I was on my fourth break in ten minutes, head flopped lazily atop my arms when the backdoor swung open. Illuminated by the kitchen light, stood my very angry mother. In her white nightgown, long black hair strengthened to frame her oval face, stood Laine Binsfield in all her angry glory, and cheap phone pressed tightly to her ear.

      "Impossible," my mother said. "The children are asleep."

     There was a pause, as the other person on the line spoke.

      "Clara?" She asked.

       I almost replied but realized that she was still talking to Mr. Welf. The old man, our neighbor, also with a phone to his ear, was looking right at me through his bedroom window. So much for no one seeing me.

      "Clara is in her room," my mother contended. Squinting into the darkness, she scanned the yard for intruders. Her eyes passed over me, to the swing set, and then back to me, eyes growing wide with surprise.

      "Clara!" she cried. Hanging up the phone, she hurried my way.

     I greeted her with a small smile, and wave of muddy hand.

      "What on earth are you doing?!"

     "Uh..." I tried to think of a lie. But there was no explaining this. There was nothing I could possibly say that would make this seem normal. Couldn't sleep, so I decided to come roll around in the grass? I'm taking a mud bath? Practicing my army crawl?

     "I really don't know," I answered instead.

     Mom rushed towards me, pulling me to my feet. I tried to hide the tremble in my legs, but I couldn't help but lean on her for support.

     "You're quite warm, are you still sick?" she asked.

     I nodded, and together we walked back inside. I hardly did any walking. Mom basically dragged me inside. Dropping me into one of the kitchen chairs, she knelt in front of me, firm hands holding my face to study me. I looked anywhere but into her eyes. I swear that woman and her fierce green eyes could look into your soul.

     "Mr. Welf claims you were running around the yard. Is that true?" she asked, washing my face with a cloth.

     I finally met her eyes, pondering my options. The full truth was not an option. But, even if I lied, she'd probably force the truth out of me. Either way the truth would come out, so I settled with being partially truthful. That was usually the best way to deal my mother.

     "Yes," I finally answered.

     Her face dropped, clearly, she had been hoping for a no. The only child she didn't usually have to worry about, had become the most concerning. Great ending to her night.

     "Why?" she asked, exasperated.

     Why did I run in the mud, half naked? Or why had she been punished with such time-consuming children?

     "I was chased," I answered, not daring to lie.

    "Chased!" she exclaimed ridiculously. "By whom?"

     "Not whom, what."

     "What?"

      "Yes, a what."

      "No, Clara! What chased you?" She was rapidly losing patience.

     "A very sharp piece of rock."

    "Are you on drugs?" she asked, in a mixture of anger and concern. She searched my face for any proof, any symptoms. She pulled on my eyelids, as if to get a better look at my pupils.

     "Where'd you get them?" she demanded. "That Andrews kid? I knew he was bad news."

     "No, mom! I am not on drugs, and neither is Andrews."

     She watched me uncertainly.

     "You're hallucinating, then. You must have a bad fever; we're going to the hospital." She didn't wait for my feedback, she sped towards the phone.

      Five minutes later, Mr. Welf walked in. Obviously, the entire neighbourhood was busy, or asleep. He was definitely on the bottom of her potential babysitter list. Mom had been taking my temperature, when the old man entered our home, without knocking. Bickering as soon as he entered, old man quick to acknowledge that he had been right, my mother's eyes narrowed. That was never a good sign. She marched towards him angrily, yanked his coat off, and showed him to the living room. I could hear them clear as day from the kitchen. I'd have thought, she'd have tried to remain quieter. She had just put the kids to bed, not an easy task, might I add. Then again, maybe she hoped they'd wake up, and drive the old man up the wall.

     Waiting for her return, I snuck a glance at the thermometer. Two hundred and three degrees! I was no doctor, but I sure as hell knew that that wasn't good. Impossible, actually. The human body couldn't survive such high internal temperatures, I would have been long dead. Mom couldn't see this. She wouldn't only have a cow; she would have the whole herd. Grabbing the device firmly, I waved it frantically, trying to cool it down. Now I know that's not how a thermometer works, but I panicked. It went up twenty degrees by the mere touch of my skin. I jumped up, and ran to the sink... or tried too, legs rendered useless from the injection. I leaned on the kitchen counter, putting most of my weight on my arms. Hoping to run water on the thermometer, I reached for the tap.

