Every Single Second by Tricia Springstubb Read Free Book Online

open, not expecting an answer.

BREAKDOWN
    then
    I n fourth grade, they had weekly vocabulary words. Yearn was one of Nella’s favorites. It made her think of birds at twilight, a princess gazing sadly out her window, a silver bell in the distance.
    That year they learned another word, not on the vocabulary lists. In Nella’s mind, this word appeared like a neon sign. POPULAR .
    Popular. Suddenly, mysteriously, certain girls were. Life was once an art project covered with glitter, but that year some invisible giant picked it up and shook it till most of the glitter came loose and fell on the floor. What was left—thepopular girls—stuck together in a hard, sparkly mass.
    This was the year Mr. DeMarco tried to re-up, but the army wouldn’t take him. On the surface, nothing changed. Angela came to school with her hair in the same neat braids, and Mr. DeMarco sat outside the smoke shop, chewing a cigar and spitting on the sidewalk. Sometimes he got a job pouring concrete or laying asphalt, but it never lasted more than a week or two.
    One night when Angela slept over (she was still allowed to sleep over, though that would soon change), she told Nella that she didn’t know where her mother was.
    “She said she was going to stay with Aunt Ginny in Pittsburgh, but Anthony called, and Aunt Ginny said she’s not there.”
    Nella sat up. Adults lied—she knew that much by now. But not mothers. “Maybe she got lost. Maybe something happened to her!”
    Angela pulled her sleeping bag up to her chin. “She doesn’t want my father to find her.”
    “What?”
    “She . . .” Angela spoke to the ceiling. “Did you ever hear of a breakdown?”
    Nella had, but with cars, not people.
    “Anyway,” Angela told the ceiling, “we don’t know where she is.”
    Nella lay back down and held still, like their neighbor’s dog did during thunderstorms. Like if he stayed perfectly motionless, the storm monster wouldn’t notice him.
    “Can’t Anthony go find her?” she whispered.
    “He won’t. He hates her.”
    “Oh.”
    Angela’s face was suddenly close. Too close.
    “My father killed people.”
    Nella drew back.
    “He was a soldier!” Angela said. “He had to.”
    It was true, Nella knew. But her brain spun. How did he do it? With a gun or a knife or a bomb? Did the people cry and plead for their lives, but he killed them anyway? “Thou shalt not kill” was the most obvious commandment, like did God even have to say it? Just stepping on a bug, feeling its body crush and flatten beneath your foot, felt wrong.
    “It was a war,” Angela said.
    “I know,” Nella whispered.
    “He never, ever talks about it. But my mother told us. He saw his best buddy die. Papa was right there trying to save him but it was too late.”
    (Too late. Years later, Nella would decide these were life’s cruelest words.)
    “My mother said he saw kids die too.”
    Kids.
    “She said he lost himself over there. She said she couldn’t find him anymore.”
    Nella’s hands were sweating, and a disgusting taste rose in the back of her mouth.
    “But . . . ,” she said. “But he wanted to go back into the army. He must like it, or else why would he go back?”
    As soon as she said it, Nella knew it was the wrong question. Angela rolled over and wouldn’t talk anymore. Nella scooched her sleeping bag away till no part of it touched Angela’s.
    Thank you, God. Thank you for my father, who would never hurt another human being. Thank you for my family that is normal and good and not like hers.
    They were still secret sisters, but now Nella heard other girls whispering: Angela’s braids were dumb. She smelled like cigars. Her parents were whack jobs. Nella didn’t know what to do. She pretended not to hear.
    Anthony did the shopping, cooking, and laundry, all the things Mrs. DeMarco once did, plus he got an after-school job. He had no time for friends or sports or other teenage stuff. If he managed to keep any money, he spent it on