Ivy Aberdeen's Letter to the World: Chapters 23–33

Ivy was lying on her bed at the inn, halfheartedly doing her math homework that was due tomorrow and conspiring how to sneak back to June’s, when her dad announced he was taking Mom out to dinner.

Not only were the six of them stuffed into one room, but there was all the stuff they’d gotten since the storm. Aaron’s and Evan’s bassinets, a bouncy seat, secondhand toys, all Layla’s lacrosse gear that she’d borrowed from her coach...

Surely, her parents would give Layla a room by herself or Layla would nobly volunteer to share a room with the twins and do the midnight feedings.

“You can invite June over if you want,” Layla added, totally oblivious to Ivy’s roiling thoughts.

“You can invite June over if you want,” Layla added, totally oblivious to Ivy’s roiling thoughts.

“What about Evan?” Ivy handed Aaron over to Layla and peeked at Evan in his bed. He was totally conked out, oblivious to his twin’s woes.

If she drew herself right now, the sketch would be all the reds: dark pinks and mottled crimson.

If she drew herself right now, the sketch would be all the reds: dark pinks and mottled crimson.

Suddenly, Ivy was ravenous for more of Robin’s story, for anything she could get.

She lifted her head and met Robin’s probing gaze.

“May I say one thing before I try to redeem myself in the game of rummy?”

Something in Ivy’s chest loosened. Her arms unclenched from around her legs and fell into her lap. And then that loose thing in her chest made its way up her throat and into her eyes, and suddenly she was crying. Not just crying, but deep, heaving sobs that were almost silent because she couldn’t get enough air to make them any louder.

“Good is subjective. That’s what my mom always says, anyway. This is what you meant it to be, isn’t it? Which means it’s perfect. It’s a story.”

“Yeah. It sucked pretty much all the time for three years. I lost my hair and threw up a lot when I was doing the chemo. I’ve only been in remission for a year, and my mom is still stressed all the time about it. And she’s a doctor, which makes it worse. My body temperature goes up to ninety-nine and she drags me to the hospital.”

“He’s okay for now,” Dad said. “He’s got an upper respiratory infection, which usually means a bad cold, but the doctor thinks it’s bacterial, so Aaron has to go on antibiotics. And because he’s so young and they’re on the lookout for pneumonia, they’re going to keep him in the hospital for now.”

She felt like a whole colony of bats had taken flight in her belly.

June’s short hair was mussed, and her feet were bare.

June’s smile wavered. “Um...yeah. Is that okay?”

The dress was sleeveless and fitted at the waist, but the skirt flared out with a layer of chiffon over satin.

Every year, Mom set an alarm for herself and went into Layla’s room, snuggling with Ivy’s groggy and usually cranky sister, and sang “Happy Birthday” like a lullaby.

The school’s gymnasium was unrecognizable. Usually, it reeked of sweat and rubber with a hint of cheap fruity body spray. Tonight, it smelled of sparkly red punch and older brothers’ cologne and flowers from corsages and whatever those things are called that girls pin onto a guy’s jacket.

A peppy song blasted through the speakers, and all their friends and even a few teachers were moving to the music.

June’s eyes sparkled, and everything about her seemed wistful.

She lifted her head. Because that wasn’t the wind and some cosmic connection to the storm.

Most of the town had shown up to see Resilient Helenwood, and all the artwork that usually hung on the walls was replaced with a cornucopia of colors and mediums, words and photographs.

It was a collage of shredded roof tiles surrounding a red heart covered in barbed wire.

In the past year, June had dragged Ivy and Taryn through a myriad of activities, everything from synchronized swimming to knitting classes at the rec center.

In the past year, June had dragged Ivy and Taryn through a myriad of activities, everything from synchronized swimming to knitting classes at the rec center.

“Ugh, fine, go hermit away in your little notebook world,” Layla said, but Ivy knew she was kidding.

When Ivy told her about the idea, Mom had called it a graphic memoir.