The car is already there by the time I convince Miss Freifeld, the secretary, that I really am practically dying

I’m back in school, and my stomach is aching so badly, I’m scared that if I open my mouth, everything I ate today will come rushing out.

I am not throwing up in school. It’s the grossest thing ever.

I clamp my lips together and rest my head on my hand, willing the nausea to recede. It helps, for about 20 seconds. Then my insides go back to feeling like a washing machine on spin cycle.

I ask to leave and half-stumble to the door and then the office to call my mother.

“Ma.” I nearly cry when she picks up. “Come get me. Please.”

My mother hesitates. “It’s nearly the end of school, Libby… is it that bad?”

“Worse.” Tears spring to my eyes. I choke them back. “Just come….”

I hear a chair scrape back. “I’ll be outside in ten minutes.”

The car is already there by the time I convince Miss Freifeld, the secretary, that I really am practically dying.

“Thanks for coming so fast,” I say to Ma, collapsing into the seat.

“Are you okay?” she asks, eyeing me up and down.

“My stomach… and head. I wanna go to bed….”

“We’ll be home soon.” Ma pauses. “Anything more specific?”

“Specific? I’m dizzy, nauseous, headache… you know, all the same stuff.” Then, because her expression seems funny, I ask, “Why?”

“Because… the doctor’s office called today.” She shakes her head. “The tests came back negative, Libby. You don’t have celiac.”

“Well, I’m so happy to hear! I’m just about to throw up everything I ate today, but nothing’s wrong. Great.”

“Libby!” Ma is hurt. “You don’t need to be sarcastic. The doctor suggested another test. I’ve scheduled a colonoscopy for you.”

I have no idea what a colonoscopy is. I’m not sure I want to know, either.