I held the tips of her fingers and pretended to read her palm. “I can see from these lines on your hand exactly what you had for breakfast today.”

She laughed. “No way.”

I could feel my bat wings uncurling above me. I stared at Carolyn’s hand. “You had eggs. And ham. Ham and eggs.”

She shook her head. “Wrong!”

I pretended to look confused. “You did have ham and eggs. I can see it right here.” I tapped her palm. Then I leaned forward and sniffed. “Your hand even smells like ham and eggs!”

“It does not.”

“Yes, it does! Smell it yourself.”

My bat wings flexed.

Carolyn put her hand up to her nose to smell it.

And I bashed it into her face.

Carolyn’s eyes teared up. She cupped her hands around her nose for a few seconds and then took them away, slowly.

“Do you see any blood?” She was talking to me as if I wasn’t the person who had just hit her hand into her nose. In my head, I was saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” but on the outside, I said, “No. There’s no blood. It looks okay.”

“God, Bea.” She wiped her eyes. “You’re mean sometimes, you know that?”

The Last Bat Shot

When I got back to table three after lunch, Angus said, “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I was in the lunchroom.”

He tilted his head. “You look upset.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

“It was a really boring spelling party,” Angus said. “Mr. Home didn’t even turn on the radio. I mostly read my book.” He held it up, to prove it.

“Thanks,” I told him.

—

Mom was waiting for me after school. We were going to Dr. Thomas for our last bat shots.

As soon as she saw me, she said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Sometimes I hated my face.

“Are you worried about getting the shot?”

“No.”

“You’re a pro now, honey. And remember, it’s the last one.”

“I know.”

—

“How’s your cousin doing?” Dr. Thomas asked me.

“My dad says she’s going home from the hospital. There’s no more tests to do.”

“Good news.”

“But she’s not better. Dad says they’re just ‘waiting for improvement.’ ”

She smiled. “Life is like that sometimes.”

“Dr. Thomas?”

“Yes?”

“What does rabies feel like?”

“Luckily, neither of us will ever know.” She waved her shot plunger at me.

“I wonder if it feels like turning into an animal. A wild animal.”

“Most animals are completely rational, Bea.”

“But is it kind of like something bad in you…gets loose?”

“No. It’s not like that. Are you still worried about having rabies, Bea?”

“Not really.”

“Maybe this will help: if that bat gave you rabies, and my shots didn’t work, you would already be dead. Does that make you feel better?”

It didn’t.

—