Little Black Lies by Tish Cohen Read Free Book Online

tenth-grade science class. All because of an empty water bottle and a kid with lousy aim.
    â€œStudents brave enough to hurl their trash at the receptacle from as far away as you sit, Miss Black, generally have better aim. You’ll stay after class.” Mr. Nathan glared at me from the science-room blackboard where he’d just drawn a lima bean with four teensy sea-turtle flippers and written five-week-old human fetus underneath.
    Great, I thought. My mom was supposed to pick me up in front of the school after class to take me to the dentist. Isaac Walters threw the empty bottle, we all saw him. But you didn’t rat on a kid whose parents had lost their assembly-line jobs at the car-parts factory that just shut down, and who now had to share his grandparents’ house with his entire family tree.
    The bell rang and as everyone filed out, Mandy gave my shoulder a sympathetic nudge and whispered, “Nathan’s such a dick.”
    Mr. Nathan dropped a battered science book on my desk, flipped it open, and pointed at the left page, toward a faded and fully labeled illustration of a little girl fetus. A long pink umbilical cord wriggled its way out of the baby girl’s belly, dipped down into the gutter of the book, and snaked up onto the right-hand page, ultimately latching on to the uterus of a naked lady who, judging from the way she let her unborn child float all the way over to page 232, was probably not going to be much of a mother.
    â€œCopy this illustration on a blank piece of paper, color and label it. I’m going to head out for the day, so you can leave it on my desk when you’re finished,” he said.
    I lowered my head and began to draw.
    Once I had filled in the baby’s face with closed eyes, pudgy nose and heart-shaped mouth, I paused, staring at the illustration. When a baby is born, she comes out in a whoosh of amniotic fluid and blood, with umbilical cord and placenta still attached. Doctors take hold of the slippery baby and placenta, then sever the thick, flopping cord, immediately compressing the end of the stump with a plastic clamp that remains until the cord dries up and falls off, usually one to three weeks later.
    My mother hated the sight of an ugly yellowing stump and blue plastic vise on my body after I was born and dabbed it with rubbing alcohol at every diaper change to dry it up. But as badly as she wanted it gone, I refused to let go of my connection to her womb. The grisly remains of my umbilical cord didn’t fall off for a full twelve weeks, prompting the pediatrician to joke that I’d probably be the kind of kid who lives in her parents’ basement at thirty.
    I’ve always hated that story. It makes me look needy.
    Mom breezed into the classroom and pointed at her watch. Her hair was caught up in a high ponytail and she was wearing black yoga pants, white T-shirt, and white hoodie, making her look younger and more energetic than me. I didn’t like her coming right into the classroom. She’s flirty—and way too pretty for me to feel comfortable with it. It always made men in our neighborhood stop too long and smile too wide as they walked their dogs or taught their kids to ride two-wheelers in front of our house. “We don’t want to keep the dentist waiting, Sara. Let’s get moving.”
    â€œYou must be Mrs. Black,” said Mr. Nathan. “Nice to finally meet you.” He set down his jacket and briefcase as she told him to call her Tina. Suddenly the man was magnetically incapable of leaving the room.
    â€œI’ll just be a few more minutes,” I mumbled.
    Mom glanced down at my drawing. As she stared, I noticed the way the umbilical cord bulged in spots, like it might burst with pressure, then grew as narrow and limp as overcooked spaghetti. She ran her finger over the amniotic sac. “That looks great. Especially the baby’s face. She has a nice smile.”
    â€œThat’s not the baby,