Read Online Trauma Queen by Barbara Dee - Free Book Online

don’t say anything.
    Then Kennedy says, “I don’t think Mom should have made fun of Mrs. Hartley like that.”
    â€œYeah,” I say. “Well.”
    â€œI reckon she’s ever so sorry.”
    I don’t even correct her for prairie-talking.
    â€œShe is, Mari,” Kennedy insists.
    â€œIf you say so.” I lean over and push open the curtains just a little, so I can see the snow fall. “Isn’t the snow pretty?” I say, mostly to change the subject.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou don’t like it? Why not?”
    â€œI hate it here,” Kennedy says in a tiny voice.
    â€œYou do? Why?”
    â€œThere’s a mean girl in my class named Dexter. She said Kennedy is a stupid name.”
    â€œYeah, well, Dexter isn’t much better. Besides, Kennedy is the name of a president.”
    â€œI said that to her.” She sighs. “Anyway, my school is too big. I kept getting lost today. I couldn’t even find the toilet until after gym.”
    â€œYou’ll figure it out. Soon this will all seem normal.”
    â€œYou know what, Mari? I don’t think it ever will.” She rolls over on her creaky mattress. “Well, good night.”
    â€œNight.”
    For a long time I watch the snow coming down in big, quiet flakes. I think about making snow forts in Aldentown with Emma, Will, and Matt. It’s the same snow as here, I tell myself, even though it feels different. Different in a way that will probably never feel normal. Not even if we live here for seventy-five years.
    In the morning the nurse’s clothes are as stiff as cardboard. And they smell like a combination of radiator rust and Joy.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with that material?” asks Kennedy, as I hold up the chicken-pox shirt.
    â€œI don’t know!”
    She comes over to the radiator and touches the hot material. “Maybe it baked overnight.”
    â€œI’ll tell you exactly what’s wrong,” says Mom, clomping into the living room in her snow boots. “You didn’t rinse out the soap, Marigold.”
    â€œYes I did!”
    â€œWell, not enough, apparently. Why didn’t you just wait for me to throw them in the laundry?”
    â€œBecause you wouldn’t! And they had to be returned today! I told you that yesterday!”
    â€œCalm down. Why are you so stressed out about this, anyway?” She holds up the track pants. They hang weirdly in the air, like the American flag that the astronauts planted on the moon. “Yikes. You can’t return these like this. Let me drop them off at Cyndi’s today and you’ll bring them back tomorrow.”
    â€œNo! I’m supposed to give them back this morning before homeroom. I promised the nurse.” As I’m arguing, I’m thinking, Why am I making such a big deal about this? Who even cares about these stupid pants? But for some reason, I do. I care about these stupid pants. And I refuse to let Mom act like the stupid pants don’t matter.
    She puts her hands on her hips. “Well. If you really can’t wait until tomorrow, I think your best bet is just to wear this stuff to school.”
    â€œ What? You want me to wear them? After you made me wear pajamas yesterday? Are you totally trying to humiliate me?”
    She groans. “Marigold. Please let’s not start with the pajamas again.”
    â€œOkay! Fine!” I wave the chicken-pox shirt. It actually crackles.
    â€œMy point is,” Mom says calmly, “if you walk to school today, the natural humidity from your body will loosen up the fabric. By the time you get to school, the material won’t be so stiff. Then you can change into some regular clothes and return these to the nurse.”
    â€œThat sounds like a good plan,” Kennedy says hopefully.
    I shrug. Actually, it kind of does.
    So then I put on the nurse’s clothes. They’re so straight and cardboardy I can barely