The Education of Ivy Blake by Ellen Airgood Read Free Book Online

O’Reilly Street. “I’ll get you another one.”
    Ivy had no idea how to respond.
    Nothing could fix the wrongness of what her mom had done. Nothing could change her sudden fury at Zoe, her hand grabbing Ivy’s sketchbook—which was
hers,
a part of her, a gift and a quarter full of writing and drawing and the start of a story she was trying to write about an orphan girl named Heather Lake—and flinging it at the wall.
    But at the same time, her mom had never said
I’m sorry
to Ivy before. The words were like some strange creature from the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean.

Ivy didn’t go to school the next morning. She didn’t even ask her mom if she could stay home, she just did it. Her mom stayed in bed until almost noon, and when she got up, Ivy said, “I didn’t feel good,” and picked up her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and carried it to her room.
    She didn’t go to school Friday, either. She watched television until her mom got up. Then she went into her room until her mom left for work. Her mom hardly spoke to her. Since that apology and Ivy’s nonresponse, her silence had become full of injury, like Ivy was the one who’d done something mean instead of the other way around.
    For the first time ever, Ivy didn’t try to smooth things out between them.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Friday afternoon Ivy realized there was no way she could go to Prairie’s house for the weekend. At three fifteen she went out on the front step with her cell phone.
    â€œI’m sick,” she said. “I can’t come this weekend.”
    There was a surprised silence. Then Prairie said, “Oh. Okay. Well, but—I could bring you ginger ale or something instead of going to the creamery. I could even bring one of those coloring books you like—”
    â€œThey’re not
coloring
books.”
    â€œWell, design books, whatever, the ones they have at the art store—”
    Ivy grimaced, sorry for snapping. “They’re expensive though.”
    â€œYeah, but I want to. So you’ll have something to do. Being sick is so boring.”
    â€œI know, thank you, but, you’d better not.” Ivy tried to sound grateful but really she only wanted the conversation to be over. “I think I’m contagious. I’ve been throwing up. I don’t even feel good enough to read or draw or anything. All I want to do is sleep.”
    There was another deep silence. It was as if Prairie knew she was lying, though Ivy didn’t know how she could’ve. Finally Prairie said, “Um, sure. Okay. I’ll see you next weekend, then. Get better. Feel better.”
    â€œI will. Thanks.” Ivy made her voice sound weary, which wasn’t hard.
    She went inside and turned the television on. She kicked the couch on her way past, even though it hadn’t done anything but give her a place to sit. She hurt her toe doing it.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Her mom drank a cup of coffee while Ivy stared at the toaster waiting for a piece of bread to toast Saturday morning. Her mom was subbing for Lindsey and working a double shift, so she was up before usual. The toast popped up and Ivy took it to the couch.
    Ten minutes later her mom was by the door shoving her feet into her clogs. She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Don’t leave every light in the house on when you go to bed tonight. Heat up a can of that soup that’s in the cupboard or something.”
    â€œOkay.” Ivy gazed at the TV. Her mother banged out the door.
    Ivy glared at the television and then turned it off. In her heart, she hoped the car would stop, turn, and screech back down the street, that her mom would barge in and yell, “Hey, get yourself up off that couch and do some homework or something, and what’s this about you staying here this weekend? You never stay here on the weekend for one thing, and I have to work for another.