She showered, dressed, packed up her books neatly, made her bed, and was downstairs even before her mother. She poured herself a bowl of cereal, added milk—no sugar—ate it, drank a glass of orange juice, rinsed the bowl, spoon, and glass, put them in the dishwasher, and left the house for school. She glanced at her watch. In earlier times she would have been giving the snooze button on her clock radio a third slap at this hour, rather than leaving the house. She smiled to herself, feeling good about what she was doing. It was working already. She was a better person. The walk to school was a short one, only about fifteen minutes, but this morning it took longer because she ran into so many friends of hers and Alex’s. Everybody wanted to know how he was. “He’s very sick,” she said. “He’s got meningitis, but the doctors are doing everything they can for him, and he’s going to get better. I just know it.” A lot of the kids didn’t know much about meningitis, and Stevie was glad to tell them everything she knew.
