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Sundaym,7:30a.m.Thearmshriekedihecrampedroom.
Crayinbed,herheadheavyasifithadbeenfilledwithlead.Shereachedouttoshutthearmoff—onlytorealizeeveryjointinherbodyached,everymuscleweakandsour.Herthroatwasdryandraw,likeshe’dswallowedcrushedgss.Theairsheexhaledwasfrighteninglyhot.
Shehadafever.
Abadone.
“LinChu-Qing初晴!Howlonghasthatarmbeengoiup!”
Thedoorknobturned.Mrs.Lin’svoice—irritatiooanger—cutstraightthroughthethinwoodendoor.
Crausedeverythiopushherselfupright.Unsteady,sheshuffledtothedoorandunlockedit.Hercheekswereflushedwithanunnaturalheat.Shewasn’tevenwearingherrimlessgssesyet;hergazehadgo,unfocused.
“Mom…”Hervoicewassohoarseitwasalmostinaudible.Sheleanedweaklyagainstthedoorframe.“IthinkIhaveafever…Itaketodayofffromeseliteraturecramschool…?”
Mrs.LinfrownedandreachedouttofeelCra’sforehead.
Itwashot—clearly.
ButMrs.Lin’sbrowonlytightenedfurther.Withlessthanaweekleftbeforemidterms,“gettingsick”oftentraosomethingelseinananxiousmother’smind.
“It’sjustalittlewarm.What‘seriousfever’?”Mrs.Linpulledherhandback,hertonefullofsuspiandseverity.“Cra,midtermsareintwoweeks.Areyoupretendingbecauseyoudidn’tfinishreviewingphysidmath,andyuilty—tooscaredtogotakethecramschooltest—sonowyou’reputtingonanae?”
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