Forty-Seven
I’m woken by the smell of blueberries.
I prise my eyes open. They feel like sandpaper. The light in my room is bright. Not dawning bright; halfway-through-the-morning bright. I’m stiff and I’m cold from sleeping on top of the covers all night. I’m still in my clothes. My unbrushed teeth are coated in fuzz.
I look to the side. Patience is sitting by my bed, with Beezus on her knee and a plate piled high with blueberry pancakes in her outstretched hand.
“I decided to forgive you,” she says. “Because a) Beezus missed you last night. He pined for hours. And pining for him seems to involve trying to eat my toes. And also, because b) I figured if he could forgive you, then I had no excuse.”
“He?”
Patience indicates with her head towards my open door. Jed is leaning in the doorw
