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CHAPTER 7

STELLA

“Just give me ten minutes,” I say, shutting the door and leaving Will and Poe out in the hallway.

I look around his room as my app downloads onto his phone, seeing the note I slipped under his door this morning sitting on top of his bed.

“Text me when you have the med cart. (718) 555 3295. I will be over this afternoon to set everything up.” I knew that one would be tricky, especially because Will and Barb are clearly not on the best of terms, so she wouldn’t advocate for him, but he went above her head and managed to charm Dr. Hamid. I pick up the note, noticing he’s drawn a tiny cartoon along the edge, of an angry Barb in her signature colorful scrubs, pushing a med cart and screaming, “DON’T MAKE ME REGRET THIS!” I shake my head, a smile slipping onto my lips as I put the note back down and walk over to the actual med cart. I rearrange a few pill bottles, making sure one more time that everything is in the same chronological order as what I programmed into the app after cross-referencing his Donkey Kong–covered regimen.

I double-check his laptop to see how much longer for the download to be complete from the link I sent him, trying not to breathe more than I have to in this B. cepacia–laden room.

Eighty-eight percent complete.

My heart jumps as I hear noise outside the doorway, and I yank my hand away from the keyboard, worried we’ve been caught. Please don’t be Barb. Please don’t be Barb. She should be on her lunch break, but if she’s back already, getting a jump on her Monday-afternoon rounds, she’ll murder me.

Will’s footsteps echo back and forth, back and forth, in front of the doorway, and I tiptoe to the door, almost pressing my ear up against it. But I’m relieved to hear only the two of their voices.

“You wiped everything down, right?” Poe says.

“Of course I did. Twice, just to be safe,” Will shoots back. “I mean, clearly, this wasn’t my idea, you know.” I adjust the isolation gown over the top of my disposable scrubs, and yank open the door, squinting at them through my goggles.

Poe spins around on his skateboard to face me. “Man, Stella. Did I tell you how fiiine you look today?” He and Will break out into laughter for the third time over my makeshift hazmat suit. I glare at them before glancing down the hallway.

“Still clear?”

He pushes off on his skateboard and slowly rolls past the nurses’ station, peering over the desk.

He shoots a thumbs-up in my direction. “Just hurry up.”

“I’m almost done!” I say, ducking back into the room and closing the door.

I eye the med cart, breathing a sigh of contentment over how meticulously organized it is. But then I see the desk his laptop is sitting on, which is so . . . not. I march over and grab a handful of colored pencils, putting them safely back in the pencil holder they belong in. I straighten up the magazines and sketchbooks, making sure they are in order by size, and as I do, a piece of paper falls out.

It’s a cartoon boy who looks a lot like Will holding a pair of balloons and forcing air into deflated-looking lungs, his face red from the effort. I grin, reading the caption under it: “Just breathe.” It’s really good.

Reaching out, I gently trace Will’s lungs, like I do with Abby’s drawing. My gloved fingertips land on the small cartoon of Will, his sharp jawline, his unruly hair, his blue eyes, and the same burgundy sweatshirt he was wearing on the roof.

All that’s missing is the smile.

I look up at the wall, noticing he has only an old cartoon hung up right above his bed. Grabbing a tack from a small jar, I hang his cartoon on the wall below it.

The laptop dings and I blink, quickly pulling my hand away. Upload complete. I spin around, walking to his desk and unplugging his phone. Scooping everything up, I pull open the door and hold out the phone to the noncartoon Will.

He stretches to take it from me, fixing his face mask with the other hand.

“I built an app for chronic illnesses. Med charts, schedules.” I shrug casually. “It’ll alert you when you need to take your pills or do a treat—” “You built an app? Like, built it, built it?” he cuts me off, looking from the phone to me in surprise, his blue eyes wide.

“Newsflash. Girls can code.”

His phone chirps and I see the animated pill bottle appear on his screen. “Ivacaftor. A hundred and fifty milligrams,” I tell him. Damn, I already feel better.

I raise my eyebrows at Will, who is giving me a look that’s not mocking for once. He’s impressed. Good. “My app is so simple even boys can figure it out.” I saunter off, swaying my nonexistent hips confidently, cheeks warm as I head straight to the public bathroom on the other side of the floor that no one uses.

The light flickers on as I lock the door behind me. I rip off my gloves and grab some disinfectant wipes from a round bin by the door, scrubbing my hands down three times. Exhaling slowly, I rip everything I’m wearing off; the booties and the cap and the face mask and the scrubs and the gown. I shove them all into the bin, pushing them down and closing the lid before running to the sink.

