Eighteen: 18

I want him.

When we get home, and I get out of the car, I wish so bad that he’d invite me in and keep me forever. The last thing I want to do is go home to Jason.

But he doesn’t. He takes my hand and walks me across the street. He pushes me against the brick wall just a few inches from my bedroom window and kisses me goodnight.

I go inside feeling sadder than I have a right to.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mateo didn’t call on Sunday, and if that was all that happened in the days following our ‘date’, I’d get over it. But he never showed for class on Monday. I took the bus all the way over to Gilbert only to find the doors locked. I waited, nothing. I took the bus home and texted him. Nothing.

The next day I had to show up for science class, so I took the bus out to Gilbert again, did my two hours, turned in several more open-book tests, and went to room twenty-one.

Empty and dark.

I texted again. Nothing.

So I got desperate and tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail.

What the fuck?

“Shannon?” A push on my shoulder takes my attention away from my phone and I look to see Sunday peering down at me. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name three times.”

“Oh,” I say, pointing to my ear. “I have an ear infection. It’s all clogged up.” I do too. It started on Sunday afternoon and it’s been building ever since. “I get them a lot and the drops I had left over from the last one aren’t working yet.”

“Why do you look so unhappy?”

“I’m just in pain, that’s all. I took some pills, but they’re not working either.”

“You looked this way yesterday too. There’s something you’re not telling me. What’s going on?”

There’s no one here but us. People ditched to go smoke out at the arcade across the street at lunch. I have some vague recollection of being asked to partake, but waving them off as I concentrated on Mateo’s absence.

Obviously, I can’t tell Sunday anything about Mateo. “I think I’m going home. It’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you,” he says.

I know I should say no, but the ear really does hurt. And the thought of walking the few blocks home makes me tired just standing here. “OK.”

He takes my backpack and we walk towards the parking lot. “The ex-boyfriend giving you trouble?”

I sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“OK,” he says again, opening the passenger door for me and placing my pack at my feet. He closes my door and walks around to get in his side, starts up the car and pulls out.

“It’s just, we had a really good weekend. Saturday night was fun. And then Sunday, nothing. No call, no text. And I haven’t been able to get a hold of him since. He’s just disappeared.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“Sorry,” I say, placing a hand over my ear to try to dull the pain.

We drive in silence after that, and thankfully, a few minutes later, he pulls up in front of my apartments. “You gonna be OK?”

I nod as I gather my backpack and get out of the car. “Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

He waits there at the curb until I get my key in the door, and then I wave for him to leave. Say what you will about Danny Alexander, but he’s considerate.

A lot more considerate than Mateo right now.

Jason’s not home, of course. And Olivia is at the sitter’s. So it’s nice to be here and not have to think of anyone but me. I head to my bed and crash out, hoping like hell this ear will get better instead of worse.

“Shannon.”

The pain in my ear is unbearable.

“Shannon, goddammit!”

“Don’t fucking yell at me, I’m sick.” I open my eyes and Jason is standing over my bed, glaring down at me.

“Wake the fuck up, I have to go to work.” He’s swaying back and forth, that’s how drunk he is.

“I can’t watch her tonight, Jason. I’m in so much pain. I need to go to the doctor and get ear drops. My ear—”

“I’m not paying for a fucking doctor’s visit for you. You’re not my responsibility. You are living in my house, and you will be watching Olivia tonight because I have to go to work. So get the fuck up and take care of her.”

He walks out. Not just out of my room, but out of the house, because he slams the door. It scares Olivia and she starts crying.

I get up.

Poor Olivia. I’m glad she’s too little to understand what a messed-up life she’s got right now. I pick her up and take her into the kitchen. She has little milk stains on her chin that I wipe with a warm washcloth, and then I take her to the couch, lie down, and pull her close to me.

We stay that way all night until Jason comes home at midnight and puts her to bed.

I gulp down a few more pills and go into my room. I find my phone on my pillow where I left it earlier in the day, and I have a moment of hope that Mateo called me back.

But I have no messages.

“Shannon?” But all I get is a muffled voice because my ear is so clogged up with shit. “Shannon,” he repeats.

A hand rocks my shoulder and I open my eyes.

“Hey there, Daydreams,” Sunday says. “Your slider door was unlocked so I came in to see if you were here. Sorry for breaking in, but you missed school today and I was worried.”

I start crying. “My ear hurts, Danny. It hurts so bad and Jason won’t take me to the doctor to get antibiotics.”

“Shit,” he says, sitting down on my futon next to me. “Let me see it.” He gently moves my hair and I wince, that’s how sensitive I am right now. “Aw, fuck. I think you need to go to the emergency room, Shannon. It’s got green stuff bubbling out of it.”

“I don’t have any money,” I sob. “And Jason won’t pay for it.”

“Don’t worry about it, OK?” He squeezes my shoulder. “Come on, we’re going now.” He gets me up and helps me outside to his car in the alley and buckles me in the seat.

When he gets in on his side he frowns at me. “You should’ve called me. I’d have come and taken you.”

“I should’ve,” I say. “Thank you.”

We drive over to the hospital in silence. He doesn’t even turn the music on. And when we get to the ER, he helps me walk in and makes me sit down while he explains what’s wrong.

We wait for almost an hour to be shown to a room, then another twenty minutes to be seen.

“Jesus Christ,” the young doctor says, looking at my ear. “What happened?” He glares at Sunday like he’s to blame for my condition.

“I get swimmer’s ear at least twice a year. I just need some antibiotics and drops.”

“Do you swim?”

They ask this every time. “No.” And they always give me that same look. “I don’t know why I get it, I just do. And I need drops and antibiotics to make it better. Can you please just write me a prescription?”

“We’ll have to flush it out and—”

“No,” I say. “That will hurt even more and make it worse. I’ve done this before. I’m telling you, I just need the drops and the antibiotics. I know how to fix it, I get these all the time.”