Chapter 24

The water stabs into my brain like an ice pick and I dump the rest of it down the drain, then refill the glass with warmer water. It’s tepid and a little nauseating, like swallowing spit, but at least it doesn’t hurt. I hunt through the drawers for the aspirin I know my mom keeps in the kitchen—when I find the bottle, I throw back four little white pills and chase them down with the lukewarm water. It makes me gag and I lean over the sink, sure this is it, I’m going to be sick, thenmy dad will have something to say to me, I bet…but I swallow back the nausea, hold onto the sink with a tight grip and wait for it to pass.

God. If I never see another Leprechaun again, it’ll be too soon.

The newspaper rattles as my father turns the page, reminding me I’m not alone. Gulping down the rest of the water, I stick two slices of bread in the toaster and lean back against the counter. “Where’s Joe?” I ask the back of my dad’s head.