Read The Clay Lion for Free Online Page B

cream
waiting if I had had the forethought to plan ahead.
    I knew Branson would go to soccer after school
even though he would not be able to play.  I had never known him to miss a
practice, regardless of his situation.  I snuck out the back door of the
building and made it to my car without being seen by any school
personnel.  On my way to the store, I considered that, without the correct
cream, there was the possibility that the rash would continue to fester and
that Branson might be out for the rest of the season.  It would devastate
him.  I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.  Sitting out the
last three weeks of the season was a small price to pay for his life.
    At the pharmacy, I was shocked and impressed by
the vast selection of creams from which I had to choose.  I pulled out my
tablet and researched which over-the-counter cream might be the best choice for
actually helping to clear up whatever it was on Branson’s leg.  As long as
I was taking away the cream that would heal the rash, I wanted to replace it
with one that might at least help to clear it up.
    After looking at dozens of pictures associated
with various skin creams, I decided to purchase a lotion used for the treatment
of psoriasis, as it most closely resembled the rash on Branson’ leg.  I
picked up three tubes and paid the pharmacist.
    “Howdy, Brooke,” he said.  “Just saw your
mom in here about an hour ago.  Must be some rash Branson has that she
sent you back out for this too!”
    I thought quickly and replied, “Oh, no sir, this
is for me.  I have a small patch of something on my back.  I’m sure
this will do the trick!”
    “Your mom know about
that?” he asked.
    “No sir.  It’s really no big deal, but thank
you,” I said, as I grabbed the bag of creams and headed for the door.
    “Take care,” he called after me.
    I hurried home, music blaring as I pulled into
the driveway.  I immediately turned down the volume when I realized my
mother’s car was parked in the garage.  I was unaware that she had planned
to take the entire day off from work instead of just the few hours for
Branson’s appointment.  I was not due home from school for at least
another hour.  She would be suspicious about why I was home already, so I
immediately starting devising a plausible explanation.  After my little
white lie to the pharmacist, I figured I was on a roll.  I smiled to
myself as I considered that time travel was going to cause me to become a
pathological liar.
    I pinched my cheeks a few times to bring out the
flush and patted some water from my water bottle on my face.  Sure enough,
my mother was happily reading at the kitchen table as I came through the door.
    She turned as I walked in, and then glanced at
the clock on the stove. 
    “Why are you home so early?  Is everything
okay?” she asked, her voice full of genuine concern.  It broke my heart to
have to lie to her, but I had to remain silent about my mission at all costs.
    “Ugh, Mom, I just feel lousy.  Maybe I’m
coming down with something.  I’m clammy and I have a horrible
headache.  I think I’m just going to go upstairs and lay down for a
while.”
    “School didn’t call to tell me you were coming
home.”
    “Yeah, I didn’t bother to go to the nurse. 
I felt so bad after calculus that I just left.  Please don’t be mad at me,
I just didn’t feel like dealing with ‘Nurse Ratched .’”
    “Okay, honey, well go lay down.  Do you
think you are going to want dinner?”
    “Maybe.  
I’ll let you know.  Also, how was Branson’s appointment?”  I asked,
fishing for information.
    “He thinks the rash is from his shin
guards.  I bought him some new ones.  Dr. White prescribed some cream
and said it should feel better in a few days,” she responded.  She
subconsciously glanced over at her purse, signaling the location of the
cream.  Getting it from her was not going to be easy.
    I headed upstairs.  I had almost three hours
before