“Yep,” I say, trying to keep it light even though I feel fear as hard as a peach pit about whatever’s coming next.

“I’m worried about your grandfather.”

“Yep.”

“Ellie, be serious. I’m also worried about Mema.”

“She says not to.”

“You called her.” It’s a statement, not a question, so I nod.

“So you think we shouldn’t worry?” she asks, but I can tell she’s really just talking to herself.

“I think Mema’s never going to admit how bad it is,” I say, and put down my orange. I can’t get the peel started right and it’s coming off in tiny pieces.

Mom sucks on an orange slice. She looks weirdly better. Relieved maybe? She stands and grabs bowls and Frosted Flakes from the cupboard, then pours the cereal in without milk. We always eat our cereal dry, an old habit that’s hung around from my early years, when I was allergic to just about everything, including dairy. They say it’s normal for kids like me who were born super early to have allergies. I say, no, it’s still weird, but weird is my normal.

After a minute or so of crunching that’s louder than the TV, she says, “What would you say to making our Christmas vacation a little bit longer?”

I want to yell “Yes!” because extra time with my grandparents always feels like a second dessert. Maybe this will be enough to really help Grandpa. But I’m trying to keep it cool, so I ask as calm as can be, “How much longer?”

“The spring semester?”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“So I can quit school?” Dreams really do come true.

She raises an eyebrow at me. She can do this. Her eyebrows are like a cartoon character’s.

“No, you can transfer to the middle school in Eufaula.”

Oh. New school. New people who get to stare at the new kid in the wheelchair. The cereal turns to sawdust in my throat. If a kid can’t talk well, I’ve seen parents hang a sign on the wheelchair that says, “Hi, my name is _______ and I have _______ and my favorite color is _______.” It’s like a CliffsNotes version of a person. Maybe I’ll pretend I can’t talk at the new school and do that. Nobody’d know the difference.

“Would you teach at the high school?”

“I called this morning. There’s nothing available, but they’ll have me on as a substitute.”

“Do I have to finish my exams?”

“You mean start your exams?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, you have to start and finish, and then we leave.”