"Brooke, you okay?" Mom peeks in through the door of my room, and I smile weakly, putting down the comic I was reading. She shifts awkwardly, seeming nervous, and then enters, carrying a bowl of hot chicken broth and some warm tea. My smile grows as she hands me the steaming mug, and I take a sip. My favorite, Chai tea, made with honey and cream. The warm liquid fills my body, and I shiver at its warmth, contrasting the cold air. Mom sits on the side of my bed.

"Hey, I'm sorry for being hard on you this morning," She whispers, lacing her fingers through mine. I look up at her, and see that there are tears in her eyes. I jerk out of my lying position and sit up, concerned.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I'm asking nervously. Mom cries pretty easily, but I don't like to see it. I know she's juggling a lot, with work and Tracey and me. I always feel bad for being a burden, and I hate seeing her upset. Especially if it's because of me.

"Oh, Brooke, I'm okay. I just get so scared when...." She hesitates, and I close my eyes, knowing the end of that sentence. When you have your seizures. It hurts more than it should. She doesn't mean it as an insult. She means it, like, I'm sad that you have these seizures, and I wish you didn't have them.

I don't allow the wince I want to make show on my face. Because no matter how I try to rearrange her words in my head, they never become kinder.

"Listen, Brooke, you, Tracey, and your dad are the only family I have. You don't remember my mother, who Tracey called Nanny Georgie, but she adored you. She died when you were just a baby." Mom lifts a hand to her cheek, cutting off a small tear making its way down her face.

"When I was young, my parents divorced. I don't remember why, we had been one of the happiest families. Being a stupid, stubborn little girl who was attached to my mom like glue, I blamed my dad for the divorce. Your grandfather....was not a nice man. He smoked. Did some other drugs....I don't remember the full details. But he would go out at night to a club or bar with nasty people....wouldn't come home until after midnight. Sometimes me and my older brother would sneak out of bed, and watch our parents fight. It started out small, with my mom just yelling at my dad and my dad hugging her and apologizing, then both going to bed hand in hand. But he got worse. Arrested. Stayed in jail for a few nights, along with a few other guys from his bar. After that, when he came home, my mom screamed. She howled at him. She was like a werewolf." A smile lifts the corners of Mom's lips, though her eyes are filled with despair. "I'm not even kidding. Claws and fangs and glowing eyes. My dad was scared. He slept on the couch that night. When I went to him in the morning....the smell of alcohol was still strong on him. He stank." Again, Mom tried to look happy, though the sadness still bled through.

"They divorced. Just like that. Went to a lawyer, split up on the spot. That was one of the last times they ever agreed on anything," Mom hiccuped. Then a sigh escaped from her throat. "My brother and I....well, we took after our parents. He went to a good college and became very successful, but I didn't keep in contact with him. The night of their huge argument, I went to him, crying, hoping for open arms." Everything in Mom's body stiffens. "He hit me. A cold hand against my cheek. 'This is all your fault!' He screamed at me. And even when I tried to make it up to him, or even to forgive him, he would just beat me. The summer before his freshman year of college, well, that was the last time I ever saw him. As you can guess, I had no interest in seeing my dad again. He's passed away too, and my mom was the only family I had. Then she disappeared. I don't even know where my brother-where Reuben-is anymore.

"I met your dad a year after my college graduation. All my friends had boyfriends and girlfriends, were getting married, and I was still just alone. It was at a grocery store where I met him, actually. He was with another girl. I know I'm probably supposed to hate her, but she actually became a close friend of mine. You remember Harriet?" Mom asks me, her fingers tightening around my hand. I nod, my eyes wide. My brain is still processing all this information. Mom is an orphan. I have an uncle. My mom's best friend used to be with Dad. Oh my God!

"So I was picking out some broccoli, and not really thinking about anything, when your father, a handsome young man named Kevin, walked right over with a pretty young woman holding his hand. I couldn't help but feel jealous-no, not because I liked your dad, not yet, but because it had been...well, years since I felt any sort of affection. I was staring at them, my hand on a head of broccoli, and your dad caught my eye. It's embarrassing, when you're staring at someone, and they see you, so I quickly looked back at the broccoli, acting like I hadn't seen them ever before." I can tell Mom's voice is getting lighter, the sadness is fading. She likes talking about memories with Dad. Come to think of it, this is the first time she's telling me any memories of her life that aren't about Dad.

