11 Birthdays

Chapter Eight

Hurrah! I'm awake and my alarm didn't go off! I woke up all on my own, which means it must be Saturday! Whatever happened yesterday is over and done with and I can put it behind me. It must be early because it's still dark in my room, but I'm too happy to go back to sleep. Might as well open those presents! I swing my legs off the side of the bed and bump directly into SpongeBob.

NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

I grab him, stick him back in the closet, and slam the door. I hold my breath and peer into the trash can next to my desk where I threw my costume last night.

Empty.

Maybe I dreamed the last two day and today is really my birthday? Trembling, I reach down to feel the backs of my ankles. Band-Aids on both. I sit down on my bed and begin cry. This is no dream or déjà vu. I never had psychic powers. I can finally accept that now.

Ten seconds later, my alarm beeps. I want to throw it across my room. I can't do this over again. I just can't. I crawl back into bed and throw the covers over my head. Why is every day my eleventh birthday? And why doesn't anyone else realize it? Why is this happening to me, of all people? I'm not special in any way. Well, I can touch my nose with my tongue, but that's pretty much it.

A little while later Mom comes in and asks my why I'm not up. I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "I don't feel well. My head hurts." It's not even a lie. My head does hurt from thinking so hard.

She feels my cheeks, cold from crying. "You do feel clammy."

"Maybe I have what Dad has," I say weakly.

"How do you know your father's sick? He was fine last night."

"I heard him coughing in his sleep," I say quickly. Then I cough a few times for a good measure. "I think I'd better stay home."

She shakes her head. "Don't you have gymnastics tryouts? And your party! You can't miss your own party!"

"I feel really sick, Mom. I don't mind not having the party. And let's face it, I'm not going to make the gymnastics team."

I can see her weighing the options. I focus on looking sickly.

"I won't be here to take care of you," she finally says. "And your father is useless when he's sick. Mrs. Grayson down the street will have to take you to the doctor."

Ugh, going to the doctor is worse than school. But today I'll take it. "That's okay. I like Mrs. Grayson."

Mom sighs and checks her watch. "Okay, I'll call the school and the doctor, and then I have to run." She leans down and kisses me on top of my head. "Try to have a happy birthday, sweetheart. I'll call your friends' parents from my office and let them know. We'll figure out a date to reschedule your party when I get home." She closes the door behind her and I push myself up. No school today! No more pretending I don't know that a stuffed raccoon lives at the Historical Society. No more humiliating gymnastics tryouts. No more telling myself it doesn't hurt every time I see Leo on what used to be our special day.

What a relief.

But reality returns all too fast. What am I going to do? Why is it always my birthday and never the day AFTER my birthday? I think it's time I told someone. I put on my robe and slippers and go off in search of Dad. I find him on a stool at the kitchen counter, reading his paper.

"Happy birthday, honey!" he says, reaching into his robe pocket for a tissue.

"Uh-huh. Can I talk to you?"

"Of course." He blows his nose. "How are you feeling? You must be pretty sick to want to cancel your party."

I shrug, unable to lie to him. "How 'bout you?"