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I unscrew the cap and place it on the sink top. Trace the bottle’s lip with my pinky finger.
A knock at the door startles me and I yelp, turning toward the door so awkwardly that I knock the bottle into the sink with my elbow. All of the Sprodka bubbles down the drain.
“Fuck,”I say, watching it go.
“Bella? Everything okay? You’ve been in there a long time.”
Why does she have to be soniceall the time?
“Jesus,” I hiss. “Can I have some privacy. Is that a crime?”
Silence.
Then Vanessa’s soft footsteps on the carpet going into my dad’s bedroom. The door closes.
The bottle is on its side in the sink, empty. I turn on the water, erasing the tiny remaining bubbles.
I guess that takes care of that.
It only takes a split second for me to reach into the cabinet below the sink, grab the NyQuil, and take a few giant slugs. When I look back at myself in the mirror, there’s a small red drop at the corner of my mouth. It looks like blood.
I lick it off and turn out the light.
Monday
In art, I findmy drawing in the file drawer and grab some supplies and set up at my easel. My drawing is a tree, which Cherie says is boring, and I agree, but I sort of like it, or the act ofdoingit, anyway, because I get lost adding branches and leaves and it calms me down.
From the front of the room, Ms. Green calls to me, Cherie, Lemon, and Dawn. Cherie looks at me and I shrug, likeI don’t know.
Ms. Green is wearing some fabulous, swingy silver earrings today that reach almost down to her shoulders. She’s checking her laptop.
“Guys, I don’t have your project for your presentation yet. You were supposed to submit it to me yesterday, since you’re presenting tomorrow. I have the written paper, and thank you for turning that in, Dawn, but not the PowerPoint. What gives?”
My face immediately flames up. “No,” I say. “That can’t be. I submitted it last night.”
Cherie says,“Bella.”
“Bella was doing it,” Lemon says. “Aw, man. Bella, dude.”
I run to my backpack and dig out my laptop and run back to Ms. Green. I slide it on her desk, tapping away to get to our class submission site. “No,” I say. “Look, right here.”
But on my screen, the page from last night just says,Your session has been timed out due to inactivity.
Oh god. I forgot to check it before I went to bed. I never turned off my laptop. I forgot. And it didn’t load.
I lick my lips, avoiding everyone’s eyes. I had that NyQuil, but just enough to make me drowsy. That wasn’t the reason. It wasn’t. “My dad’s Wi-Fi is really bad,” I start, but Ms. Green cuts me off with a stern look.
“I’ve already given you an extension. It doesn’t seem fair to allow you more time,” she says. “You can resubmit today, but I’m knocking a full grade off.”
“No,” I say, my voice desperate. “No, that’s not fair. Sometimes my dad’s Wi-Fi is wonky and it takes forever to send. And I had to work a double. Please.”
“Wow, this is just perfect. Thanks a lot, Bella,” Cherie says, her voice hard. “I really needed a good grade.”
Dawn is quiet.
Lemon shrugs. “Not much we can do now, you guys. Even a B or a C works for me.” He goes back to his easel.
I start tapping furiously. The circle spins and then stops.Submittedappears on the screen. “There,” I say. “You have it. Youhaveit.”
