Since You Left Me by Allen Zadoff Read Free Book Online Page B

“JJ!” her friend called her.
    I walked away, silently hating her, actively planning her demise. I wanted to see Judi Jacobs suffer. I wantedher to be ashamed in front of the entire class.
    I went home and studied extra hard that night, memorizing every word, making sure I knew the pronunciation and the origin, paying special attention to silent letters that might trip me up.
    I woke up the next morning feeling strong and happy, ready to crush her in the spelling bee.
    How could I have known that was the beginning of the end?

“This is a trial, but it will pass.”
    That’s what the dean says after cornering Herschel and me in the hall. I tell him things have been touch and go with my mom. He stands there looking at me and shaking his head, and I have to pretend I’m really upset. I’m not good at acting, but luckily I’ve got plenty of real things to be upset about. Most of them female.
    “I could barely sleep last night,” the dean says. “Your mother wasn’t answering her phone.”
    Herschel gives me a look. It’s too much for me. The lying, the silent scorn from Herschel, everyone treating me so nicely.
    “I have to tell you something, dean,” I say.
    “Aaron,” he says. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been hard on you this year. The academic probation. The family contract with your mother. You think I’m out to get you, I know, but it’s not the truth. It’s because I believe in you. In your potential.”
    I step back, subtly shrugging off his hand.
    “I appreciate that, sir,” I say.
    “Now this has happened,” the dean says. “I don’t want you to worry so much about school. Let us carry you for a while.”
    Being carried. It sounds nice. I think of a prince being held aloft on a platform covered with soft pillows. Prince Sanskrit.
    Herschel clears his throat.
    “You wanted to tell me something?” the dean says.
    “No. I mean, there’s nothing to tell yet. We’re still waiting to hear from the doctor,” I say.
    “Is she at Cedars?” the dean says. “I’d like to come by and offer my support.”
    It didn’t occur to me that people would want to visit her. I hadn’t thought that far in advance. Now I need a story that will keep them away.
    “She was at a yoga conference in Orange County when it happened,” I say.
    Orange County. The foreign land thirty miles south of us.
    The dean whistles through his teeth. No way he wants to drive to Orange County. At least that’s what I’m hoping.
    “How terrible,” the dean says. “When will she be back?”
    “That’s the problem,” I say. “We’re trying to get herhome, but she can’t be moved yet. I think they’re going to rehabilitate her down there.”
    “That will be expensive,” the dean says.
    I lower my head. I’m learning that if I don’t have a good answer, I can just look at the ground. This doesn’t work under normal circumstances—in class, for instance, when a teacher asks me a question—but during a tragedy, people don’t seem to mind it.
    “It’s going to be okay,” the dean says.
    “I know it will,” I say, my head still down.
    “In the meantime, we’d like to send a basket. Something to let her know the community is thinking about her.”
    “You could send it to the house. I’ll make sure she gets it,” I say. And then I add, “Mom loves chocolate.”
    Which is an outright lie. Mom doesn’t eat sugar at all. But if we’re going to start getting gift baskets, why not go for something good?
    “That’s what we’ll do,” the dean says. His voice turns hyperserious: “If you need anything. Absolutely anything. Do not hesitate.”
    I’m having bad thoughts, like using the situation to get out of doing homework, but I squelch the idea. This is going to blow up in my face at some point. Why make it worse?
    “I will not hesitate,” I say, as seriously as I can.
    “Don’t.”
    “I won’t.”
    “Thatta boy,” he says, and he goes down the hall.
    Herschel shakes his head.