In the Rearview (25 page)

I watch the bumpy road

Pass by behind

From the sight of my rearview

Although it looks tough

And littered with junk

I still proudly call it mine

There is history there

I learned and I grew

And now can look back

Through the safety of my rearview

I can't help but smile

I've been through so much

And come out the other side

With a story to tell

It's been one unique ride

So with a farewell

I take one last look

Before I move on

From what's collecting

In the rearview

With no regrets

I continue on

And the road ahead

Is unknown

But totally up to me

Maria
Ann
Green
currently lives in Minnesota, despite its bitter winters, with her husband. She graduated with a degree in Psychology and a minor in English. When she isn't writing, Maria loves to read wi
th a cup of strong coffee or a glass of sweet wine, craft, and spend time with her family. This is her first published novel.

Chapter One

Don't Be Late

The first day of junior year was turning into a dismal, depressing day for Maggie Reynolds.

She bolted out of bed and ran to the bathroom to at least brush her teeth. The stupid alarm hadn't gone off…on the first day. So much for showering or putting on a little eyeliner to negate the bags that clung under her eyes. Instead, Maggie rummaged around throwing on clothing she hoped was clean before rushing out the door with barely a “Hey, Mom.”

The nausea she'd been feeling all morning didn't help. That empty-stomach feeling gnawed at her gut from the inside out. Must have been the first day nerves getting to her. Maybe the granola bar she grabbed on her way out would settle her stomach.

Probably not.

Once at school, she was met by a chorus of, “Hey, Maggie!”

She nodded in return as Justin Davis, her boyfriend, slid his arm around her waist. Leaning her body closer to his, she smiled up at him.

A tall, blond kid shouted from down the hall, “Maggie, ‘sup?” He looked vaguely familiar.

“Nothin'.” She shrugged. Maybe she could have remembered his name if the sick rolling in her belly would ever stop.

“How 'bout those parties?” Another upperclassman asked as she sidled up to Maggie.

Maggie looked at her curiously. Did they know each other?

As they continued down the hallway, she recognized most of the faces from Scott McGavin's parties, but she had yet to put names to them. Somehow, in one summer, she had attained celebrity status. Funny how in a few short months she could go from not-quite-invisible to the queen bee, all because she happened to snag Justin. Well, and maybe the fact that her father had won the huge Baker case earlier that year, pushing them into a higher tax bracket, hadn't hurt either.

With a quick peck on the lips, she kissed Justin goodbye and scuttled to class. The bell rang, barely leaving her time to pull her prepared binders from her backpack before the teacher started talking.

She'd gotten used to the idea of the “in” crowd over the summer, but in school, being one of the “in” crowd brought certain privileges she hadn't seen before. The open window near where her new crowd ate lunch was great for ventilating the nasty cooked broccoli stench emanating from the kitchen.

Prime seating in study hall and the auditorium proved to be another perk. Maggie had never realized the appeal of sitting in the back row until she'd been given the honor to sit where she could get away with not paying attention and avoid flying spitballs at the same time. Maybe even sneak in a catnap, which lately, she'd been taking a lot of. But the constant barrage of greetings flustered her the most. After being invisible for so long, it took a bit of getting used to.

The stomachache made the day more rotten than any first day Maggie experienced before. Maybe she was getting the flu. Then Miss O'Donnell assigned a big project for health class.

And it got worse.

“Please write down the due date,” Miss O'Donnell said as she wrote the assignment on the board.

Maggie pulled out her calendar, and flipped past July and August, which were filled with her work schedule and penciled-in date nights with Justin. “No,” she whispered, turning to the month of September. “No, no, no, no, no.” The blood drained from her face, and she sucked in a deep breath, trying not to pass out.

“No, it can't be,” she whispered again. Count again
.

“Mags, what's wrong?” Lauren Weaver, her best friend, leaned over from her seat with a look of concern on her face.

Maggie glanced at Lauren, and shooed her away with her hand. She flicked her eyes back to her calendar, flipped to the month of August, and counted the days from the little ”X” she'd made at the beginning of the month.

Lauren interrupted her deep concentration. “Maggie,” she whispered, smacking her gum.

A bead of sweat trickled down Maggie's hairline. Finally, she looked straight at her friend, whose eyes squinted in confusion.

“What's wrong?”

“Oh, nothing.” Slapping her notebook closed, she packed up her books long before class was over. “Nothing, I'm fine.”

But she wasn't. “Ms. O'Donnell, I'm not feeling well,” she said as she gathered her books and dashed to the nearest bathroom down the hall, where she locked herself in the handicapped stall and sat on the toilet trying to suck in a full breath. It wasn't possible. The calendar she'd just used moments before stared at her from the top of her pile of books, but she ignored it for a while longer, choosing instead to read the graffiti on the walls.
Jenna &
Cade
4ever. Mr. Brackenrich bites! Not very creative. Staring at the puffy lettering scratched on the wall, her vision grew fuzzy until her brain pulled her into the present again.

She had probably counted wrong. Yeah, that was it. Grabbing the little book, she looked for the mark telling her what day she'd started last month.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…forty-one…forty-one...forty-one.

Numbness spread through her limbs and mind as she sat on the toilet. Her arms slack at her side, she didn't have the strength even to close the notebook, which still lay open on her lap. She was late. Two weeks late. She'd been late before, but only a couple of days, never two weeks. Forty-one days.
No, that couldn't be right. One more time. Count one more time. But it was no use. All six times, she came up with the same number. She was late. Late enough to be—

Without warning, her stomach heaved, and the acid rose.