     "What are you doing?" My mother demanded.

     "Um..." Again, I searched for an adequate answer. She raised her eyebrows, urging me to go on.

     "Washing my hands?"

     "You have mud on your teeth, yet it's your hands you want to clean?" She placed her hands on her hips. Another bad sign.

     "Exactly." I feigned confidence.

     She wasn't fooled. She pushed her arm out and wiggled her fingers, silently demanding that I give the thermometer to her. I pretended not to see her outstretched hand, and slowly slid my hand further away from her eyes.

     "Clara," she warned.

     "Mother," I greeted back, with a nod of head.

     She didn't find me funny. Her jaw tightened, and I immediately regretted speaking. Too far Clara, much, much too far.

     "Hand it over," she said, though she yanked it out of my hand.

    "It's clearly broken." I laughed nervously.

     Her eyes grew wide, and then shrunk as she squinted her eyes to make sure she was seeing right. Her face went from; shock, to disbelief, and finally to panic.

    "You have two minutes to grab your coat and meet me in the car." She was out of the door before I could say a word.

     She said two minutes, so I very well knew, if it took any longer than that, she'd be upset. I crawled towards the closet, the full weight of my body still too much for my legs to handle.

     "Clara?" A small voice asked, as I pulled my coat on.

    I turned to see Arabella's small brunette head poking out from behind the wall. She remained half hidden until she was sure my mother was gone.

     "Where are you and momma going?" she asked in her sweet little voice, Mr. Fuzzy, her worn-out teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest.

     "It doesn't matter," I told her. "Go back to bed, Bella."

     She was only five years old, barely reached the height of my hips, this wasn't something she needed to be concerned with. I didn't want to worry her.

     "Are you going to the hospital?" She asked, olive-green eyes glistening with tears.

     "No, no. Don't cry," I begged, starting to panic when her lips began to quiver. "I'm ok," I added, pulling her into my arms.

     "Promise?" She held my gaze.

     She had mom's eyes, so difficult to lie to. Still, I forced myself to nod.

     "But I might not be, if I don't make it to the car in thirty-nine seconds. Momma is on the verge of a breakdown," I said, only half joking. "Go back to sleep before the boys wake up."

     I forced myself to stand. I didn't think she'd be reassured by my crawling.

     "See you in the morning." I smiled and shut the door.

     I felt like a terrible person. I was basically her best friend; I was the one she always came to. She trusted me more than our own mother, and I had just lied to her face. I had looked her in the eyes and made her a promise I knew I couldn't keep. It seemed the injections were more difficult to stop than I had thought, it was only a matter of time before one killed me.

     I had barely shut my car door when my mother slammed the gas pedal. She didn't even chide me for arriving ten seconds late.

     The look on my mom's face said it all. For such a God loving woman, she sure gave a lot of I'm going to kill youlooks. She was inches away from the young doctor's face, clenching her fists tightly. Despite the male doctor's height and large frame, my mother's face was enough to make him cower.

     "Mom, it's okay." I tried to pull her away. "We'll make an appointment with Doctor Ross." I tried to pull her towards the door.

     I had managed to calm her down, but then she noticed my shaky legs, and all hope was lost.

     "You're trying to tell me that she's perfectly healthy!"

     I sighed and put my head between my hands. I had been so close; two more steps and we'd have been out of the door.

     "She thought she was being chased by a rock! Have you ever heard of rocks growing legs and running after you?"

     I wouldn't have said running. Really, the piece was flying, so it would have had to have grown wings rather than legs, but I figured this wasn't the time to correct her.

      "She has a very high fever," she pointed to my sweaty forehead. "And she can barely stand!"

     Mustering the strength to stand, before things got out of hands, this time I made sure to pull her completely out of the small room.

     It was past midnight by the time we came back home. I made a beeline for my room, fear of further agitating my mother. As if my day hadn't already been a real pain in the ass, just as I made move to jump into bed, I found a bat on my lamp. With a shriek I ran into the hall, collapsing under my weak legs. I probably shouldn't have left the window open. Loud stomping followed shortly. My mother appeared, followed by the four kids.

    "Sorry," I said. "Bat in my room."

     Bella hid a giggle, glad to see some return of my normal behavior. Mom got rid of the bat easily, she barely stepped into the room before it flew away. Even bats knew better than to mess with Laine Binsfield.