The Adoration of Jenna Fox Read Online Free PDF Page B

needed help.
That's all I wanted —"
    I hear a strange noise. A sob?
    "Claire."
    "Please," Mother says. Her voice is
soft now. Almost a whisper.
    "Claire, you can't keep her hidden from
the world. She wants a life. Isn't that what this was all about?"
    "It's not that easy. It could be
dangerous."
    "Walking across the street can be
dangerous, but thousands of people do it every day."
    "I don't mean for her. There are others to
consider."
    "Oh. Them." Lily's voice is mocking.
Mother doesn't respond. The conversation seems to be over. I hear dishes
clatter and then a chair scraping across the floor. Silence threads through the
house like a lace pulling tight, and then I finally hear the scraping of
another chair and the sound of Lily sighing herself into place. "You know
I don't care one way or another. I said goodbye eighteen months ago. You can
send her back to Boston as far as I'm concerned, but as I see it, you made a
decision. Right or wrong, it's done. Now you have to move on. Are you her
keeper or her mother?"
    I hear a choking sound, and then an almost
inaudible "I don't know."
    Silence follows. No dishes. No chairs. No
voices. No bending. Mother is done. So is Lily. Lily, the last person I
expected to argue for me. At least I think that's what she did. But she would
be just as happy if I were three thousand miles away in Boston. Probably
happier. I don't understand. I only know I will not be going to school. Claire
said so.
    Claire.
    I remember now.
    I didn't call her Mother. I called her Claire.
I am certain of it. I finish the ascent of the stairs. I go to my room. Claire
told me. I think I hate her.
     
     
    Jenna Fox / Year Ten
    I know the meaning, but I check again to be
sure.
     
    hate v. 1. Intense dislike,
extreme aversion or hostility. 2. To dislike passionately. 3. To detest.
     
    There is a better word for Mother. Aggravating, maybe.
    But I think Lily is wrong. She does hate me.
Her aversion is extreme. She nearly shakes me with her constant sideways
glances. She hasn't spoken more than four words to me in as many days, but
since she's been out in the greenhouse from dawn until dusk, it has been easy
to avoid me. Our worlds only intersect briefly in the morning when the three of
us sit at the kitchen table and in the evening when we return there. I have
been in my room watching discs. Mother asked me to. Her desperation for me to
be who I was has intensified. As the Cotswold sees improvement, workers coming
and going and restoring, it is like she expects to see the same measure of
improvement in me. Restored shingles. Restored flooring. Restored Jenna.
    I don't want restoration. I want a life. Now. I
want to move on. Those were Lily's words. It is ironic that her words should
become my own.
    But I watch the discs.
    Because Mother told me to.
    I am halfway through Year Ten of Jenna Fox. I
see a pretty girl. Her blond silky hair wags in a ponytail across her back. I
have already seen her at diving lessons, another ballet recital, practicing
piano, and now I see her running across a field kicking a soccer ball. She is
impossibly busy. Her life is so full I can hardly take it in, the complete
opposite of the empty-life Jenna I am now.
    She kicks the ball to a teammate, who in turn
kicks the ball into the goal. A horn sounds. Fists fly into the air along with
shouts. Teammates hug and lift one another, and Jenna is in the midst of it
all. I hear Father and Mother, unseen behind the camera, cheering and finally
calling me over. I run to them. I acknowledge their congratulations. I smile. I
toss my head back to call to a friend, and I notice something for the first
time. A thin red line just under my chin.
    "Pause," I blurt out. "Back.
Pause." The disc player follows my commands. I look closer at the still
picture. "Zoom." The thin red line becomes what I suspected. A scar.
    I walk to my bathroom mirror and tilt my face
back. I run my fingertips up the length of my throat. I feel. I search.
    There is no scar.
    It's