My issue with reading wouldn’t go away, but could my attitude toward it change?

For the first time since I started high school, I walked home alone. Miriam’s mother had left almost a month ago to be with Pinny while he was getting treatments and surgeries and all kinds of stuff done. Miriam and her father stayed behind with the family until the move was finalized and the school term finished. The original plan had been for Miriam’s father to stay here with the rest of the family until winter break, but then they got an urgent message that Pinny wasn’t doing well and they needed to move as soon as possible.

And now they were gone.

Miserable, I kicked a pebble and watched it roll into a shallow, muddy puddle. Miriam was out of reach now. I didn’t even try calling her, I knew she would be too preoccupied. I didn’t blame her; being like a mother to a bunch of siblings and dealing with the stress of her favorite brother being gravely ill, who had patience for friends? It was all about surviving.

But I was still upset. School was lonely today. I skipped math class on my own and had no one to share my cookies with. I spent lunch break walking the streets aimlessly; 12th graders were allowed out for lunch hour, but without Miriam, this tantalizing opportunity of a mini vacation smack in the middle of the school day lost its appeal. The English teacher gave a mountain of homework I had no chance of completing on my own. And I didn’t have anyone to complain to.

“Just find a new friend,” my mother suggested one rainy evening, when she found me curled up on my bed, staring at a picture of me and Miriam from last summer, when we had gone on a little three-day vacation on our own. It had been so much fun. Now fun seemed to elude me. And midterms were coming up. With barely any help coming from the school, I had no chance of passing. What was I going to do?