Trauma Queen by Barbara Dee

Author:Barbara Dee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2011-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

Definitely Bad

“Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Mom asks, throwing her arms around me. She smells like dogs and snow and oatmeal cookies. For a second I let her squeeze me, resting my head against her down jacket.

Then I pull away. “Mom,” I say. “Were you going to tell me you called Trisha Hartley?”

“Oh! Of course I was. But we got sidetracked at dinner about the club thing.”

“And you told her about the IMs? How could you? Now she’s furious at Emma.”

“Oh, no. Is she really?”

“And Emma doesn’t want to be friends.”

“With you? She said that?” Mom looks shocked.

I nod.

“But you didn’t do anything! Is Emma blaming you?”

“It’s complicated,” I answer, shrugging. “There’s all this stuff between Emma and her mom.”

Mom rubs my cheek with her freezing hand. “Oh, baby. This is really such a shame. And so unfair to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” I say. “Unfair to me.”

And then before I figure out that it’s happening, I’m crying. Mom hugs me again, and I let her this time, even though she’s kind of missing the point about her role in all this.

Now Kennedy is standing in the doorway, without her glasses. Her eyes look enormous and pink.

“Kennie, can you give us a minute, please?” Mom says, handing me a linty tissue from her jacket pocket.

Kennedy nods. But she doesn’t go away. “Mari told you?” she asks in a small, shaky voice.

“Yes, angel. She just now told me all about Emma.”

“No, I mean about Dad.”

“Kennie,” I say in a warning voice. “I really don’t think—”

“Think what?” Mom asks quickly.

Suddenly Kennedy bursts into tears and flings herself onto my bed. I try to catch her eye to give her a look that means not now, but she’s so busy sniffling and gasping that she isn’t registering.

Mom looks at me, alarmed. “Okay. What about Dad?”

“Nothing.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve.

“Mari. What? ”

“He’s marrying Mona,” Kennedy blurts out. A string of snot is dangling from her nose, so I hand her my wet tissue.

Mom turns to me, white-faced. “So,” she murmurs. “And were you going to tell me?”

“I just found out,” I say. “Dad called, like, the minute you left—”

“And you called Emma.” She shakes her head. “I had my cell phone. You should have called me, baby.”

“I know. Except I was really mad at you.” I sniff in some drippy snot. “But I’m sorry I said all that stuff. About your performances.”

“That’s okay. I knew you didn’t mean it.” Mom sighs. “Well,” she says tiredly. “I’d say we were all due for a Chocolate Night, but it’s too cold to go out shopping again. And I ate too many of Gram’s cookies, anyway.”

“Me too,” says Kennie, hiccupping. “Besides, now my stomach hurts.”

“It does? Do you think maybe you’re going to—”

“Throw up? I don’t think so.” But she has that look she gets, so Mom puts her arm around Kennedy’s shoulders and walks her to the bathroom.

A few minutes later I hear Mom close the door to her own bedroom and make some phone calls.

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