Mongolian Flu
So my parents went out of town for a week, and left me in charge of the Boy Genius, which I totally hate but like what can I do about it, and then to make it worse the kid went and got sick on me.
Well, not on me; it wasn't that kind of sick. It was like a really bad cold at first, and then he just got worse and worse and then I had to—
Okay, let's start at the beginning. Tuesday morning, I went in to wake him up for school.
"Come on, Jack, you're gonna be late!"
"Go away," he mumbled into his pillow.
"Don't make me dump cold water on your head!" He did that to me one time, the little jerk. I felt like giving him a little payback.
He gave the fakest-sounding cough I've ever heard. "I can't go to school. I'm sick."
"Yeah, sure you are. Get up."
"No, really, I am."
"I don't have time for this! Your breakfast is on the table. Get dressed in the next five minutes, and I'll give you a ride to—"
Then he started coughing again, and this time it didn't sound fake. "Oh, geez, that doesn't sound good."
"What have I been telling you?" he moaned.
"Okay," I said. "I'll take your temperature. If you have a fever, you get to stay home. Fair?"
"I guess."
I went and got the thermometer out of the bathroom. It was one of those new ear thermometers, which meant I didn't have to actually touch something that he had slobbered all over. Yet.
"100.4. I guess you are sick." I sighed; now we'd both have to stay home. It meant calling his school and mine, but I couldn't leave him alone. Mom would kill me.
"Toldja." He rolled over, away from me.
I left him alone to rest, and went to call Shayna and ask her to text me the homework assignments so at least I wouldn't get too far behind.
And she started telling me all about the teeny tiny tube top that Alyssa was wearing, and guess who was seen together outside the boys' locker room? And all that juicy stuff. And then she had to go cause class was starting and Mrs. Eastman is a total witch about cell phones in class, and when I went in to check on Jack, he wasn't there.
I just about freaked out. I ran all over the house calling his name, but he didn't answer. I even checked his little dungeon in the basement; the robots hadn't seen him all day. Just when I was about to go and look outside, he came out of the bathroom.
"Didn't you hear me calling you?"
"I had the water running! I couldn't hear anything!"
"Yeah, whatever. Get back to bed, okay? I don't want you running around making yourself worse. Not that I, like, care about you or anything, but Mom and Dad might miss you."
He made a sad little puppy face. "Can you make me some chicken noodle soup?"
"At ten in the morning?"
"No, not at ten in the morning! At lunchtime! Oh, and put those little crackers in it like Mom does."
I sensed trouble on the horizon. If I gave in to this request, he'd be after me all day: "Tiffany, get me this." "Tiffany, fluff my pillow for me." "Tiffany, make me some chamomile tea." I was not going to be his servant all day!
The sad puppy face grew sadder. "Please? Pretty please with artificial sweetener on top?"
I sighed. "Okay, but—"
"And bring the little TV into my room."
"You mean my little TV? That I paid for with my own money?"
"Well, I don't have a TV! Mom and Dad won't let me have one! I just wanna watch some movies. Oh, yeah, bring some movies too."
This was going to be a very long day.
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Mom called around two in the afternoon, after I'd served His Highness his soup, complete with crackers, and slipped some Tylenol into his tea when he refused to take it any other way.
"Everything okay there?"
"Uh . . . yeah, just fine." I figured I didn't have to tell her about Jack's little cold, since he'd be over it by the time she got home.
The next thing I knew, there was a clunk as someone picked up the extension. "Mommy! I miss you!"
"I miss you too, sweetie."
Like, gag me with a plastic spoon.
"Mommy, I don't feel so good." Cough, cough, sniffle. If he was going for pathetic, it sounded about right.
"Aw, it's okay, sugar. I'm sure Tiffany is taking good care of you . . . aren't you?"
I was in trouble now. "Yeah, sure. Mom, it's nothing to worry about. It's just a cold or something. I already gave him some Tylenol."
"What?" Jack said. "When?"
"I dissolved them in your tea."
"I thought that tasted funny! Don't do that again!"
"Well, if you'd take them like a normal person, I wouldn't have to—"
"Kids." Mom made that one word sound like a royal proclamation: Thou shalt not fight. "Jackie, sweetie, hang up the phone so I can talk to your sister."
"I love you, Mommy." Yeech, gag again!
"I love you too, honey."
Clunk again, and it was just me and her. "Okay, Mom, what's up?"
"Tell me the truth: how bad is it?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Mom—"
"Tiffany Josephine. You will not use that tone with me."
