Chapter 2: Avoidance and Ice Water

It’s 5 a.m.—two and a half hours before I usually left for school. The house was silent except for the low hum of the heater, working overtime to fight the bite of Michigan winter.

Emily is my neighbor. We grew up together, childhood friends.

Our parents are close, and ever since elementary school, Emily and I always attended the same schools, the same classes. She lived two houses down—the kind of girl who ran barefoot through sprinklers and traded Pokémon cards on the porch.

Our parents even asked me to look after her. The Carter and Franklin families practically shared a backyard.

The two of us always went to and from school together.

No matter what, I can’t go out with her today. The path we’d always walked together would be a trap, and I wasn’t going to play the hero this time.

I got up decisively and went to the bathroom.

In the cold December winter, I took an ice-cold shower for an hour. The freezing water numbed my skin, calming my nerves and making my teeth chatter. It was reckless, but I needed something—anything—to keep myself from leaving the house.

By six o’clock, I was already running a fever. My forehead burned, my vision blurred at the edges, but I forced myself to stay upright. I watched the sun rise through the frosted glass, the world outside painted gold and blue.

At seven, Mom pushed open my bedroom door, calling me to get up for breakfast and school. My fever hadn’t gone down. She flicked on the light, her voice warm and teasing, 'Hey sleepyhead, if you don’t get up, I’m eating your pancakes myself.' She paused when she saw me shivering, a look of worry crossing her face.

'Mom, can I skip school today?' I rasped. My throat felt like sandpaper.

'Oh honey, how’d you get sick all of a sudden? Who’d make you go to school like this?' She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, frowning. 'You’re burning up.'

'Alright, I’ll call your teacher and ask for a day off.'

'Come on, your dad and I will take you to the hospital now.'

Dad, who was eating at the table, heard Mom and quickly finished his meal. He came rushing down the hall, already shrugging on his worn work jacket.

Then he picked me up and carried me downstairs. I protested that I could walk, but he wouldn’t hear it—Dad always acted tough, but deep down, he was the biggest softie in the family.

Clutching my phone tightly, I only relaxed and fell asleep after seeing that person reply to my message. I kept rereading Sarah’s reply—short, polite, but kind. My eyelids finally grew heavy, the pain dulled by fever and relief.