The Adoration of Jenna Fox (Jenna Fox Chronicles 1)

The bedroom opens into a large arched dressing room that connects with a closet that connects with another smaller closet that has a small door at the back, which I can’t open. It is an odd zigzag tunneling arrangement. Was my room in Boston like this? Four shirts and four pairs of pants hang in the first closet. All of them are blue. Below them are two pairs of shoes. Nothing is in the second closet. I run my hands along the walls and wonder at the emptiness.

I look out my window. Across our yard and the pond, I see curious Mr Bender, a mere speck in the distance. He appears to be squatting, looking at something on the ground. He moves a few steps forward and disappears from view, hidden by the edge of a eucalyptus grove that borders both our properties. I turn back to my room.

A wooden chair.

A bare desk.

A plain bed.

So little. Is this all Jenna Fox adds up to?

A Question I Will Never Ask Mother:

Did I have friends?

I was sick for over a year and yet there is not a single card, letter, balloon, or wilted bouquet of flowers in my room.

The Netbook never buzzes for me.

Not even an old classmate’s simple inquiry.

I may not remember everything, but I know there should be these things.

Something.

I know when someone is sick that people check on her.

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nbsp; What kind of person was Jenna Fox that she didn’t have any friends?

Was she someone I even want to remember?

Everyone should have at least one friend.

More

I hear Lily humming. My feet fumble like they have a will of their own, but I try to control them so she won’t hear me. I lean close to the wall and peek into the kitchen. Her back is to me. She spends most of her time in the kitchen preparing elaborate dishes. She used to be chief of internal medicine at Boston University Hospital. Father was a resident under her. That is how he met Mother. Lily gave it up. I don’t know why. Now her passions are gardening and cooking. It seems that everyone in this house is reinventing themselves and no one is who they once were.

When she is not in the kitchen cooking, she is out in the greenhouse getting it in order. I can’t eat her foods, and I wonder if that is part of the reason she doesn’t like me. She clanks pots and then turns on the faucet. I make my move for the front door.

The hinges on the heavy wooden door squeak when I exit, but she doesn’t follow. The sound blends with the clanking pots and rushing water. I have been no farther than the front steps of the house, except for once when it was dark and Mother took me for a short walk to Lily’s greenhouse. Mother told me from the start that I must stay close. She is afraid I will get lost.

Lost adj. 1. No longer known. 2. Unable to find the way. 3. Ruined or destroyed.

I’m afraid I already am.

The noon sun is bright. It hurts my eyes. I ease the door shut so Lily won’t hear, and I hurry across the lawn. I won’t go far. I will keep the house in sight. Careful. The word comes again, like a hedge in front of me, but pushing from behind, too. I pass the chimney of the fireplace in the living room. Its top bricks have tumbled to the ground and weeds almost obscure them. Bright green lichens creep up the remaining bricks. I walk around the far side of the garage so Lily won’t see me. Several of the windows are boarded up, and a whole section of shingles is missing from the roof. Money doesn’t seem to be a problem for Mother. I wonder why, in over a year of my being in a coma, she didn’t have time to make the barest of repairs.

Once I am past the garage, I have a clear view of curious Mr Bender’s property, but I don’t see him. Our backyard slopes down gently toward a large pond. Its waters are still. The pond separates our yard from Mr Bender’s, and the small creek that feeds it separates our neighbors’ yards to the south, like a natural curving fence. To the north, where the pond overflows, the creek continues, disappearing into a forest of eucalyptus.

A few more steps and I see Mr Bender, sitting on his haunches, like I have seen three-year-old Jenna sit in the video discs. It is an odd stance for a grown man. He clutches something in one hand and stretches out his other to something on the ground. He is so still, it stops me.

Curious. Odd. Strange. Mother was right about him.

I walk farther down the slope until I am stopped by the pond. I start toward the forest. The trees are spindly but numerous, and only a few yards in, the pond stops and spills into the creek. The flow is barely stronger than Lily’s kitchen faucet and only a few inches deep at most. I step on dry stones that rise above the trickle to get across to the other side, and I walk up the slope of Mr Bender’s yard. I should be afraid. Mother would want me to be afraid. But other than Mother, Father, and Lily, Mr Bender is the only human being I’ve seen since I woke up. I want to speak to someone who doesn’t know me. Someone who doesn’t know Lily or Mother. Someone outside our own curious circle. He sees me coming and rises off his haunches. He is tall, much larger than I thought. I stop.

‘Hello,’ he calls.