"I was so humiliated and nervous when he tapped my shoulder!"Mom chuckled. " 'Hey,' he said, 'Do you attend Cornell?' I remember looking down at my shirt, it said Cornell Diving Team, as I was a diver for my university. So I said, 'Yeah, I graduated last year. ' And Kevin said, 'Cool. I graduated...two years ago? Maybe three? Argh, I'm only twenty-seven and already losing my memory!' He laughed, and held out his free hand. 'I'm Kevin,' He told me, and I said, 'Cool. I'm Marie.' So we shook hands, and Harriet held out her hand too. Harriet, I have to say, was very pretty. Her hair, that day, was in a braid that just passed her shoulder-oh yeah, we were all different. Not even Harriet kept her short hair her whole life. She had just a bit of makeup on, and it made her eyes look bigger and greener, and she was just a bit tanned and very fit, not old like she is now. So it was cool, but I felt kind of self-conscious with my hair in a simple, messy bun that hung from my head, and ripped jeans and a too-big shirt on. 'Hey,' Said Harriet. 'I'm Harriet. Nice to meet you, Marie.' So we all became friends. And than Harriet met Joseph, so Kevin and I got married, and had two beautiful daughters. You and Tracey." Mom wraps her arms around me, and I try to keep the tears in my eyes. I feel like a terrible daughter, with a wonderful mother, who has suffered so much more than I ever complain about. Even with my disabilities and various sicknesses, my family has always been there. No one's been there for Mom.

"You guys are the only family I have left. I wish I could just keep you all locked up in a little bubble, where no one ever got sick or hurt. We'd be happy, we'd be together, I wouldn't have to be scared about putting my family through the same things I experienced." Her face is wet with tears, and again, her voice is heavy.

"Aw, Mom, don't worry. Nothing like that could ever happen. You won't ever make anyone miserable, you're too wonderful," I tell her, squishing her in a fierce hug. "And hey, thanks for telling me. I can help you now. I love you." It feels good to get that out. I don't have a lot of opportunities to say it anymore.

Mom lets out a laugh, a croaking, raspy laugh, but still a laugh. "What am I doing, sharing my life story with you? I came to give you your tea and soup. Oh, and this," She tells me, pulling out her phone. I gasp. "You're giving me your phone?" Finally! I've had a practically broken flip-phone since I was nine, and have been dying for an iPhone 6 plus like Mom's since she got it. And now my dreams are coming true!

Mom snorts on her own laughter, shaking her head. I slump, my shoulders sagging with disappointment. "But I need an iPhone!" I protest.

"Okay, so I'll give you an iPhone 8, say, and kick you out of the house, with no food, water, medicine, or money, and we'll see how much you need an iPhone," Mom teases, and I scowl, sipping my tea and glaring at her over the mug. She just shakes her head, wagging a finger at me and chuckling.

"Anyway, I have a feeling that what I'm about to show you will excite you just as much as an iPhone." Mom crosses her legs and begins typing on the phone, her pale purple nails clicking away at the tiny little keyboard. Finally, she lets her hand rest on her knee, her fingers tapping as the little blue line moves slowly across the search bar. Than she brightens as a match pops up.

"Read this," She tells me, holding out the phone. I snatch it away and have my finger on the home button(so that I can play Fruit Ninja or something)when the big bold words screaming the title of the article catch my eye.

SPRINGER'S RACE

It's November here in Arwick, Vermont, and every track star is looking forward to the yearly Springer's Race! (Though it's not until April. Oh, the anticipation!) This fabulous tradition began way back in 1977. Can you believe it? Thus, we will be celebrating our 40th anniversary this year at the Larkingwood State Park! Already everyone can feel that this batch of young runners is going to be a special one! Hosted the same weekend as the Great Arwick Marathon, and at the biggest park in our little corner of Vermont! Never have we been so excited for our yearly, signature event that celebrates the speeding youths of Arwick, from Larkingwood City, to Clyreville way out in the far East Arwick, practically in New York! Sign up now. Spots have been filling up fast! Call 433-449-1903 for further information, or email [email protected]. If you are receiving this form in a newspaper or magazine, fill it out and send it to

493 Ashington Avenue

Arwick, Vermont

43002

And last, yet certainly anything but least.....

GOOD LUCK RACERS!!!

My eyes fell from the article onto the form. A few lines, asking for your full name, age, contact information, parents or guardians, the contact information of your parents or guardians, and finally, experience in running. My fingers fly across the tiny keyboard, typing in Brooke Faith Tatianna Ellis, twelve years old, [email protected], Marie Opal Ellis and Kevin Steven Robert Ellis, and...

"What's your email again?" I ask, and my mom jumps, seeming startled. Her brief surprise melts into a laugh, and she swipes the phone away. "Hey!" I whine. "I need that! I need to fill out the form!"

"Oh relax. We have to talk about it with your dad and Dr. Benhill....Brooke, you already filled out all this? You're crazy, you mad little hatter!" Mom giggles. I fall back into a lying down position (after putting my teacup on the convenient bedside table) and pout playfully. But inside, everything in me is bursting with sunshine and butterflies. Even when a huge party is coming up, or it's the last day of school, or we're going on a surprise vacation, I have never been so excited. For my whole life, I have been denied the simplest of running privileges. But now, anyone can enter this race. Even twelve-year-old girls with severe ADHD and epilepsy. This is my chance at winning, at proving myself, at really running in a real competition for the first time ever.

My life has a beacon of hope, shining through,  chasing away any sadness. Finally, finally, I feel certain that my dreams are going to come true.