The Right Thing by Amy Conner Page B

die of thirst.
    â€œYou doing better?” she asked. I nodded as I sipped, my face buried in the tall glass. Cool ginger bubbles popped against my flushed cheeks and inside my nose. “You looking better. Good thing—whole house turn up crazy Saturday night. When Dr. Banks carry you in here, I thought you mama gone fall out, she so overset with you being sick and all.”
    â€œReally?” I croaked. I settled back into my pillows.
    â€œChild,” Methyl Ivory said with a sigh. “I told you daddy and mama how Miz Treeby call and say you run off feeling poorly, and then when you didn’t come home—well, all’s I got to say, Annie Banks, is you mama went just ’bout out a her mind callin’ the po-lice, the neighbors, even callin’ ole Miz Banks. She was fixin’ to go look for you herself when that little gal come knocking at the back door. Look like a scairt rabbit, but she spoke right up, say you run away to her house. She say you was layin’ down sick in the Allens’ backyard and couldn’t get over the fence.” She held out her hand. “Now give me that glass. You get back to sleep.”
    That evening, after a day of paregoric-induced drowse and slumber, my mother came upstairs with some cream of tomato soup for me. Placing the steaming teacup on my bedside table, she fluffed my pillows so I could sit up. She shook the glass thermometer, and when I’d put it under my tongue, my mother said, “If your fever’s down, I think you might have some company tomorrow.”
    â€œCompany?” I said suspiciously, the word muffled around the thermometer. I was feeling grumpy, although the soup smelled really good.
    â€œClose your mouth and keep that under your tongue. Yes, I was thinking of Starr,” my mother said.
    I nearly bit the thermometer in two.
    â€œNot Lisa,” she said. “Not after Saturday. Lollie was horrified when you told her you had pellagra—honestly, Annie, what gets into you?—and I thought Jerome Treeby’s head was going to explode, he was so angry. He acted as though you’d set the house on fire instead of just breaking that ugly old umbrella stand. I guess we’ll have to pay for another one, although where we’ll find one to match it I can’t imagine.”
    At the mention of the Treebys, I was suddenly queasy. What else might they have said to my mother? Did she know about the study? My anxiety must have showed in my face, for she stroked my hair.
    â€œOh, Annie.” My mother sighed. “I don’t know why you didn’t come home, but I don’t want you to run away.” Her eyes were misty. “Never think I don’t love you with all my heart, because I do. A long time ago, I had a friend just like Starr Dukes.” She fished in her skirt pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Little girls need friends. Even though she’s not the sort of child that I’d choose for you, still . . . I think you could see her every so often.” Taking the thermometer from under my tongue, she read it in the light. “One hundred and some change. That’s good news. Your fever’s down.”
    I took a cautious sip of my soup. “What about Grandmother Banks?” I asked. “She says Starr’s trash.”
    â€œThen you’ll play with trash. Besides, Starr said she’d already had the mumps, so you won’t be infecting anybody else. Here. Have some more of this soup.”

C HAPTER 5
    â€œS o,” Starr says, “this town being what it is, you must have heard all about me and my situation since before I ran into you.” She switches on one of the ostrich-egg bedside lamps, and in its muted glow the room’s atmosphere softens to a kinder, gentler grisly theme park. “I mean, you came straight here, didn’t even have to ask where I was living.”
    â€œI heard some of it,” I venture, feeling my way