If I Tell

tell her she was wrong. In other words, to lie some more.
    She cursed under her breath. “I can’t miss geography. I have an exam. I have to go.” She let me go but frowned and shook her finger in my face. “We need to talk. Can you meet me later?”
    I shrugged.
    “Text me. I’ll miss my swim practice if I have to.” She turned and started to run. “Hey,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried off in the opposite direction. “What did your mom name your brother?”
    “She didn’t yet,” I called back. “He’s still generic.”
    “Still?”
    She frowned but disappeared around a corner as she dashed toward her classroom. I lifted my earbuds to tune out the world again, but before I slipped them in my ears, my cell vibrated. I checked call display. It was my mom. Again.
    I picked up the phone.
    “Jaz. Help me,” she cried into the phone. “Come quick. I think I’m dying.”

chapter seventeen
    I ran up the front steps of Mom’s house and unlocked the door. “Mom!” I shouted, flicking off my running shoes on the front doormat.
    Muffled baby cries wailed from upstairs like an alarm. My heart thumped, and I almost wished I’d never picked up her phone call so I didn’t have to deal with this. Sure, I was worried about her, but I knew she wasn’t dying. I also knew she wasn’t okay.
    “Mom.”
    There was no answer. The baby shrieks didn’t stop, so I dashed up the stairs, following the noise to the baby’s room.
    I stopped in the doorway. Mom sat hunched over in her rocking chair beside the crib, her hands covering her ears. Her hair was greasy and dirty. It hung down in her eyes as she rocked herself back and forth as if she was in a trance. The baby lay in his crib, screeching and clearly unhappy at being ignored.
    “Mom?”
    She didn’t even look up. My heartbeat echoed louder in my ears.
    “Shouldn’t you do something about the baby’s crying?”
    She rocked harder. She didn’t make eye contact with me but just shook her head back and forth, faster and harder.
    I tiptoed to the crib and peered inside. The baby’s face was scrunched up and angry, his tiny mouth wide open, his eyes shut tight like my mom’s. The wails coming out of his little body were loud, annoying, and broke my heart.
    I looked into his pissed-off little face. “Shh, baby, shhh,” I whispered, looking back at my mom for encouragement.
    She kept rocking.
    With sweaty palms, I reached in and poked the baby’s still too skinny belly. I touched his soft yellow sleeper and he cried. I tentatively reached down and placed a hand under his little body. I remembered about making sure to support his head with the other hand and then lifted him. The crying continued.
    His tiny body weighed almost nothing, but he thrust his body back and stiffened, pushing against my hands with surprising strength. Instinctively I cuddled him closer to calm him, and I started to rock back and forth.
    “There, there,” I whispered. “It’s okay, baby.”
    His face relaxed for a moment as if he were searching his memory banks for my voice. As the wailing subsided, I blew out a breath and glanced over at my mom. She didn’t look at me but kept rocking. Back and forth, back and forth.
    The baby seemed to understand something was wrong. His mouth opened again, and the siren started up.
    “You hungry?” I asked him.
    He shuddered and hiccuped. I shushed and cooed, and for a moment, his screeching stopped. I pulled him closer, and his tiny body warmed my arm like a little furnace. My heart melted a little more despite his racket.
    “Mom?”
    I glanced at her. Her eyes remained unfocused, gazing at the floor. She’d wrapped her arms around herself.
    Her mouth moved a little. She shook her head back and forth mouthing, “No. No.”
    I crept closer, cradling the baby. With one hand I grabbed my mom’s shoulder and shook. She shrank back as if my hand had scalded her. Her head snapped back and forth, faster and more violently. A wail emanated from deep in her soul. It started softly but intensified, reminding me of a wounded animal.
    I froze, listening to her moan. As if he sensed everyone’s distress, the baby began to shriek again, not a timid, shy sound. My mom’s voice got louder, competing.
    My forehead and underarms were slick with sweat. “Shh…there, there,” I said out loud, my eyes alternating between the baby and Mom. Neither calmed down.
    “Mom? What’s wrong?” I called over the noise.
    Her guttural shrieks