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back stiffened. Me?
    â€œAma doesn’t have to do anything,” Dad protested. He sounded almost too tired to speak. I felt bad that he was wasting his words on me.
    â€œI can do things,” I spoke up.
    â€œYou might need her if you fall or if you can’t breathe,” Dr. Nurstrom said coldly, as he turned on another machine. Couldn’t breathe? What would I do about that?
    Joyce stepped forward and said, “Dr. Nurstrom, this is a sensitive situation. I think we all feel a little nervous about this.”
    â€œWell, you’ll have to deal with it,” the doctor shot back.
    I expected Joyce to melt into tears, but she didn’t. “Dr. Nurstrom! We are doing the best we can, and that is verywell. We’re going to have questions and fears and you’re going to have to deal with that! ” she exclaimed. Dr. Nurstrom looked at all of us one by one. He seemed a little less stern, maybe even embarrassed. “Now,” Joyce continued, more gently, “I have donuts, bagels, a mango, and orange juice for you. And eggs. What can I get you?”
    We waited for Dr. Nurstrom to storm out of the room, but instead he spun around and faced Joyce. “You got all that food for me?”
    Now Joyce looked embarrassed, and said, “Well, we’re very grateful that you’re here.”
    Dr. Nurstrom asked for a cinnamon donut, a mango, and a plain bagel.
    â€œAnd … thank you,” he added.
    And that was that.

Phyllis drove me to school on Monday, listing all the things she was going to do to make my life easier. First off, she was going to tell all my teachers about my dad.
    â€œNo, you can’t,” I said.
    â€œHeavens! Why not?” she asked.
    I had lots of reasons. What if everyone got worried about me and followed me around? I couldn’t eat backstage anymore. And they probably wouldn’t let me walk home.
    I thought of Ms. Severance disliking me even more. She would think I was trying to get out of doing homework. And what if one of the teachers made an announcement to the class, telling the other kids about my dad? This was my business.
    And then there was the guiltiest secret I had. I wasseen as a mean kid now. I had stood by while Ellen was mean to other kids. I had been silent, because I felt shy this year. I felt sad. I missed the paintings by the first graders that they used to put up in the hallways. I missed watching the third graders at recess. So I was quiet, and I let other kids think they had a problem, not me. Maybe if the kids knew my dad was sick, they would be mean back to me, as if they had been waiting for the right moment to attack.
    â€œThis has to be our secret,” I insisted. “Do you promise?”
    Phyllis said yes, but I could tell she felt very uncomfortable.
    Lenore appeared out of nowhere as I was walking up the steps to school. “I wish someone drove me to school every morning,” she panted, catching up with me. She didn’t say it nicely.
    â€œHi, Lenore,” I said. Dealing with Lenore was always so awful, especially today, when I was too worried to follow all my strategies: Avoid her if you can. If you can’t avoid her, be on guard for something mean she’s going to say. When she says something mean, don’t explode or she’ll make it worse.
    â€œI’ve been working on my report on the Pilgrims. What’s yours about?’ she asked. Before I could answer, she said, “Hey, slow down! We’re not late.”
    I gave in. I slowed down.
    â€œI’m doing a report on the first Thanksgiving,” I said.
    â€œOh, you took the easy topic,” she replied.
    I took the first Thanksgiving because John always made Thanksgiving dinner at our house. And it was always my favorite time of year. “Let us give thanks,” he would announce, “that those of us who have lost their parents can be together” — that was everyone except John — “and