Nobel Genes by Rune Michaels

Author:Rune Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing
Published: 2010-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

9

I made another mistake.

I should have made sure she had plenty of paint.

One day when I return from school some of the empty paint cans are outside the door, thrown there with force, splashing the few drops of remaining paint on the ground. Mom must have opened the front door. That hasn’t happened in a long time.

I smell alcohol as soon as I step into the house, a sort of lingering smell underneath the usual paint fumes, and I only notice it because I suspected.

Mom has run out of paint, and I have a terrible feeling I know what that means—she has had time to think. She has remembered the website I showed her; she has remembered that my Nobel dad doesn’t exist.

I haven’t had to worry about the pills for a long time, but now I rush to the bathroom, and I don’t even need to count. The cabinets are open and nothing’s there, and I run to the kitchen and see the piles of remaining pills on the table.

Her bedroom. She’s lying in bed, still and pale. She’s breathing, but it doesn’t matter how fast my heart is beating or how much I want her to wake up, her eyes don’t open. It doesn’t matter how much I shake her and slap her face—I hate doing that—she won’t wake up, even when I throw a glassful of cold water on her face.

I grab the phone from the bedside table and make the call, and this time I leave her and sit in my room while I wait. I know I should sit with my mom, I should hold her hand and talk to her, will her out of the drug-death, but I can’t. This time the guilt is all mine, nobody else to blame, but I still hate her, because if she hadn’t done this, it wouldn’t be my fault.

I spin my globe while I listen for the ambulance. I try not to think about Mom, but instead about where in the world my dad is and if he ever thinks about my mom and me. When the ambulance arrives, I’m glad they don’t use sirens, because fewer people will notice. I open the door and point to Mom’s bedroom.

This time I stay behind when the ambulance takes my mother. I tell the crew about Drum, that he’ll be back from work soon, and they nod and leave me behind without questioning, because they’re in a hurry to save my mother’s life.

When Mom’s gone, my feelings come rushing back. First the shame of being angry at Mom, then fear of being taken away. I don’t know how much time I have before someone checks up on me, so I rush to the garage, and slam my fist hard against Drum’s door when knocking doesn’t work. Drum works at night, so he sleeps during the day.

Drum finally opens the door a crack, scowling at me. He’s wearing jeans but no shirt, and I probably woke him up, but I don’t care.

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