Chapter 3 - The Blue Notebook
Ms. Carver’s office smelled like peppermint tea and printer paper.
Savannah sat opposite her with both hands hidden beneath the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
“I’m not in trouble,” she said quickly.
“No,” Ms. Carver replied. “But I am worried.”
“My mother is pregnant. She needs help.”
“Helping sometimes is normal. Missing forty-three days is not.”
“Some of those were because I was sick.”
“Your teachers say you complete assignments at home and submit them at two or three in the morning.”
“I work better at night.”
“They also say you fall asleep in class.”
Savannah looked toward the door.
“I need to get home.”
“Who are you responsible for this afternoon?”
The question stopped her.
Ms. Carver did not ask whether Savannah had responsibilities. She asked who.
Savannah’s silence answered for her.
Ms. Carver opened a drawer and removed a blue spiral notebook.
“I would like you to write down what an ordinary week looks like.”
“I don’t keep a diary.”
“It does not have to be personal. Record dates, times and practical details. When your mother leaves. When you miss school. When there is no food. When the children are sick.”
Savannah pushed the notebook away.
“Why?”
“Because exhaustion makes days blur together. Writing things down helps you see patterns.”
“And then you report us?”
“I already have responsibilities when I believe children may be unsafe.”
Panic rose in Savannah’s chest.
“You can’t separate us.”
“That is not anyone’s first goal.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You are right,” Ms. Carver said. “I cannot promise what another agency will decide. But I can promise that silence is not protecting you.”
Savannah left the notebook on the desk.
Ms. Carver did not stop her.
The following Monday, the notebook appeared inside Savannah’s locker with a note.
Whenever you are ready, begin with one day.
That evening, Marlene left at six.
She told Savannah she was meeting a restaurant manager about a job.
At seven, June developed a fever.
At eight, the twins began crying because there was nothing for dinner except half a jar of peanut butter.
At nine, Savannah called Marlene twelve times.
At ten, Marlene switched off her phone.
At eleven, Savannah carried June to a twenty-four-hour clinic while Mateo stayed with the twins in the apartment upstairs from their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Kendall.
The clinic nurse asked where June’s mother was.
Savannah lied.
“She is parking the car.”
When Savannah returned home after midnight, Marlene was still gone.
She opened the blue notebook.
Monday.
Mom left at 6:02 p.m.
No dinner.
June’s temperature was 102 degrees.
Mom did not answer twelve calls.
Clinic bill: 86 dollars.
Savannah stared at the page for a long time.
Then she wrote another sentence.
I was scared to tell the nurse the truth.
After that, the entries came faster.
She recorded empty cupboards, missed classes and nights Marlene returned smelling of expensive perfume while claiming she had no money.
She recorded the day Marlene took Mateo’s birthday money to pay for fuel and returned with new shoes.
She recorded every promise.
May you like
The notebook did not make Savannah feel stronger.
It made her see how weak the excuses had always been.
