Chapter 1
The previous night had been very cold in the trailer. Hot showers always helped Mary wake up in the morning; the warmth seeping into her bones as the steam filled the tiny bathroom. As she turned off the water, she could hear plates, pots, and pans clinking and clanking in the kitchen. Her mother was preparing breakfast. Mary was starving. She knew that on the other side of the bathroom door, the air was filled with the smells of eggs, toast, and coffee. Her appetite dueled in her mind with her new awareness that something was not quite right with her body these days and that it seemed to reject "heavy food."
She stepped out of the shower and quickly dried off. Wrapping herself in a towel, she braced herself for the cold hallway. Once there, however, instead of her accustomed brisk scurry back to her room, she lingered, having picked up on the tension in the morning conversation down the hall between her mother and Sam, her stepfather.
"The doctor says he's never seen anything like it," her mother said, "but there's nothing wrong with her and there's no reason to keep her home from school if she wants to go."
"No health reason, you mean," Sam said.
Mary could hear real concern in his voice. She felt a familiar twinge of guilt. She thought she should like him, but she just couldn't. He would never be as good as Daddy was, no matter how much he wanted to be. He was very good for Mom, got her to smile and be happy--great! That was fine. But why couldn't he just leave Mary alone? She was fifteen years old, not five; she could raise herself the rest of the way. She knew she was already more an adult than most "real" adults anyway.
Sam continued. "Those girls that got killed last week were the girls she hangs out with. I don't think she has any other friends. I mean, at all. If she hadn't happened to be in the hospital that day, she'd have died in that accident, too."
Mom burst into tears. "Don't say things like that."
"I'm sorry, Margaret. You know I'm no good with words. It's just ... I don't mean things the way they come out. That's all. I just think she'll be grieving and we shouldn't force her back to school so soon. Anyway, the doctor says she lost all this weight because of food allergies. What is he, a quack? She lost eighty pounds in one week! Food allergies don't do that. A tapeworm, maybe."
Mary quietly scooted down the hall to her room.
She got dressed in a snazzy new outfit that Mom had bought for her with some of Sam's overtime money. After what had happened last week, none of her old clothes fit anymore. Her mind recalled how different her world had been just a week ago. She'd weighed eighty pounds heavier then. Her three best friends hadn't been killed in a drunk driving accident yet. The night before the accident, she'd been taken to the emergency room for fainting and slamming her head on the sidewalk when she fell. She awoke three days later in the hospital in what seemed like a new body. She appraised herself in the mirror, noticing the difference a lack of chubbiness had wrought in her face, although she still had Daddy's dimples and blue eyes. She was having a good hair day. Her blonde locks were behaving themselves for once.
Can this really be me? she thought. It's like a dream come true or getting a wish from a genie in a bottle or something. I can't wait to show Jessica and Emily and.... Oh, my God! How could I forget they're dead? I'm an awful person. I don't even know if it hurts so much because I miss them or because I don't have any friends in the world now.
"Gee, Mary, nobody's gonna recognize you now. You're so skinny." The little brother unit had barged in without knocking--again!
In uncharacteristic big sisterly camaraderie, she said, "Thanks, you little twerp." Then she grabbed her bag and headed for the kitchen.
She rushed past Sam and Mom at the table, targeting the refrigerator.
"A soda isn't a good breakfast, young lady," her mom called after her.
"Well, I'm allergic to everything else we have and I'm almost late anyway. I'll miss the bus if I eat, but if you cosign for a loan for a car for me, I'll have time to eat breakfast every morning!"
"Mary--"
"Gotta run, Mom!"
And she was out the door.
Peggy Smith had worked long and hard to get her name to the top of the substitute teacher list at Whitmore High School. They had called her so late today that she was tempted to say no. However, her family, as always, needed the extra income. She also didn't want to lose her spot on the list. So, on the iciest day so far this winter, she marched out into the snow armed with her trusty ice scraper.
She was so frantic about her hastily rearranged morning that when the tall Asian woman in the leather longcoat came up to her and asked if she could use some help, it never occurred to her to wonder just why would a stranger be walking through her neighborhood on an icy weekday morning at 6:30am. The ladies soon transformed the large snowdrift in the middle of the driveway into an old, but serviceable, car. The tall woman smiled warmly and made pleasant small talk. She inquired about Peggy's career as a substitute teacher at Whitmore.
When the car was ice free, Peggy started the engine and stood with the door open to chat while the engine warmed. The last thing she felt before blacking out was a rough shove into the car from behind, hitting her head on something.
She never made it to school that day.
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