#Book 1 - Page 10 (1/2)

I arrived back at home to find out my sister was there and in her bed. It turned out she might have the dreaded, infamous swine flu and was spending the next few days or so away from school.

“Don’t go visiting her,” my mom warned me, as she stirred a pot of chicken soup. “If you are sick already you’ll only get worse, even if you have a face mask on.”

“Mom, I’m not that sick.”

She eyed me. “You are something considering you’re here and not at work. I can tell that much. Now go lie down.”

I obeyed and headed to my room. I had planned to tell her that I was sent home because of physical sickness instead of the truth. Anything that had to do with me and mental illness always brought out the worst in my parents, especially my mother. If I had told her that Frida sent me home because of concerns about my mental state… oh boy.

As I walked down the hallway past Ada’s room, I heard a m.u.f.fled cry from behind her door.

“Perry, is that you? I heard your bike.”

I stopped and stared at the door, not daring to come any closer lest the influenza be waiting on the other side of it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Work sent me home because I’m sick.”

“Do you have swine flu too?”

“No. I don’t have any flu. They just think I’m sick.”

Silence. I started to walk away.

“Perry, can you come in here, please?”

“No. Why?”

“I need you to do me a favor. Please?”

I sighed and edged closer to the door. “I can do you a favor but I’m not going in there. You’re swine flu ground zero.”

A loud, painful sigh followed and then, “OK. Um. You see...it may sound funny, but...well...”

It was like pulling teeth. “What, Ada?”

“Can you write on my blog for the rest of the week?”

That was not what I was expecting. “Huh?”

“I have to do my blog posts but I’m too sick to get dressed or take pictures. Plus I look like s.h.i.+t.”

“Well, I look like s.h.i.+t too, so I can’t be much help.”

“It doesn’t matter, I just need you to write a few posts, even if you are just updating people on my situation.”

“Which is?”

“That I have swine flu! G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Perry. Don’t you listen to a thing I f.u.c.king say?”

Though I had an admitted potty mouth, I still winced whenever my “sweet” young sister dropped the F-bomb.

“Sorry. Continue.”

Her voice came through, more m.u.f.fled. I leaned in closer to hear her.

“I’ll give you my login information and everything. You can go onto your computer and do it all there.”

It sounded easy enough, but for the life of me, I had no idea what to write about. I told her so.

“Anything. It doesn’t have to be clothes-oriented. I would prefer if it wasn’t because Converse Chucks and leggings will never be the height of fas.h.i.+on.”

Buuuurn.

“And anyways,” she continued, “it doesn’t even matter. I just need the posts to be generated. If I don’t post every day, I lose readers. Even by not doing it this weekend I have already lost ten per cent, and if that continues, I’ll lose my advertising revenue.”

“Not to mention global domination,” I added.

“Yes!” She cried out excitedly then lapsed into a coughing fit. I grimaced and backed away from the door as a precaution.

“Exactly,” she squeaked out when she found her breath. “Please, Perry?”

“Sure, sure. It’ll give me something to do at any rate.” And hopefully would take my mind off of my problems.

***

Unfortunately, my own problems always had their slinky way of creeping back into things, like Spiderman’s symbiote.

As I sat there in front of my computer, staring blankly at the screen, I realized I had nothing to write about. Fas.h.i.+on was out of the question, as Ada apparently thought that would scare away her readers. Which I didn’t understand because leggings, studs, zippers, chains and a whole lot of black was so in right now (according to the other blogs I’ve read, anyway), not to mention how she is constantly borrowing my stuff, but I didn’t want to argue. It was her blog and livelihood, and I had to remember that in some ways this was a real job to her.

I considered writing a little blurb about my experiences as a failed stuntwoman, or maybe a bit about one of my favorite bands, Slayer. But I decided no one would give a d.a.m.n about my times at the gun range, and speed metal wasn’t made for her audience.

Then it came to me. I knew exactly what to write about and how to do it.

I leaped off my chair and brought out my ailing camera. Luckily it worked well enough that I was able to transfer all of my pictures from the weekend, including the video.