This was so not fair! Why couldn't I be "honey sweetie sugarkins"? No, she has to get tough with me! "Sorry, Mom. Really, it's not that bad. He's got a little bit of a fever, but the Tylenol will probably take care of that. If he lets me give it to him."
"Just make sure his temperature doesn't go above 103. If it does, call the doctor. You know where the emergency file is, don't you?"
"Yeah." Mom has this file folder in her desk with all our medical information, the number of every hospital and doctor's office within a ten-mile radius, and notes authorizing emergency treatment if either of us should need it.
She gave me a few more instructions, and then had to go. I hung the phone back up and wondered how I could slip Jack his medication now, without him suspecting. The only idea that came to mind was too gross to think of and involved actually touching his pasty little body, so that was out.
Maybe this thing would just go away on its own. I sure hoped so.
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Fat chance.
I spent the rest of the afternoon bringing Jack, in order: a glass of orange juice, a glass of orange juice with no pulp, his Popular Mechanics magazines from the last six months, his laptop, two pieces of dry toast, the same two pieces of toast with the crust removed, a hot water bottle, the afghan from the back of the living room couch, the TV Guide, some piece of junk that was on his work table in his lair, another box of tissues, the cordless phone, a Phillips screwdriver, and a cup of tea with lemon and honey.
I was ready to kill him.
I came in to check his temperature again, and heard him talking to someone. At first I thought it was the phone, but then I heard another voice, kind of high and screechy. I pressed my ear to the door to see what was going on. Yeah, I could have just gone in, but then he would have had time to hide everything.
"What are you doing just sitting here?" Screechy demanded. "We have Woo to collect!"
Woo? What was that?
"I can't help it! I'm sick!"
"I'm sick, too—sick of your endless failures!"
"No, no! I'm sorry! I'll do better! As soon as I get better, right back kicking butt and taking Woo!"
"I should hope so! We only—" There was a sudden pause. "Someone's here!"
"Oh, that's probably just my sister—my sister! Hide!"
I gave them a moment, then opened the door. "Jack, who are you talking to?"
"What? No one. Why would I be talking to anyone?"
"I heard you." I glanced around the room, looking for this mysterious visitor. "Where is she?"
"Who?" Jack tried to look innocent.
"Your girlfriend."
"What girlfriend?"
"I heard another person in here! What did she do, jump out the window?" I went over and looked out: nobody there.
"Oh, that! Uh . . . I was on speaker phone! Yeah, that's right!"
I decided to let it go. I knew what I heard was not a speaker phone. There's a difference between a person on speaker phone and a person in the room, and what I heard was someone in the room. But I was too tired to argue with him. Besides, that little piece of info was better off in the "Blackmail" file. Just wait till Mom and Dad came home . . .
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Finally I reached the breaking point.
"Jack," I snapped, "it's one o'clock in the morning. Take your stupid cough medicine and go to sleep!"
"I don't want to!"
"Well, tough! I wasn't giving you an option here! Do it and shut up!"
He actually cried. "You're so mean to me!"
"Yeah? I haven't even started being mean to you! You wanna see how mean I can get?"
"No," he whined.
"Okay then. Take the medicine."
Slowly, like it was some humungous effort to even move, he reached for the dosage cup and drained it. "Ugh. That was nasty."
"It's medicine! It's not supposed to taste good!" Wait a minute—was I starting to turn into Mom? Oh, God, no!
"It probably won't even . . ." He never finished the sentence. Out like a light in 2.8 seconds, a new record.
I waited for a few minutes to see if he was genuinely asleep or would wake up and start bugging me again, but he never moved. Then he started to drool, not a pretty sight. I was out of there.
I went to bed myself, and when I woke up, it was after eleven. The schools had called; after letting them know that we would both be out another day, I went to check on Jack.
I expected him to still be sleeping. I didn't expect him to be gone again.
Déjà vu all over again.
This time I checked the bathroom first. No sign of him. I looked all over the house and couldn't find him. Finally I decided to enter the Citadel of Doom, or whatever he called it.
Jack was sitting at his work table, pieces of robot spread out in front of him. He was asleep with his head against the table, and he looked so cute I hated to wake him up. But he couldn't stay down here; he needed to be back in bed.
"Jack," I said. "Wake up."
No response.
"Come on." I went to shake his shoulders, and he felt really hot. "Oh, no." He felt like he was on fire.
I ran upstairs, leaving him for the moment, and got the thermometer. 103.8. Holy crap.
"Okay, that's it." I whacked him on the back and he jumped up.
"What do you want?"
"How long have you been down here?"
"I dunno. Now go away, I'm working on my cow bots!" I think that's what he said.
"Cow bots?"
"Yeah, uh . . . well, they seemed like a good idea last night."
