Reluctantly Alice by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Author:Phyllis Reynolds Naylor [Naylor, Phyllis Reynolds]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, GR
ISBN: 9780689316814
Goodreads: 3201130
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

9

MOTHER ALICE

ON WEDNESDAY, LESTER WAS REALLY SICK. I went over to Pamela’s for a couple hours after school, and when I got home, Lester was lying on the couch, one arm dangling off the side, his fingers curled on the rug.

“You cooking tonight or am I?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, I walked over to see if he was breathing.

“Pizza,” I said in his ear. “Hot pepperoni pizza dripping with cheese.”

His back was moving up and down, but he still didn’t open his eyes.

“Ice cold Coca-Cola,” I said, six inches from his face.

He didn’t budge.

“Marilyn in a bikini.”

When he gave no sign that he was even conscious, I put one hand on his forehead. It was warm as cocoa.

For the first time in my life, I was worried about Lester. Really worried, I mean. He wasn’t sick very often, and then it was usually only a cold. I guess I figured that because he was eight years older than me, he could take care of himself. Now he couldn’t even open his eyes.

I shook his arm. “Lester? You okay?”

“Unngghh,” he said finally, his mouth half buried in the couch cushion.

“Les,” I said, “you’re burning up.”

He licked at his lips. I kept pestering him, shaking his arm until he finally opened one eye.

“Should I call Dad? You’re really sick.”

He rolled over on his side and put one hand on his throat. “It’s sore,” he said.

“You ought to be in bed,” I told him.

He tried to sit up, then fell back. “I’ve got a date with Marilyn. What time is it?”

“Time for you to see a doctor, Les. I’m worried. Feel your head!”

“I’m okay,” he said, but his voice was raspy. “Go call the cleaner’s, will you, and see if my shirts came back?”

I went to the phone and called Dad. He said he’d be home in fifteen minutes, not to let Lester out of the house, and that he didn’t have the brains of a cocker spaniel.

I imagined having to put my bicycle chain around one of Lester’s ankles and padlock him to the sofa, but it wasn’t necessary. When I came back in the room, he was on his stomach again, eyes closed, and didn’t even speak.

When Dad came home, Lester’s forehead felt even hotter.

“Help me get him on his feet and out to the car, Al,” Dad said. “I’m going to drive him to the emergency room at Holy Cross.”

We pulled Lester into a sitting position, then Dad knelt down and put one of Lester’s arms around his neck, hoisting him up on his feet. I braced his other side. I felt like a sandbag holding back the Mississippi. We sort of dragged Les out the front door, down the steps, and plopped him in the backseat of the car.

Lester opened his eyes halfway. “You get my shirts, Al?” he asked.

“Les, you’re going to the hospital,” Dad said. “Al, call Marilyn and tell her Lester’s sick and can’t possibly take her out. I’ll call you from the emergency room as soon as we know what’s what.

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