Page 7 of Tainted Love

My birth mom was too young to take care of me. They have a few pictures of her; I can look at them if I’m ever sad. She was very young and alone and couldn’t take care of me, so she made the best choice she could. I’m happy with the family I have, and I’m happy to help other kids, especially the little ones. I’m excited to tell Michael about the baby. Maybe he’ll want to come over and play while the baby is here.

The following day, I tuck his favorite candy bar into my backpack, prepared to face any consequences of losing our bet. Kindergarten is almost over, and I’ve gotten to know my best friend very well. He’ll be gloating over his win for a long time.

But as the school day goes on, there’s no sign of Michael. It’s strange because neither of us has ever missed a school day. He’s been tardy a few times due to his dad’s oversleeping, but this is the first time either of us has been absent. I worry that he might be sick. As much as I enjoy spending time with my other friends, not seeing Michael today still fills me with sadness. His candy bar melts in my backpack, and I go home feeling not quite like myself.

I arrive at school the next day hoping to see Michael, but first, I have to stop by the office to bring them a note.

I stand patiently, my small body barely reaching the top of the counter. On my tiptoes, I strain to catch a glimpse of the secretary while clutching a yellow note from my mother, who gave me strict instructions to deliver it this morning.

I have a dentist appointment later today. It’s not the most exciting thing in the world, but it does mean I get to leave school early. As is the tradition in my house, any doctor or dentist appointment is always followed by a trip to McDonald’s. The thought of golden fries and crisp nuggets somehow makes it better.

Part of me wishes I could stay at school and play with Michael since he was absent yesterday, but I’m not sure if he’ll be here today either. I hope so, but so many kids have been getting sick since school started. My mom says it’s a normal part of being “tiny incubators in tennis shoes.”

But if he’s here, then I can tell him about the baby who’s coming to stay with us. His name is Dustin, and I can’t wait to hold him and feed him. Hopefully, Michael will want to come over and help me take care of Dustin.

Ugh. The silence in this office is starting to grate on my nerves. I fidget restlessly, chewing on my lip and shifting my weight from one foot to another. “Hello?” I call out into the emptiness, but only the echoes of my voice answer me. Where in the world is everyone? Maybe they all got eaten by zombies?

I silently tiptoe past the front desk, scanning the area for any signs of life. As I near the mail cubbies, I hear hushed voices and freeze in place. Peering around the corner, I see my teacher and a teacher I don’t recognize talking, both clutching steaming cups of morning coffee.

“Can you believe what happened with the Tazman family?” Mrs. Jones says to the woman wearing ugly yellow pants, her voice carrying through the area. Is she talking about Michael? The sound of his name suddenly makes my heart race and pound in my ears. I want it to slow down to hear what they’re saying.

“It’s just terrible.” The other woman sighs.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, though,” Mrs. Jones responds gravely. My curiosity peaks, and I strain to listen more closely to their conversation.

Mrs. Yellow Pant’s voice is full of sympathy as she speaks, her eyes focused on the coffee in her hands.

What happened? For the love of french fries, woman, be more specific!

“I hope they receive the support they desperately need,” Mrs. Jones replies.

“Especially Brian. He’s in my class, and he’s a real handful. It’s clear he struggles with anger and authority.”

Michael’s brother?

“I doubt it’s going to get any better. They’re already missing their mother, and now their father is probably going away for a long time.” Mrs. Jones sighs, her voice laced with sadness.

Going away where? Where is he going? Is Michael going somewhere?

My heart sinks at the realization that this must be why he wasn’t at school yesterday. Did his dad die? What happened to him?

A gentle tap on my shoulder startles me, and I jump in surprise, letting out a small squeak. Standing before me is the secretary, holding a donut in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

“Can I assist you with something?” Her question catches me off guard, and I tremble as I meet her gaze. She crouches to my level, placing her donut on top of her papers on the ground. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” Her concern is evident in her tone. “You don’t look well.”

I shake my head frantically, gripping the note so tightly that it crumples into a ball.

“You’re flushed,” she remarks, noting my red cheeks and pale complexion. “Do you need to see the nurse?”

I shake my head again and find my voice. “I’d like to go home. I’m feeling sick,” I manage to choke out. And it’s not a lie—in just the past ten minutes, a wave of nausea has overcome me.

I wait anxiously in the stark, white nurse’s office for an eternity. The clock on the wall ticks away each second with agonizing slowness. Finally, after what feels like hours, the secretary shuffles in and places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Sascha, your mom is here,” she says softly.

I slide off the examination table and sling my backpack over my shoulder. My legs feel heavy like lead as I make my way to the door, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know something terrible has happened, and all I can think about is Michael and how he’s doing. The uncertainty and helplessness are tearing me apart.

Tears spring to my eyes when I see my mom crouched down, waiting for me outside the office. She wraps her arms around me tightly. “Hi, Bug. Let’s go home.”