Chapters (47)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Epigraphs
- Prologue
- Part One
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- Part Two
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
Her father stood at the foot of Michael’s bed looking at Ann’s bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheet.
“No.”
“It’s not how it looks,” Michael said, sitting up abruptly.
“No!” Ann’s father bent over and held his stomach. “What happened?” he asked, his pain visible. “First Poppy, now this. What the hell happened to my family this summer?”
Her mother limped up the stairs and stood behind him, her hair wild from sleep. Ann wanted so badly to collapse into her mother’s arms at that moment.
“Oh, Ann,” she said. Ann was used to hearing the disappointment in her mother’s voice directed at her. Usually she could deflect it, because it was because of something minor. This time it hurt. This time she wanted to push back and tell her mother that she was good. She was. Or at least, she used to be.
“Pack your stuff,” her father said.
“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Michael said.
“Pack your stuff! All of you!”
Ann saw panic in Michael’s eyes, and she felt sorry for him in a way she hadn’t before. He’d wanted so badly to fit into her family. This was all her fault.
“He’s telling the truth, Dad.”
“I don’t want to know what happened. All I know is we’re going back home.”
“Milwaukee?” Michael said, confused and shocked.
“Good,” Ann said. “I want to go home. I never want to come back to this place again.”
FOURTEEN
Ann
In October, Ann was painting the homecoming window on a restaurant called Shahrazad on Oakland Avenue for the cross-country team. Their mascot was a tiger, and they were competing against the Whitefish Bay Blue Dukes. Ann was painting their tagline. It said, “It’s a bad day to be a Duke.” That was Nell Finch’s idea, and it was OK, but not great. Usually Ann would come up with something better, but she’d been distracted. David Simons, her homecoming date, was painting a crown on the tiger’s head. Keisha Brown drew the duke. She was a great artist, and had depicted a wimpy little duke standing in the middle of the field, looking terrified. “Do you like it?” she asked Ann and David. All Ann could do was nod. She was suddenly overcome with nausea and threw up right there, right in front of them. It splattered on David’s Adidas.
“Oh gross,” he said, while Keisha rubbed her back and pulled back her hair.
“You OK?”
“I drank too much at Evan’s last night,” Ann said, but that was a lie. She hadn’t even gone to Evan’s party. She’d been too tired. All she wanted to do lately was sleep. She wondered if she had mono.