I had been contagious for four days and was feeling better but still could not go back to school. I got a call from my best friend that especially shocked me.
“I want the chickenpox,” she said to me on the phone, although I tried my best to convince her that she didn’t.
“I want the chickenpox,” she repeated again, “I’m coming over.”
We sat cross-legged on the floor of my room as I asked her again, “Are you sure?” She nodded as I did the sick deed of peeling back one of the scabs.
I felt her warm finger swipe across the fresh wound. “Do you think I have it now?” she asked with hope in her eyes.
“It will take up to three weeks to know but there’s nothing more you can do right now. What I still don’t understand is why you want my chickenpox. Trust me, they aren’t fun.”
“Can you promise to keep a secret?” she asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
“Well…I…I…”
“Carly!” my mother yelled from the kitchen, “Your mom called! She wants you home for dinner!”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“But…but..!”
“Later!”