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with Type One diabetes—the kind these girls have—your body doesn’t make it. So you have to get it from a shot.
    â€œIt’s also important to eat plenty of fruits and vegetables and move your body every day. But we should do that whether we have diabetes or not, right?”
    I rolled my eyes.
    Here we go.
    â€œYes, Officer HP,” I groaned, after calling Mama the short version of “Officer Health Police”—the nickname I gave her because sometimes she just went too far about health stuff.

    Mama laughed a little at the HP thing—and then she stuck a needle in Loren’s thigh!
    Double ouch!
    How come that girl’s not screaming?
    I paid close attention while Mama went through the same routine with Ebony and Shantay.
    â€œOkay, ladies, you’re all set. Breakfast trays’ll be coming around in a little while. Enjoy your story. Bye!”
    â€œBye, Nurse Alima!” said the girls.
    â€œBye, Mama.”
    Finally .
    I wanted to ask the girls the burning question that I couldn’t ask them with my mother in the room.
    â€œTaneesha—” Mama said, turning back just before she went through the doorway, “later I’ll take you on a tour of the hospital. Then you can help me tidy the nurse’s station.”
    â€œEven here I got chores?” I asked, slumping my back against my chair.
    â€œâ€™Fraid so, sweetie.” She had the nerve to smile. “Oh, and I’ll be bringing by more books in a minute. I meant to give them to you this morning, but things got kind of backed up. Thanks,
honey.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” I mumbled.
    Like I need extra chores.
    My mother passed through the doorway and walked out of sight.
    I leaned forward in my chair to ask the girls my scorching question: “Doesn’t it hurt to get those shots?”
    â€œA little,” shrugged Ebony. “But I’m used to it.”
    â€œYeah, me too. I get ’em three times everyday,” said Shantay.
    â€œOnly two times for me,” said Loren.
    Now that frightened me. As far as I was concerned, even one shot a year was too many.
    â€œWow. You girls are brave. I hate shots, but you act like it’s nothing.”
    The girls didn’t seem so babyish anymore.
    Now everything seemed real important. I wanted to make the day extra special for them. I straightened my back and sat taller in my chair.
    â€œOkay, where were we?”
    â€œThe party! The party!” squealed Ebony, bobbing up and down on her mattress.
    â€œWatch it, Ebony. Remember?”
    â€œOkay,” she said, in mid-bounce. “I’ll stop.”

    â€œRight. Okay. Here goes.”
    I opened one of the books on my lap and read: “Kendra couldn’t wait. She peeked out from under her red blanket. What surprise would she see?”
    I made sure I enunciated the way Mr. Alvarez always told us to do. I said the t’s in couldn’t , wait , and blanket jusT righT.
    Too bad I couldn’t have frozen that moment—a moment when everything was okay, not terrible—and thawed it out when I needed it.

CHAPTER 7
    NO PARENTS HOME
    L ater, after school hours, Carli and I studied together as usual. I had changed out of my scratchy, wool outfit into jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and my lavender bunny slippers.
    My mother had gone back to Ontario after she dropped me off at home so I could start my homework. I’d wanted to get going on it and I couldn’t at the hospital because I needed a program that was on my computer.
    When Mama and I had pulled into our driveway in her dark blue minivan, we’d seen Mr. Flanagan and Carli sitting in his green car, parked in front of our house on Rosebush Road, waiting
for us. Like my mother, Carli’s father had to go back to work for a few hours after he’d kept Carli with him most of the day.
    When Carli and I had taken off our coats in my house that afternoon, I’d noticed that, apparently,