My skin is crawling, like I can feel the B. cepacia looking for a way to slip inside and eat away at me.

I go to the sink and turn the handle, hot water pouring loudly out of the tap. I grip the smooth porcelain, looking at myself in the mirror, standing there in my bra and underwear. The handful of raised scars lining my chest and stomach from surgery after surgery, my ribs pushing through my skin when I breathe, the sharp angle of my collarbone made sharper by the dim lighting of the bathroom. The redness around my G-tube is worsening, an infection definitely starting to form.

I’m too thin, too scarred, too . . . I meet my hazel eyes in the mirror.

Why would Will want to draw me?

His voice echoes in my head, calling me beautiful. Beautiful. It makes my heart flip in a way it shouldn’t.

Steam begins to cloud the mirror, blurring the image. I look away, pumping the soap until it overflows in my hand. I scrub my hands and my arms and my face with it, washing everything away and down the sink. Then I apply some heavy-duty hand sanitizer for good measure.

I dry off, opening the lid on the second trash can and pulling out a bag of clothes that I carefully put there an hour earlier on my way to Will’s room. Once I’m dressed, I glance in the mirror one more time before carefully leaving the bathroom, making sure no one sees me exiting. Good as new.

Lounging on my bed, I eye my Monday to-do list warily but keep scrolling through social media on my phone instead. I tap on Camila’s Instagram Story, watching for the millionth time as she waves happily to the camera from a kayak, holding the phone over her head to show Mya paddling frantically behind her.

Most of my time since the secret hazmat operation has been spent vicariously absorbing Cabo through my classmates’ Instagram Stories. I went snorkeling in crystal-blue waters with Melissa. Sailing with Jude to see the Arch of Cabo San Lucas. Basked on the beach with a seemingly not-too-heartbroken Brooke.

Just as I’m about to hit refresh yet again, there’s a knock on my door and Barb pops her head in. She eyes my med cart for a second and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming. “Have you been in Will’s room? His setup looks . . . awful familiar.” I shake my head, nope. Wasn’t me. A perk of being a goody two shoes is that Barb will probably believe me.

I’m relieved when my laptop dings with a FaceTime notification, Poe’s picture popping up on the screen. I freeze before answering it, silently willing him not to say anything about Will as I spin my laptop around.

“Look who just got back from lunch break!”

Luckily, his eyes immediately travel over to see Barb standing in the doorway, and he holds back whatever comments he’s about to make.

“Oh. Hey, Barb.” He clears his throat. Barb smiles at him as he starts rambling on about pears flambé with some kind of reduction. I watch as she slowly closes the door, my heart pounding in my ears until I hear the gentle click of the latch sliding into place.

I exhale slowly as Poe gives me a look.

“Listen. I get what you’re doing. It’s nice.” He looks right into my freaking soul as usual. “But this thing with Will. Is it really the best idea? I mean, you of all people know better.” I shrug, because he’s right. I do know better, don’t I? But I also know more than anyone how to be careful. “It’s only a couple of weeks, then I’m out of here. He can quit his treatment then for all I care.” He raises his eyebrows at me, smirking. “Senate-level dodge. Nicely done.”

He thinks I’m crushing on Will. Crushing on the most sarcastic and annoying, not to mention infectious, boy I’ve ever met.

Time to change the subject.

“I’m not dodging anything!” I say. “That’s your move.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me because he knows full well.

“Ask Michael,” I shoot back.

He ignores me and changes the topic right back. “Please don’t tell me that the one time you’re finally interested in a guy, he’s a CFer.” “I just helped him with his med cart, Poe! Wanting someone to live isn’t the same thing as wanting them,” I say, exasperated.

I am not interested in Will. I don’t have a death wish. And if I wanted to date an asshole, there are plenty without CF to choose from. It’s ridiculous.

Isn’t it?

“I know you, Stella. Organizing a med cart is like foreplay.”

He studies my face, trying to see if I’m lying. I roll my eyes and slam the laptop shut before either of us can figure out if I am.

“They’re called manners!” I hear Poe’s annoyed voice shout down the hallway to me, followed by the sound of his door slamming shut a few seconds later.

My phone vibrates and I pick it up to see a text from Will.

Lovers’ spat?

My stomach flips again, but I wrinkle my nose, about to delete the message, and then the four o’clock reminder for the AffloVest pops onto my screen, a tiny animated pill bottle dancing. I bite my lip, knowing Will just got the same notification. But will he follow through?