Scar Girl (The Scar Boys #2)(22)

I nodded and was quiet.

Other than little words of explanation (“You might feel a little pinch”) or encouragement (“You’re doing great, Cheyenne”), Dr. McCartney didn’t talk again until it was finished.

“Your body’s been through a lot, and I want you to get rest. I’m going to give you a prescription for pain medicine and one for antibiotics. Take the pain meds as you need them, but be sure to finish the entire flight of antibiotics.” She took my hand, squeezed it, and looked me square in the eye. “You’re going to be fine, you understand? You have a good family. Let them take care of you.

“Stay here for a few minutes,” she said as she stood up. “I’ll send your sisters in.”

She left the room. I muttered, “Thank you,” to an afterimage of Dr. McCartney and started crying again.





HARBINGER JONES


I told my parents I wasn’t feeling well and ate dinner in my room. I wanted to keep working on the essay, and I didn’t want them to know what I was doing. I was pretty sure they would both completely freak out, especially my dad, and that wasn’t what I needed just then. I wasn’t even sure that I actually wanted to go to college. I mean, the idea was more and more appealing, but I wanted to keep my options open. For now this would stay my secret.

I wrote until my vision was blurred and my hand was so cramped I could barely hold the pencil. It was 3:00 a.m. when I stopped, and dozens of notebook pages were filled, front and back. I got all the way to the moment in the story of my life when Johnny suggested we start a band.

The more I thought about that moment, about me and him in his house, listening to records and talking about music, the more I realized that was the moment my life really began. So I used my cramped hand to scratch, And that was how it all began, onto the page before finally stopping for the night.

Take that, admissions professional, I thought. I’m already so far over your word count as to be ridiculous, and now I’m telling you that I haven’t even started yet.

For some reason, I thought that was really funny, and for the very first time in my life that I could remember, I fell asleep giggling.





CHEYENNE BELLE


I took one of the pain meds, took my antibiotics, and slept that night at home like I’d never slept before. When I woke up the next day, a Sunday, my parents and most of my sisters had gone to church. Only Theresa and I were in the house.

She was in bed when I rolled over and opened my eyes.

“Am I still cool with Mom and Dad?”

Theresa was lying there with her Walkman on, listening to God-knows-what-awful pop music—Debbie Gibson or Madonna or something. Her favorite song, which she played all the time, was “All You Zombies” by the Hooters. It has to be the dumbest song ever recorded. Did you know that that band put it out as a single not once, but twice, and that they included it on two different albums? Way to beat a dead horse, guys.

Anyway, Theresa didn’t hear me, so I took off my sock to throw at her, you know, to get her attention. Only when I bent over, my midsection really hurt.

I knew I’d moaned, but I didn’t realize how loud until Theresa sat up and dropped her headphones to her neck.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so,” I said, out of breath. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

“Yes,” she answered, slid the headphones up, and lay back down. I guess things were back to normal between us.

I still had a sock in my hand, so I threw it at her anyway.

“What the fuck, Cheyenne?” She was back up, and the headphones were back down.

“I don’t know, maybe a little support?” It was the wrong thing to say.

“A little support? Are you kidding?”

“Look, I—”

“No, you look. Aggie and I talked last night after you passed out. This cost us a lot of money.” I hated that people called my sister Aggie. I knew she didn’t like it, because when people outside the family used that nickname, she always set them straight. But it was too late with Theresa; that ship sailed when Agnes—which is such a pretty name—was three.

“I’m gonna pay you back.” I don’t know what I’d expected when I woke up, but it wasn’t getting yelled at.

“With what, the money for your little band of weirdos and cripples?” When she wanted to, Theresa could be the biggest bitch on the planet. I was too weak to fight back, so I laid my head down and closed my eyes. The connection I’d had with my sisters the day before felt so real and so nice, but it was like a temporary tattoo that had worn off overnight.

“I’ll get a job,” I said without any emotion. Theresa snorted.

I lay there for another minute before the sock I’d thrown at Theresa came back and hit me in the face. I sat up and looked at her. Something in her face had softened a little.

“Look, if there’s anyone in the world who knows how you feel, it’s me, and I’m sorry if I sound like a bitch.” I didn’t answer. I think maybe she was waiting for me to tell her that it was okay, that she wasn’t a bitch, but that wasn’t going to happen, so I just kept my mouth shut until she finished. “But you’ll get over this. You’re not the first girl to lose a baby, and you won’t be the last.”

I guess that was Theresa’s way of telling me everything was going to be okay. Pretty lame, right? Anyway, I just nodded and put my head back down.