Deborah opened up the spiral notebook labeled Spanish and flipped to the last marked page. Each line had neatly written gibberish following the name Alison or Lia. She flipped back until there was a heading. The conversation was three pages long.

“Tomorrow, get the pronunciation of every word,” she said to herself. She pulled out her book for English class and read 1984 halfway through. “Catch up on this too,” she said.

She packed her backpack and got ready for class. She wasn’t sure she wanted to face high school again, but she knew it would be an improvement over yesterday. She changed into pajamas and went to the bathroom.

She got ready the best she could. She refused to guess on the toothbrush, but there was a spare in the cupboard so she opened and used it. She made sure she peed before going to bed and left to her room.

The bed, clean of the backpack contents was actually comfortable. It was a big improvement over a prison cot. She covered up and soon was asleep.

The truck drove on through the early morning light. All eighteen wheels gleamed. The silver tank held its 9000 gallons. Each stop was written in red marker on her map. She knew which roads to take. The hijacker came again like every other night and the dead children invited her to relive her failure to save them again.

Tonight was different. There was another dead child. She waved out the door of the elementary school, as the truck skidded into the middle school. “You’ll kill me to save yourself,” she accused.

The dream usually ended when the truck crashed but tonight, it continued into death row. Tonight Alison Murphy lay on the gurney. She screamed and screamed as the needle entered her arm. “You killed me to save yourself.”

Deborah sat upright in the bed. It was just a dream. She felt at the sweaty sheets, but they were wetter than usual. She lifted up the blankets and turned on the lamp. She had wet the bed.

How many accidents was she going to have? First in the kitchen and now in bed. She didn’t count the one in the bathroom because technically that was Alison’s accident, not hers. She had nightmares almost every night for twelve years, and this was the first time it made her wet the bed. She hoped Alison didn’t have a weak bladder or anything.

Deborah sighed and got out of her wet bed. “Usually I want to go back to sleep,” she said to herself. There was no way she wanted to lay on those cold clammy sheets. She peeled off her wet pajamas and sighed.

She got some underwear out of the drawer and walked to the bathroom. The heat of the shower massaged her body and she hoped it also washed away the smell from her skin. She hated stepping out of the shower, but she needed to get stuff done. After brushing her teeth and hair, she walked back to her bedroom.

It was still early; the clock said 5:15. She opened her closet to select what to wear. She hated everything she saw. She was used to a whole different high school wardrobe. Everything here was different. All the jeans were low cut; all the tops were immodest. She eventually selected a babydoll T-shirt that had some chemistry quote on it and some jeans. She chose the non-faded jeans. If her bladder rebelled in school today, at least it wouldn’t show, she hoped.

She put all her wet things in a clothes basket and wandered over to the bookshelf. She was not going to go back to sleep and risk wetting her clean outfit, so she scanned the shelf for something enjoyable to read. It wasn’t likely with the shelf of bad romance, but she found something useful on the lowest shelf: the East High School yearbook.

It might make it easier to fit in if she knew with whom she was dealing with. She read the book for another hour.

“Alison, time to wake up,” said her mother. She opened the door and looked at her. “Oh, you’re already dressed.”

“Um, yes,” Deborah said. She blushed at the thought of the woman seeing the clothesbasket.

“Alison,” her mother asked, “Why are your sheets not on your bed?” She looked over to the clothes basket. “Did you wet yourself again?”

Deborah looked down at the floor and nodded.

“Alison, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” There was no way Deborah could tell the truth. “I just had a bad dream and…”

“Well get ready for breakfast.” She pointed to the sheets. “I suppose I am going to have to wash those before I pick your father up from the airport. I am sure that finding out his daughter has forgotten how to use the toilet is not the first thing he wants to learn when he comes home.”

“Thank you,” Deborah said. She didn’t know what else to say.

Breakfast was delicious. Her own mother either never bothered to make breakfast, or just poured Deborah a bowl of cereal. Alison’s mother made bacon and eggs, and served juice. The empty spot in Deborah’s stomach felt warm and full for the first time in years. Maybe living here wasn’t too bad.