11 Birthdays Read online

  I can’t deal with this now. I have a party to get through. Again.

  With shaking hands, I pull out two Band-Aids from the medicine cabinet and put them on my heels. I slip on the shoes, which feel a little more bearable now. Kylie walks out of her room in her Little Mermaid costume, and I realize I’ve taken so much time getting ready that I never made it into Mom and Dad’s room to complain about the party.

  “Are you okay?” Kylie asks, peering closely at me. “You’ve been weird all day. I mean, weirder than usual.”

  I back up a few steps. “It’s been a weird day. I don’t feel very well.”

  She reaches up to adjust her red mermaid wig. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have fun at your party. You’re only eleven once, ya know.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I mutter.

  The doorbell rings but I let Mom answer it. While my friends file down to the basement I lock myself in the bathroom and splash water on my face. In the movies that’s what people always do when they find themselves in a situation they can’t figure out. All it does for me is make the front of my costume wet.

  On my way past the front door I see a shadow outside scurrying away. I open the door to find a stack of wrapped boxes and gift bags. I drag them inside and shut the door louder than probably necessary.

  This time I see Kylie slip out after Mom brings down the punch and ice cream. When Stephanie asks me if it’s okay to go to Leo’s I barely hear her. It’s like my brain is buzzing and blocking everything out.

  Just when I think I’m going to lose it completely, the party ends. I linger downstairs, waiting for Mom to come back down. I think I better tell her what’s going on. But when she sees me and starts telling me about losing her job, I chicken out. I tell myself this is some bizarre once-in-a-lifetime thing, and tomorrow everything will be normal again.

  Back in my room, I pull off my costume, ball it up, and throw it in the trash. I toss the shoes on top, along with the little wicker basket. I lock my door this time and double-check that the alarm clock is turned off. Then I put on my pj’s, climb into bed, and sink down onto the pillow. With one last glance at the closet to make sure it’s securely closed, I shut my eyes tight.

  I have a strange feeling the SpongeBob balloon is laughing at me.

  Chapter Eight

  Hurrah! I’m awake and my alarm didn’t go- off! I woke up all on my own, which means it must be Saturday! Whatever happened yesterday is over and done with and I can put it behind me. It must still be early because it’s still dark in my room, but I’m too happy to go back to sleep. Might as well open those presents! I swing my legs off the side of the bed and bump directly into SpongeBob.

  NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

  I grab him, stick him back in the closet, and slam the door. I hold my breath and peer into the trash can next to my desk where I threw my costume last night.

  Empty.

  Maybe I dreamed the last two days and today is really my birthday? Trembling, I reach down to feel the backs of my ankles. Band-Aids on both. I sit down on my bed and begin to cry. This is no dream or déjà vu. I never had psychic powers. I can finally accept that now.

  Ten seconds later, my alarm beeps. I want to throw it across the room. I can’t do this over again. I just can’t. I crawl back into bed and throw the covers over my head. Why is every day my eleventh birthday? And why doesn’t anyone else realize it? Why is this happening to me, of all people? I’m not special in any way. Well, I can touch my nose with my tongue, but that’s pretty much it.

  A little while later Mom comes in and asks me why I’m not up. I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “I don’t feel well. My head hurts.” It’s not even a lie. My head does hurt from thinking so hard.

  She feels my cheeks, cold from crying. “You do feel clammy.”

  “Maybe I have what Dad has,” I say weakly.

  “How do you know your father’s sick? He was fine last night.”

  “I heard him coughing in his sleep,” I say quickly. Then I cough a few times for good measure. “I think I’d better stay home.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t you have gymnastics tryouts? And your party! You can’t miss your own party!”

  “I feel really sick, Mom. I don’t mind not having the party. And let’s face it, I’m not going to make the gymnastics team.”

  I can see her weighing the options. I focus on looking sickly.

  “I won’t be here to take care of you,” she finally says. “And your father is useless when he’s sick. Mrs. Grayson down the street will have to take you to the doctor.”

  Ugh, going to the doctor is worse than school. But today I’ll take it. “That’s okay. I like Mrs. Grayson.”

  Mom sighs and checks her watch. “Okay, I’ll call the school and the doctor, and then I have to run.” She leans down and kisses me on top of my head. “Try to have a happy birthday, sweetheart. I’ll call your friends’ parents from my office and let them know. We’ll figure out a date to reschedule your party when I get home.” She closes the door behind her and I push myself up. No school today! No more pretending I don’t know that a stuffed raccoon lives at the Historical Society. No more humiliating gymnastics tryouts. No more telling myself it doesn’t hurt every time I see Leo on what used to be our special day.

  What a relief.

  But reality returns all too fast. What am I going to do? Why is it always my birthday and never the day AFTER my birthday? I think it’s time I told someone. I put on my robe and slippers and go off in search of Dad. I find him on a stool at the kitchen counter, reading his paper.

  “Happy birthday, honey!” he says, reaching into his robe pocket for a tissue.

  “Uh-huh. Can I talk to you?”

  “Of course.” He blows his nose. “How are you feeling? You must be pretty sick to want to cancel your party.”

  I shrug, unable to lie to him. “How ’bout you?”

  He points to his nose. It’s red and raw already.

  “That’s pretty gross, Dad.”

  He takes a long sip of tea, studying me over the rim. I squirm a bit. “So let me guess what you want to talk about,” he says, laying the cup down. “You want to admit you canceled your party tonight so you don’t have to compete with Leo’s. Mom told me he’s having a pretty big bash.”

  It would be so much easier to tell him he’s right. I shake my head.

  “Really? Okay. What’s up then?”

  “Um, you know how it’s my eleventh birthday today?”

  He nods. “I do.”

  Here comes the hard part. I take a deep breath. “The thing is … yesterday was my birthday, too. And the day before.”

  “Sorry, come again?”

  “My birthday is, like, repeating itself. Every time I wake up, it’s Friday, June fifth again.” It doesn’t sound any less strange saying it the second time.

  Dad folds his paper neatly, tucks it under his arm, and stands up. “Honey,” he says kindly, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I know this fight with Leo has been hard on you. He’s been like a brother to you, and now, well, he’s not in your life.”

  Huh? Didn’t he hear me? “Dad, I already told you, this isn’t about Leo.”

  He gives my shoulders a squeeze. “You probably have a pretty good fever, too. I was delirious around three o’clock this morning.” He steers me out of the kitchen toward the stairs. “You just need a good nap. I’ll wake you when it’s time to get dressed for the doctor.”

  “But —”

  “Get some rest.” He leaves me with a final pat on the head.

  My shoulders sag as I walk back to my room. I hadn’t expected him not to believe me. I guess it’s just too crazy to be true. But how come it is, then?

  I try for over an hour to get back to sleep, but my head is spinning. Unfamiliar with rule breaking, I still feel guilty for making my parents think I’m sick. But actually, if this is the third time I’ve relived Friday, then today really should be Sunday. And what do people do on Sundays