"Get your coat. I'm taking you to the doctor."
"NO! I mean . . . I'll—I'll be all right. Just give me some more medicine."
"Uh uh. We're getting professional help this time." I marched him upstairs and sat him on the couch while I got the file. Should I call Mom? She'd need to know about something like this. On the other hand . . . it probably wasn't that serious. I decided to wait to hear what the doctor had to say, and then call her and let her know.
That is, if I didn't kill the little brat first.
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Of course they kept us waiting forever. The whole world had an emergency on the same day! I kept asking the lady at the reception desk when our turn would be, and she always said the same thing: "Soon. Now sit down, and tell your brother not to play with the fish tank."
"I was thinking of getting some piranhas," he said. "Or do you think they're overdone? Should I go for something bigger?"
"Just shut up and read your magazine," I sighed. I was getting really, really tired of this.
Finally, at like five-thirty, they called us.
Dr. Martin has been our pediatrician since we were born, and he still treats us both like little kids. Maybe Jack likes all the attention, but I'm getting tired of being given a balloon and a lollipop when I leave. On my last visit, I happened to casually mention sex. (Not that I'm actually having sex or anything, just on general principles.) Dr. Martin turned bright red—and he's, like, fifty!—and changed the subject. I had to look up the answer to my question online. Call that patient friendly? I don't.
"Hi, kids!" he said cheerily. "What can I do for you today?"
"You can let me finish my cow bots," Jack said. He was starting to sway back and forth, and I held him up.
"Sorry," I said. "He's really sick."
"How long has he been like this?"
So I told him everything, from the beginning, and he nodded and said "Hmmm" a lot and I knew he didn't have a clue what was wrong with my dumb brother. Other than a strange cow fixation.
"Sweetie, why don't you go in the other room while I examine Jackie?" And this kindly man practically shoved me out the door!
"Give him lots of shots!" I shouted over my shoulder. "The kind with the six-inch needle you have to stick in more than once!"
Jack screamed like a little girl. "Help me!"
I smiled in triumph as the door closed between us. You know what they say about payback.
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"I've never even heard of Mongolian Flu," I said on the way home.
"It's very rare." Jack wasn't talking much.
"Where did you pick that up, anyway?"
He gave me this "You're being an idiot" look. "Uh . . . in Mongolia?"
"When were you ever in Mongolia?"
"Sometime last week."
"Does this have to do with your take-over-the-world thing?"
He looked guilty. "Kinda."
"Okay, then, say no more."
When we got home, I tried to call Mom on my phone and let her know everything was all right. I pressed Speed Dial 1.
"Moshi moshi."
The Japanese girl again. "Who is this? Do you speak English?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm—" There was a crackling on the line, and then it went dead. "Oh, great, now I've lost the connection." I hit Speed Dial 1 again, and got a busy signal.
I stormed into Jack's room. "What did you do to my phone?"
"Could you be a little more specific?"
"I tried to call Mom, and got some Japanese girl. How did she get on my speed dial? And what number do I press for Mom?"
"I put Kimiko on your speed dial?" He seemed amazed, as if he couldn't even remember doing it.
"Is that her name? Who is she?"
"Um—no one! Nobody important at all! I'll take her number right off your phone!"
"Oh, no you don't! I'm not letting you touch this phone again!" He might hook me up with someone in Siberia—or Mongolia.
"But I want to fix it!"
"Maybe when you're better. You're not going to finish those cow bots, are you?"
"I don't know. You think they're a bad idea?"
"Unless you're planning on trampling someone with them, then yeah."
"You know, I never even thought of that," he said. "Can you get me some more parts?"
"You're not serious."
"Yeah, I am. I need a Plan B. This could work."
I wanted to tell him what a stupid idea it was. I wanted to say that he'd change his mind when he was feeling better. But I didn't. At least it would keep him occupied and not making endless demands.
"Make up a list," I said, "and I'll go to the store for you."
"Really?" He sat up, excited. Then reality set in. "Wait a minute, what's the catch?"
"No catch. As long as you have the money."
"Done!" He pressed a button on a little box, and a tiny hoverbot brought him his wallet. "Use my Electro House charge card. I get a fifteen percent Future Dictator Discount, so be sure and tell them it's for me. I'll write down all the model numbers for you—they should have everything in stock . . ."
I took the list and went to get his stuff. When I came home, he was asleep, still clutching a screwdriver. I pried it out of his hand, set it aside, and pulled the sheets up over him. He's so cute when he's asleep.
"Good night, Jack," I whispered, and kissed him on the forehead.
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Wait a minute, I did what?
