فصل دهم

CHAPTER 10

WILL

“Cevaflomalin time!” Julie sings, swinging my door open the next morning, a bag of the medicine in her hand.

I nod. I already got the notification from Stella’s app and moved from the desk over to my bed, where the IV rack is, waiting for her arrival.

I watch as Julie hangs the bag, taking the IV line and turning toward me. Her eyes travel to the drawing I did of Stella in the yoga room, hanging next to the lung drawing Stella had put up above my desk, the corner of her lip turning up as she looks at it.

“I like seeing you like this,” she says, her eyes meeting mine.

“Like how?” I ask, pulling down the neck of my shirt.

She inserts the IV line into a port on my chest. “Hopeful.”

I think about Stella, my eyes traveling to the IV bag of Cevaflomalin. I reach out to touch it gently, feeling the weight of the bag in my palm. The trial is so new. Still too new to know how this will turn out.

It’s the first time I’ve even let myself think about it . . . which might be dangerous. Or even stupid.

I don’t know. Getting my hopes up when a hospital is involved doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.

“What if this doesn’t work?” I ask.

I don’t feel any different. Not yet, at least.

I watch the IV bag, the steady drip, drip, drip of the medicine working its way into my body. I look back at Julie, the both of us silent for a moment.

“But what if it does?” she asks, touching my shoulder. I watch her leave.

But what if it does.

After the IV drip, I carefully slide on a pair of bright-blue gloves, making sure to keep my B. cepacia germs far away from anything Stella will touch.

I take one more look at my drawing from the yoga room earlier, carefully evaluating it as I pull it down off the wall.

It’s a cartoon but it’s definitely Stella. She’s in a white doctor’s coat, a stethoscope slung around her neck, her small cartoon hands resting angrily on her hips. Squinting at the drawing, I realize it’s missing something.

Aha.

I grab red, orange, and yellow pencils and draw fire coming out of her mouth. Way more realistic. Laughing to myself, I take a manila envelope that I stole from the nurses’ station, slide the drawing inside, and scrawl on the outside: “Inside, you’ll find my heart and soul. Be kind.” I walk down the hall to her room, picturing her opening the envelope, expecting something profound and deep. I look both ways before slipping it under the door, and lean against the wall, listening.

I hear her soft footsteps on the other side of the door, the sound of her snapping gloves on, then bending over to grab the envelope. There’s silence. More silence. And finally—a laugh! A real, genuine, warm laugh.

Victory! I walk back down the hallway, whistling, sliding onto my bed and grabbing my phone as FaceTime pings, a call coming in from Stella just like I hoped.

I answer it, her face appearing, her pink lips turning up at the corners. “A dragon lady? So sexist!” “Hey, you’re lucky you said no nudes!”

She laughs again, looking at the drawing and then back at me. “Why cartoons?” “They’re subversive, you know? They can look light and fun on the outside, but they have punch.” I could talk about this all day. If there’s anything I’m passionate about, this would be it. I hold up a book that’s on my nightstand that has some of the best of the New York Times political cartoons. “Politics, religion, society. I think a well-drawn cartoon can say more than words ever could, you know? It could change minds.” She looks at me, surprised, not saying anything.

I shrug, realizing how hard I just nerded out. “I mean, I’m just a wannabe cartoonist. What do I know.” I point at the drawing behind her, a beautiful picture of lungs, flowers pouring out of the inside, a backdrop of stars behind them. “Now that is art.” I pull my laptop closer to me, realizing what it means. “Healthy lungs! That’s brilliant. Who did it?” She looks back at it, pausing. “My older sister. Abby.”

“That’s some talent. I’d love to take a look at her other work!” A strange look comes onto her face, and her voice turns cold. “Look. We’re not friends. We’re not sharing our stories. This is just about doing our treatments, okay?” The call ends abruptly, my own confused face swinging into view. What the hell was that? I jump up, angry, and throw open the door to my room. Storming down the hallway, I make a beeline for her door, ready to give her a piece of my mind. She can kiss my— “Hey! Will!” a voice says behind me.

I swing around, surprised to see Hope and Jason walking toward me. I was texting Jason like an hour ago, and I still totally forgot they were coming today, like they always do on Fridays. Jason holds up a bag of food, grinning at me as the smell of fries from my favorite diner a block away from our school wafts down the hallway, trying to reel me in.

I freeze, looking between Stella’s door and my visitors.

And that’s when it hits me.

I’ve seen both of her parents come and go. I saw her friends visiting her the first day she got here.

But Abby? She hasn’t even talked about Abby.

Where has Abby been?

I walk up to Hope and Jason, grabbing the bag and nodding for them to follow me into my room. “Come with me!” I throw open my laptop, the two of them standing behind me as it boots up, surprised expressions on their faces.

“Nice to see you, too, dude,” Jason says, peering over my shoulder.

“So, I met a girl,” I say, facing the both of them. I shake my head when Hope gives me one of those smiles, her eyes excited. Jason is completely up to date on all things Stella, but I haven’t filled Hope in yet. Mostly because I knew she’d react like this. “Not like that! Okay. Maybe like that. But it can’t be like that. Whatever.” I swing back to my computer, opening the tab to Stella’s YouTube page and scrolling to a video from last year labeled “Polypectomy Party!” I click on it, before slamming my space bar to pause the video and spinning around to fill them in.

