When Sickness Strikes

Bernard’s barking broke the quiet haze of my room.

I groaned, throat dry, and fumbled for my phone on the nightstand. The screen glared back: three texts, five missed calls. My eyes flicked to the corner. How was it almost the end of the school day? A sharp guilt prickled under my skin.

Slowly, I pushed myself up, muscles aching. My left thigh throbbed - a dull reminder of yesterday’s volleyball practice. It was the first day of junior year, and that morning I’d woken feverish and clammy, tangled in damp sheets. I’d brushed off Stetson’s worry with a weak smile and a stubborn shake of my head. No way was he skipping that Physics test - not after all those late-night study sessions. I’d insisted; he’d protested. I’d won.

Now, I wasn’t so sure that was smart.

I pulled off the comforter, stiff from too much sleep, and set my feet on the cool wooden floor. Bernard immediately trotted over, nudging my hand with his wet nose.

The house was quiet. Pops wouldn’t be home for another hour. Stetson would only be here briefly - just long enough to swap his backpack for his name tag before heading to his after-school job.

Downstairs, I let Bernard into the dog run. The crisp afternoon air felt refreshing against my skin. The scent of damp earth and distant honeysuckle drifted in. I stopped in the pantry for my favorite tea - chamomile and lavender - the gentle floral smell already soothing me. Then I went to the kitchen, the soft clink of the ceramic mug against the counter breaking the silence.

Once my tea brewed to a rich amber, I carried it into the great room and sank onto the soft sofa with a sigh. Warmth spread through my palms. I hadn’t even taken a sip before -

SLAM! The front door burst open, shaking the framed photos on the nearby table.

“’Bout time Sleeping Beauty woke up!” Stetson called, already halfway up the stairs.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help a faint smile. That was Stetson - always in a rush.

Then Chandler appeared in the doorway, wearing his blue work vest zipped up. My breath caught. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird. He looked… really good. My stomach flipped nervously.

He held out a packet of papers and a cold bottle of Wild Cherry Pepsi. “Homework. And… I thought you might want the soda.” His warm hazel eyes quickly scanned me, checking if I was okay. Was he noticing the slight flush on my cheeks, the tremble in my fingers? Don’t blush, I begged myself, but it was too late.

I took both, our fingers brushing when I accepted the cold bottle. A spark shot through me, and my cheeks burned before I could stop them. “Thanks,” I said, my voice a little higher than usual. I dropped the homework on the coffee table. I vaguely remembered Stetson offering to pick up my missed work, but a small, hopeful part of me had wished he’d forgotten. This was better.

Chandler tapped his thumb against his pocket nervously. “Glad you’re feeling better,” he said, his gaze lingering.

Stetson rushed down the stairs, his name tag hanging crooked on his shirt. Without looking up, he quickly answered a text while walking. “Yo, Chandler! You ready to go?” he called out loudly.

I glanced at Chandler, who was leaning against the archway nearby. He looked at me with that soft half-smile and gave his usual two-finger salute. My stomach fluttered warmly. He didn’t seem to notice - or maybe he did.

“Yeah,” Chandler said to Stetson, but his bright blue eyes stayed on me. He tilted his head slightly, like he wanted to say more or wasn’t ready to leave. I tightened my grip on the cold soda bottle, my cheeks warming. I hoped Stetson would forget something and give us a few extra seconds.

Then Stetson turned and walked out the door. The click of the closing door felt final.

The silence afterward was louder than their hurried exit. I sighed softly, sinking deeper into the sofa. My chamomile and lavender tea sat untouched beside me. I stayed there in the quiet, my heart still racing, smiling to myself. The memory of Chandler’s eyes and our fingers brushing kept playing in my mind.

The sudden stillness in the big room was interrupted by the familiar creak of the mudroom door. Then, the rhythmic thud of Pops' boots echoed as he entered the kitchen, the soft clink of his keys falling into the ceramic bowl by the door.

He crossed the room in three long strides, instantly filling the space with his presence. Pops lowered himself next to me on the sofa with a dramatic grunt, his arm opening wide. "C'mere," he said softly, his voice warm and gentle. "You’re not too big for this."

I hesitated for a moment - just long enough to act like I had a choice - but then I melted into his lap, curling my knees to my chest. He rested his chin lightly on my hair, his touch a gentle weight.

"How you feelin', sunshine?" he murmured.

There was a long pause as I collected my thoughts, the words feeling heavy in my throat. "Tired," I finally admitted, my voice quiet, almost a whisper. "Kinda achey. And I… I feel weird. Like I missed something important." The guilt from earlier still nagged at me.

Pops was silent, his steady breathing the only sound. He didn’t rush me, just waited.

Then I added, almost to myself, "But Bernard’s thrilled I’m upright again. And Chandler brought me homework... and soda." My voice softened when I mentioned Chandler, a faint warmth spreading through me at the memory.

Pops chuckled, a deep rumble against my ear. "Ah. So that’s what’s got that glow on your face."

I scoffed, nudging him lightly with my elbow, pretending to be annoyed, but my uncontrollable smile completely gave me away. He knows.

He kissed the top of my head, a soft press against my scalp. "Glad you’re comin’ back to yourself. Just take it slow, alright?"

I groaned, a muffled sound against his shirt, and buried my face deeper into his shoulder.

Dinner consisted of buffalo chicken and cheesy stuffed bread - the type that made your fingers shiny. I slid my paper plate back across the coffee table, licking the spicy residue off my thumb while Bernard observed with the patience of a saint, his big brown eyes tracking my every move.

