Vivian Vande Velde - Alison, Who Went Away

Cover

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Alison, Who Went Away

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Vivian Vande Velde

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This novel is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2001 by Vande Velde, Vivian
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce
selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin
Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com
The text of this book is set in 12-point AGaramond.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vande Velde, Vivian.
Alison, who went away / Vivian Vande Velde.
p. cm.
Summary: Three years after the disappearance of her older sister,
fourteen-year-old Sibyl and her family struggle to continue their
lives, separately and together.
ISBN 0-618-23220-6
[1. Missing personsFiction. 2. SistersFiction. 3. Family
problemsFiction. 4. Gay fathersFiction. 5. High school
Fiction. 6. SchoolsFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.V377 My 2001 [Fic]dc21 00-032032
Manufactured in the United States of America
HAD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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To Jennifer and to Michael,
who shared their stories

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Alison, Who Went Away

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There are three of uswell, actually five, if you count myparents. No, wait, actually six, if you count both my fatherand my stepfather. But Im notwhat Im saying is there arethree kids, not three people, in the family.

Theres my sister Alison, who moved away from home andwho celebrated her nineteenth birthdayor didntwithoutcontacting us, andI know, I knownineteen is hardly a kidanymore, but Im doing the counting, so I can count howeverI want.

Im Sibylwell, actually, Susan, but what kind of name isSusan for anybody whos younger than about forty-seven? Imfourteen, which is a long way from forty-seven. Thank God.

Then theres my brother Bryan, whos five, which also is along way from fourteen. Five from fourteen means I was ninewhen my mother and Wally were going about conceivinghim, which was practically old enough for me to know what

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they were doing when they were doing it. I mean, youd thinkparents would show a little self-restraint.

Not only that, but Bryan still wets his bed. No, wait, whatI should say is hes started wetting his bed again, which forthe most part Id say is his own business, except that now hehas to take a bath every morning. This means either I haveto get up at something like five oclock in the morning, orI have to keep banging on the door because Bryan takes thesehalf-hour soaks, with the water constantly running, no less,so the poor little dear doesnt get chilled, and I have to keepreminding him that theres only a finite amount of water inthe Western Hemisphere. And then when he finally doesget out of the bathroom, leaving steamy mirrors and soddentowels behind, and Im trying to take this lukewarm littleshower, he invariably flushes the toilet in the powder roomdownstairs and my water practically turns off. I mean, howmuch pee is in the guy? Youd think hed have lost it all atnight.

Wally and Dad both say I could avoid the whole problemby taking my shower at night, which is about the only thingin the whole world they agree on, and which just goes to showhow little men know about hair.

Mom says I should get up firstwhich, like I said, meansduring the dead of nightthen she says I should be moretolerant of Bryanhes having a hard time adjusting. I tell her Ithought thats what we were paying the psychologist for. Shesays, real casual, like shes just thought of it, Oh, yeah, speak

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ing of the psychologist, he says it might be a good idea for youto come in, too.

I dont wet my bed, I tell her.

As a matter of fact, he thinks we should all come in, as afamily.

Yeah? I say. Should I be feeling your sheets?

Maybe she thinks I mean this in a Sexual way. Accordingto Mom, this generation is way too caught up in Sexualthingslike the way we dress, the music we listen to, and howI get the dirty jokes on TV before she does. She gives me thistight little look she has when she thinks Im trying to get awaywith something, but just then the bus beeps its horn and I getto yell, Gotta go.

Did you have breakfast? she asks as I fumble with the newdead bolt on the door. Well, its not really newyoud thinkafter a year and a half Id have caught the hang of it. Sheknows I havent had breakfast; Ive only just this minutefinished my hair.