“No, but she liked me.” He wags his eyebrows. “I was quite a catch.”
I make a gagging sound and grab the comic on top of the stack.
“Here,” Dad says. He spreads a tarp on the cement, and we sit with our backs against the side of the car. For a while, we page through comic books by the yellow light of the bulb hanging from the rafters, breathing in the faint smell of grass clippings and gasoline. I study the different kinds of superpowers. I examine the colorful costumes. After a while, I notice something.
Never Fear, Meena's Here! Page 7