“She’s got CF. And she’s, like, a crazy control freak. She’s made me start doing my treatments all the way and everything.” Relief fills Hope’s eyes and Jason is positively beaming. “You’ve started doing your treatments again? Will. That’s awesome,” Hope gushes.

I wave her praise away, even though I’m a little surprised it got this big of a reaction. Hope pestered me about it for a while, but when I told them to leave it alone, they didn’t make a big deal about it. I sort of thought we were all on the same page.

But now they both look so relieved. I frown. I don’t want to get their hopes up.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway. Get this. She has a sister named Abby.” I fast-forward to a few minutes in, pressing play so they both can watch.

Stella and Abby are sitting in a hospital room, artwork lining the walls like in her room now. Dr. Hamid is there, a stethoscope pressed to Stella’s chest as she listens to her lungs. Stella’s legs are shaking anxiously as she looks between Dr. Hamid and the camera.

“Okay. So, I’m having a nasal poly . . . ?”

“Polypectomy,” Dr. Hamid says, straightening up. “We’re removing polyps from your nasal passages.” Stella grins at the camera. “I’m trying to talk the doc into a nose job while she’s there.” Abby gives her a big hug, squeezing her tightly. “Stella’s nervous. But I’ll be there to sing her to sleep, just like always!” She starts to sing, her voice soft and sweet, “ ’I love you, a bushel and a peck—’ ” “Stop!” Stella says, clamping her hand down over her sister’s mouth. “You’ll jinx it!” I hit pause on the video, swinging around to face my friends.

They both look confused, clearly not getting the realization that just came to me. They look at each other, eyebrows raised, and then Hope gives me a big smile, leaning over to squint at the sidebar.

“You watched all her videos?”

I ignore her.

“Well, she just freaked out like five minutes ago when I asked to see more of her sister’s art. That video was last year,” I say as an explanation.

“Okay, and?” Jason asks, frowning.

“Abby’s not in any of the videos after this.”

They nod, slowly catching on. Hope pulls out her phone, frowning as she taps away. “I found Abby Grant’s Instagram. It’s mostly art, and her and Stella.” She looks up at me, nodding. “But you’re right. She hasn’t posted in a year.” I look from Jason to Hope, then back again. “I think something happened to Abby.” * * *

The next afternoon my phone buzzes noisily, reminding me of an exercise session Stella programmed into my regimen. I haven’t seen her since I figured out something happened with Abby, and the thought of seeing her in just a few minutes is making me weirdly nervous. I couldn’t really enjoy the rest of the visit with Hope and Jason, even as we ate fries and talked about all the latest post-Thanksgiving school drama over the new episode of Westworld. We always wait to watch new episodes together, even if I’m on an entirely different continent in another time zone and need to Skype them.

Taking a deep breath, I head to the gym to meet Stella, pushing open the door and walking past the rows of treadmills and ellipticals and stationary bikes.

Peeking into the yoga room, I see her sitting on a green mat meditating, her legs crossed, her eyes closed.

Slowly I push open the door, walking as quietly as I can to a mat across the room from her.

Six feet away.

I sit down and watch how peaceful she looks, her face soft and calm. But her eyes slowly open to meet mine and she stiffens.

“Barb didn’t see you, did she?”

“Abby’s dead, isn’t she?” I blurt out, cutting right to the point. She stares at me, not saying anything.

Finally she swallows, shaking her head. “Real nice, Will. About as delicate as a jackhammer.” “Who has time for delicacy, Stella? We clearly don’t—”

“Stop!” she says, cutting me off. “Stop reminding me that I’m dying. I know. I know that I’m dying.” She shakes her head, her face serious. “But I can’t, Will. Not now. I have to make it.” I’m confused. “I don’t under—”

“I’ve been dying my whole life. Every birthday, we celebrated like it was my last one.” She shakes her head, her hazel eyes shining bright with tears. “But then Abby died. It was supposed to be me, Will. Everyone was ready for that.” She takes a deep breath, the weight of the world on her shoulders. “It will kill my parents if I die too.” It hits me like a ton of bricks. I’ve been wrong all along.

“The regimen. All this time I thought you were afraid of death, but it’s not that at all.” I watch her face as I keep talking. “You’re a dying girl with survivor’s guilt. That is a complete mind-fuck. How do you live with—” “Living is the only choice I have, Will!” she snaps, standing up and glaring down at me.

I stand up, staring at her. Wanting to step closer and close the gap between us. Wanting to shake her to get her to see. “But, Stella. That’s not living.” She turns, pulling on her face mask and bolting for the door.

“Stella, wait! Come on!” I take a few steps after her, wishing I could just reach out and grab her hand, so I can fix it. “Don’t go. We’re supposed to be exercising, right? I’ll shut up, okay?” The door slams behind her. Shit. I really screwed that up.

I turn my head to stare at the mat where she was just sitting, frowning at the empty space where she just was.

And I realize I’m doing the one thing I’ve told myself this whole time I wouldn’t do. I’m wanting something I can never have.