I fished the manila envelope Mrs. Redmond had given me out of my bag and opened it. Inside was a smaller white envelope. My first name was written across the front. I slipped my finger under the lip of the seal. As I pulled it open, a scream cut through the stuffy attic air.

My heart jumped into my throat. I shoved the letter in my pocket and scrambled down the stairs as the scream rang out again. The front door sat open. I raced onto the porch and jumped, bypassing the four steps and landing on the driveway’s cracked pavement. I couldn’t see Mom or Mo anywhere.

A groan sounded from the side of the house. I rushed toward it, skidding around the corner. The toe of my sneaker caught on a rock and I fell face-first next to the big green dumpster.

Mom lay in a heap next to me, newspapers scattered all around her. Mo stood next to the dumpster, doubled over, laughing hysterically.

“I’m gonna piss myself!” she said.

Mom sat up. Bits of grass and leaves stuck out of her hair. She brushed herself off. “It’s not funny!”

I rolled to a sitting position and readjusted my glasses. My knee throbbed and my elbow was scraped up. A cool, tingling sensation spread over my palms and down the side of my neck.

I glanced at Mom. The leaves clinging to her were familiar to me—something I’d used in a bouquet? Some other arrangement maybe. I looked closer.

“Oh no.”

It was all I could say before deep, ruddy splotches bloomed on Mom’s face and neck, her outstretched arms, her bare legs. The spots turned to raised welts and the area around her left eye began to swell.

She clawed at her skin. “What the hell is this? Why am I so damn itchy?”

We’d both tumbled into a tangle of brush. Clusters of leaves in groups of threes numbered in the hundreds.

“It’s poison ivy,” I said.

“Oh shit,” Mo said. All the joking was over. She reached out to help Mom up.

“No, wait,” I said. “Don’t touch her. The poison can spread to you too.”

Mom stood up and looked me over. “You okay? I don’t see any welts.”

“Yet,” I said quickly. “It could take a few minutes to show up.” I knew I should’ve felt something already.

“What do we do?” Mom asked.

“We have to wash it off,” I said. “The oil in the plant is what causes the reaction. We have to get it off us.” The cool sensation on my skin dissipated as images of the hemlock root splayed open on my desk flashed in my head. This feeling was nothing even close to that.

“Come on,” Mom said.