Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Mrs. Graffman handed her a tall glass of orange juice
and a little paper cup full of pills. “Everything okay up
there?” she asked.
“Uh, I guess,” Tibby answered.
Mrs. Graffman searched Tibby’s face for a moment.
“Bailey likes to test people,” she offered for no particular
reason.
“Tibby likes to test people.” It was creepy. How many
times had she heard her own mother say those exact
words?
“I’m sure it’s because of her illness.”
Tibby didn’t think before she asked, “What illness?”
Mrs. Graffman looked surprised that Tibby didn’t
know. “She has leukemia.” Mrs. Graffman sounded like
she was trying to be matter-of-fact. Like she’d said the
word a million times and it didn’t scare her anymore. But
Tibby could see that it did.
Tibby felt that falling feeling. Mrs. Graffman looked
at her with too much intensity, as though Tibby could say
something that mattered. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she
mumbled stiffly.
Tibby made herself go back up the stairs. There was
something too sad about the searching look of a sick kid’s
mother.
She paused at Bailey’s door, sloshing the orange juice
a little, feeling horrible for the mean things she’d said.
Granted, Bailey had started it, but Bailey had leukemia.
Bailey was sitting up in bed now, looking eager to get
back to the battle.
96