Marigold by Heather Manheim (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📕

further from her truth. When she was putting the bag in the can, she thought they felt weird. The bags were an odd texture, some kind of disposable, biodegradable bags that Ringo fashioned out of some of the byproducts from his garden. Davis decided she hated those bags.

After taking care of her trash, she washed her hands and then went back to her room and replaced the can. She then got the water pitcher that was in her room and refilled and replaced that. When she got back to the room again, she got her bath towels and a clean change of clothes and walked to the restroom. When she got in front of the mirror, she was horrified at how she looked. Large dark bags circled under her eyes. Her skin looked dry in patches, but her forehead and chin were so oily, and she had developed several acne spots, something she had never had trouble with before. Her hair was so oil-slicked that it almost seemed pasted to the top of her head. She looked ill and sickly. She was tired and felt disgusting, inside and out.

Davis took her time in the shower, not caring if she wasted every drop of water. She wanted to flow right down the drain with that hot water and those suds and never come back. She got back to the room and felt more exhausted than ever. Looking at the clock and seeing it was a little past 4 a.m., she felt surprised at how long she was gone. Realizing that she didn’t care, she climbed into bed and found the cool sheets calming to her. Davis fell asleep quickly and solidly for the first time in several days.

When she awoke, Davis was surprised to see the time as a quarter past 2 a.m. She had slept almost an entire day. Or maybe two days; how was she supposed to know? And she still found she did not care. Rolling over, she fell asleep again. At eight o’clock in what Davis assumed was the morning, she started to hear a slight rapping at the door and someone saying, “Davis…Davis…are you okay?” Deciding to ignore it, she tried to close her eyes and shut out the sound. But, a few seconds later, it started again. So, she pulled herself out of bed and went to open the door.

When Davis opened the door, Quinn was standing there, and Buster ran inside. Davis stood there silently, staring at Quinn, who spoke first. “I’m sorry to bother you. I was just worried about you. You haven’t taken a tray for a whole day.”

“I’m okay, just sleeping. Thank you. Please excuse me now. I need to use the restroom.” And with that, Davis walked out and down the hallway. Quinn stood there with her mouth agape; she had never heard her be so curt and short with her words.

Davis cleaned up a bit and then headed back to her room. Quinn had left. Davis felt like maybe she had been too blunt with her. But she was having trouble feeling connected to anyone right now. Even Buster, who was on her bed, stood up when she came in and started pacing around her bed, kneading the blankets at spots and purring. She walked over to him, and he butted his head up against her hand when she went to pet him. Buster then energetically allowed her to scratch behind his ears and under his chin, leaning and pressing into each scratch. She felt like she was just going through the motions, not enjoying the comfort of Buster’s purrs and affection. Finally rested, she felt like there would be no more sleep for her. But she didn’t want to get up, so she continued to lie there and snuggle and pet Buster despite the disconnect. At least his fur was incredibly soft and plush. Davis felt it comforted her a little bit, and finally, she let go and tried to sink her worries into his coat.

~

Over the next few days, Davis sunk into a routine. She was sleeping throughout the day, getting up once or twice to get the food left at her door or to use the restroom. She would tiptoe down the hallway, hoping nobody would see or hear her. She would eat and drink in her room; if she needed anything, it was a waiting game, only going very late at night or early in the morning. She did the same thing with her showers, going at midnight or well past, hoping not to run into anyone. And she didn’t. Davis didn’t realize that everyone was going to great lengths to give her all the space and time she needed.

Davis wasn’t sure if it was three or four days later, but she was sitting up in bed, feeling very sorry for herself, when she decided she didn’t want to feel sorry for herself anymore. She had just finished rereading Little Women, and she wished she was like the character Jo, so strong and willful. She also wished she had at least one sister to talk things over. She kept thinking of the quote from the book, “I could never love anyone as I love my sisters.” She wished she knew what that felt like.

Well, she thought to herself, feeling a bit Jo-like, if I want to get anywhere, I guess I need to start here, and she grabbed the file that held the information about Ruby—her mom—in it. She opened it and stared at the picture. It was so odd to her, seeing her face in the face of Ruby. She finally turned to the next photo, which was in black and white, and it melted Davis’s heart immediately. It looked as if someone had taken it in the hospital—Ruby in a bed, holding a wee baby in her arms.

Davis was touched and then confused. It didn’t follow with what she had heard at all. Her whole life, authorities told her as an infant, they