Pops was lounging against the sofa, his socked feet nudging Dad's thigh. A lazy grin spread across his face as he nibbled on a corner of his breadstick. Dad was sitting up straight, one hand resting lightly on Pops' ankle, his thumb gently circling the bone. In between them, Uncle Jake was sprawled out like a satisfied cat, his long limbs draped over the cushions, watching a rerun of a silly wilderness survival show that no one liked but everyone put up with.

Uncle Jake wasn’t my uncle by blood. He, Dad, and Pops had a long history together. Like, they shared detention kind of history. They’d been best friends since freshman year, bonded by skate park injuries, failed math tests, and a deep loyalty that had only grown stronger over the years. Now, he and Chandler came over so often they might as well have their own rooms.

Dad’s sharp eyes scanned the room - they always seemed to catch everything - and landed on my neglected homework packet, still sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

"Sloane," he said, his voice calm but firm.

I blinked. "Hmm?"

"You’ve got enough time to make some progress before bed. Upstairs, please. Let’s not start tomorrow behind."

I sighed dramatically, a full-body protest. I picked up the packet, slouching as I stood. "You know I just overcame a life-threatening condition this morning, right?"

Uncle Jake snorted, a low, rumbling sound of laughter.

Dad raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. "Then your mind should be sharp. Up."

"Cruel," I muttered under my breath, but the words were playful, not truly rebellious. Bernard huffed, a sympathetic little puff of air, as I stood, rising loyally beside me.

I ascended the stairs slowly, dragging my feet as if it took forever, the homework loosely held in my hand. Bernard's tail thumped steadily against the wall behind me, his presence providing a bit of comfort. Once in my room, I let the packet drop onto my desk with a weak flutter, then I flopped down face-first onto my bed, burying my face in the pillows.

I would begin it in a minute. Most likely. Perhaps.

My cheek was still pressed into the soft comfort of my comforter, one eye barely squinted open, when my phone buzzed across the nightstand. The ringtone - a chaotic mashup of goat bleats and bubble pops - only meant one person. Noelle.

With a groan, I peeled myself off the bed and fumbled for the phone, my fingers sticky from the buffalo chicken. The screen blared: Incoming FaceTime - Noelle.

I accepted the call.

Noelle's face instantly filled the frame, upside down, her eyebrows vanishing into the fuzzy puff of her neon scrunchie. Her ponytail was high and aggressively bouncy. Behind her, the chaotic flicker of the family TV flashed between a shampoo commercial and what sounded like a Marvel rerun. Off-screen, a sibling shrieked something about "cheating," followed by the unmistakable bark of Daisy - their Golden Retriever - announcing imminent war.

"Hey, plague girl!" Noelle chirped, flipping the phone right-side up as she flopped onto what appeared to be a beanbag, her energy practically crackling through the screen. "You look like someone who emerged from the underworld with a Target mug and regrets."

I squinted at the screen. "You do know you live, like, twenty steps that way?" I lazily pointed at the wall separating our houses. "You could’ve just walked over like a normal person instead of FaceTiming me like I’m studying abroad in Paris."

Noelle gasped dramatically. "And miss this dramatic lighting? Never." She adjusted her phone to emphasize the shadows under my cheekbones, making me look even more like a zombie. "Anyway - how are you? You didn’t die, which is great, but how’s the rest of you holding up?"

I groaned dramatically and rolled onto my back, pulling the phone onto my chest. "Still feeling sore. It was like being stuck under a heap of wet towels, but…" A small grin appeared on my face as I raised the Wild Cherry Pepsi bottle toward the screen. "Chandler brought soda."

Noelle squealed, a sound that made Bernard's ears perk up. Her whole face lit up with joy, her dimples showing prominently. "Oooooh! Did he look cute?"

I covered my face with a pillow, muffled laughter escaping. "I hate you."

"You love me," Noelle corrected me in a sing-song voice, filled with playful sweetness. "And speaking of love, sit back - I have some gossip."

She jumped right into the day's events, a whirlwind of high school drama. The seating arrangements in AP Bio got mixed up, and now she was next to Connor, who wouldn’t stop humming the SpongeBob theme song. Mr. Gryzwacz might be engaged - no one could figure out if the ring on his lanyard was real or just a bottle opener. And Bristol L's glitter binder had split at the spine when she dropped it, so now everything she owned looked like a disco ball.

Then she leaned in closer to the camera, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. "And Tucker. He tried to copy off me in Spanish using his phone like a mirror. But it was on, so all I could see was his front camera and a close-up of his nose. I don’t think he thought that through."

I laughed until my sides hurt, my voice cracking between giggles. Bernard, who had been lounging peacefully by the door, perked up for a moment at the sound, blinked once, and then went back to his comfy spot.

Just as Noelle was reenacting Claudia's slow-motion fall in the hallway - complete with sound effects from a water bottle - a gentle knock came at my door.

It opened slightly.

Dad leaned in, arms crossed, his eyebrows showing full parental disapproval. "Sloane Liliana," he said softly, his eyes moving from my phone to the homework I had ignored. "Wrap it up."

Noelle stopped mid-pose, her eyes wide. "Oops," she whispered. "Got the Dad Look. I’m out."

"Goodnight," I muttered, turning the camera to the ceiling and ending the call before Dad could catch a glimpse of Noelle's messy expression.

Dad tilted his head, now focusing on the homework packet. "Homework?"

"Getting ready to begin," I whispered, grabbing my pencil with a deep breath.

He nodded, a silent understanding, and gently closed the door with a soft click.

I looked at the blank screen of my phone, then at the soda that was still cold on my desk. With a resigned sigh, I grabbed my worksheet and tucked my legs under me, pushing my hair back from my forehead. The faint smell of chicken and cheese lingered on my fingers.

As I finally started working, Bernard thumped his tail softly against the floor in approval, as if to say, Finally.