Encore Edie Read Online Free Page B

knew she was clumsy at. “Remember how mad Dex got when we hid her flip-flops and she had to go to the porta-potty in her bare feet?”
    Merry doesn’t say anything.
    “Fun,” I prompt.
    “Yuh,” Merry says. She’s not pumping anymore, just staring at the squishy mattress with a zoned-out look on her face.
    “Let me.” I stomp on the bellows until the mattress is plump and firm, and get her to help me spread a sheet on top. When she drops her corners, the sheet floats off to one side of the mattress in a puddle. I fix it, and throw a pillow and blanket on top. “Good enough?”
    Merry is staring at the blanket now as if she’s mesmerized by it.
    “Earth to Merry?” I say.
    “Green,” she says. “Remember? On my face.”
    I remember: the sun through the tent wall, especially early in the morning. Pools of palest green light moving on our faces and our skin. We stuck twigs in our hair, Merry and Dex and I, and for the rest of the day we pretended we were green-skinned aliens and the twigs were our antennae. Dex got sick of the game first, and Aunt Ellie took Merry’s out when she combed her hair, but I went to bed with mine. I remember lying in my sleeping bag, almost asleep, and feeling fingers in my hair: Merry checking that my antennae were still there. I opened my eyes and looked at her.
    “From Mars,” she said.
    “You and me,” I told her, and pulled out one of my antennae to stick in her hair. When we woke up the next morning, they were still there.

    I haven’t said much yet about Merry, for instance what she looks like, apart from what makes her look like everyone elsewith Down’s. If she didn’t have Down’s, actually, I think she would look a lot like Dexter. She has blue eyes and blond hair, curly to Dexter’s straight, and that pretty pink skin, just a little rougher and rosier than Dex’s, as though she’s just come in from a cold wind. She’s fourteen, in between Dex and me, and shorter than either of us, and will never get any taller. Lots of people with Down’s get pudgy—it just goes with their body type, Mom says—so Aunt Ellie watches Merry all the time and tells her when to stop eating. Now that she’s living with us, we all have to watch her.
    For instance, the night they arrived, Dad said he was going to make popcorn. But instead of everyone sharing from a big bowl, Mom gave us each a little dessert bowl with, let’s face it, not enough popcorn in it, and that was that. At breakfast the next morning, Merry poured herself such a big bowl of cereal that Mom had to help her put some back in the box. Afterwards, Mom took Dex and me aside and said we should Set A Good Example with food and snacks, putting small, healthy portions on plates rather than just rummaging through the fridge and the cupboards so it looked like we were eating however much of whatever we wanted.
    When Mom cooks now, she chats along with herself like a host on the Food Channel, saying things like, I love spinach! It’s so good for you! and Oh, oh, oh, not too much butter, that’s not healthy! Dex will play along, cutting her apple into slices and giving Merry some on a plate and saying, I love apples , do you like apples? Merry will say, Yuh, I like some apples , and Aunt Ellie will say, Remember your thank you. Merry will hug Dex and say, Thank you! , and Dex will hug her back and say, You’re welcome! Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how many of Mom’s chocolate chip cookies I can hide up the sleeve of my shirt so I can get them up to my room and eat in peace.
    Then there’s clothes. Mom and Aunt Ellie always talk about how people with Down’s are so sweet and good-natured but stubborn. Stubborn! You have not seen stubborn until you’ve seen Aunt Ellie pleading with Merry to fix the T-shirt she’s put on backward, or change her dirty socks, or take her hoodie down when we’re in the house, and Merry just stares at her feet with her face set, batting away anybody’s hands that come near