Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1
I wince as the sharp metal tool scrapes against my molars and pricks my gums. Claudia doesn't react and continues to chat about her new puppy while she cleans my teeth. Her eyes don't reveal any clues about whether I have any cavities. I'll find out about that when the dentist comes in later, and I'm trying not to worry about it. Luckily, the puppy stories are distracting.

"Almost done," Claudia says. Her eyes are clearly smiling at me although the rest of her face is covered with a surgical mask. "Doing all right?"

"Ohagghh," I gag. I'm not sure if she expects an answer from me while my mouth is wide open, or if I'm supposed to blink in some sort of code--like once for "yes," twice for "no."

I'm leaning way back in a dental chair, wearing oversized orange plastic sunglasses, and facing the TV that's mounted on the ceiling. There's a SpongeBob SquarePants episode playing, but I can barely hear it between Claudia's talking and the whir of the hose sucking out spit that's collecting in my mouth. I know this episode though, since I've seen them all before with my younger brother, Musa.

"All done." Claudia pushes back the bright light that's shining in my face and raises my headrest. "What flavor fluoride would you like?"

I survey the choices. Mint, strawberry, or bubble gum.

"Strawberry," I say, and Claudia reaches for the tub.

"No wait. Mint," I correct, and her hand wavers. "I mean strawberry."

"Strawberry it is," Claudia says, ripping off the cover of the tub and sticking her swab inside before I can change my mind again. Making quick decisions isn't something I'm known for. I always worry that another choice might be the better one, even when I'm deciding about something I love, like drawing. I can't help but doubt everything I'm doing, like, is this the perfect angle? Should I make this bigger or smaller? Is this what I should draw at all?

Thinking about this reminds me that I have a choice to make for art class, for our next project. I'm making a portrait, based on a photo of my cousin Parisa. I took a bunch of pictures of her already but haven't picked which one I'm going to use.

Once my teeth are coated in a film of strawberry goop, Claudia raises my head and pats me on the shoulder.

"You did great," she says, winking at me. I take a deep breath. At least this part is over.

I've been coming to Falls Church Dental Care for as long as I can remember. And everyone here remembers me too. I'm famous for having tantrums during my cleanings as a little kid, and for kicking the staff who tried to touch my mouth. Claudia was the one who eventually managed to coax me into letting her work on my teeth by turning it into a counting game, and she's been the one I've been coming to ever since.

Dr. Singh walks into the room next, and my heart begins to race. Last time I was here, six months ago, she warned me that I had the "beginnings of a cavity" and said I needed to "do better" with my home cleaning routine. I brush twice a day, but only floss every few weeks. I honestly want to be better. But after a few days, I always fall back into my old flossless ways.

"Deena, good to see you," Dr. Singh says. Her long black hair is twisted into a neat bun like always and her gold hoop earrings glint in the light.

"You too," I lie. Seeing her makes my stomach hurt.

"I want to show you something," Dr. Singh continues, all business as she pulls up my X-rays onto a screen that's mounted on the wall. It creeps me out to see the roots of my teeth glowing white against the dark background, like the jaw of a skeleton.

"Did that cavity grow?" I ask, feeling instantly defeated by the invisible monsters.

"No, that's fine." Dr. Singh points to my last tooth on the bottom row. "But see here, you have a tiny crack, in your back molar."

"A crack? Whoa. How?"

"Remember I told you how you clench your teeth at night last time you visited, and that you should consider wearing a mouthguard?"

I vaguely remember that. I thought it was strange but didn't pay much attention to it.

"Well, it's something I strongly recommend now. I'm going to call your mom in here and discuss it with both of you, okay?"

"Okay," I say, but my stomach hurts more now.

A couple of minutes later, Mama walks into the room, holding her purse, my jacket, my backpack, and an oversized water bottle. She bites her bottom lip and perches on the tiny chair in the corner.

"Does Deena have cavities?" Mama asks, shooting me a disappointed look before even hearing the answer.

"No, no, it's not that," Dr. Singh says cheerfully. "She has a small fracture in her molar, the result of clenching her teeth while she sleeps."

"I'm sorry, she what?" Mama's eyebrows come together, making deep lines in her forehead.

"It's an involuntary stress response, and quite common," Dr. Singh explains. "I recommend a custom nightguard, which will protect her teeth from further damage, and prevent jaw pain."

"Stress?" Mama shakes her head like she doesn't believe it. "What does Deena have to be stressed about?"

Dr. Singh looks at me sympathetically.

"Middle school, right? I barely survived myself," she says, patting my arm.

I offer a weak smile back.

"And what about the crack?" Mama asks.

"I'll have to fill that at another date. But we can take a mold of her teeth today and order the nightguard, which will take two weeks to come in."

As Dr. Singh and Mama continue to speak about how much the nightguard and the filling will cost, I see all-too-familiar calculations taking place in my mother's head. There's no extra money for something like this. I know that. I feel my jaw tighten and run my tongue over my back tooth, trying to feel for the crack.

If I wasn't stressed before, I am now.

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Excerpted from Drawing Deena by Hena Khan
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.