She chuckles. “What was that? Five seconds? Ten?”
I close my mouth, clearing my throat. It could’ve been a year for all I know. “I wasn’t counting. I was staring.”
“Well, I showed you mine,” she says, daring me.
And I always take a dare.
I stand up, unbuttoning my shirt. Now she’s the one looking at me. And she doesn’t say anything, but her lips are parted, not frowning, not pitying.
I walk to the pool steps, sliding out of my pants, and stand there for a moment in just my boxers, the water and Stella calling to me. Slowly, I step into the pool, our eyes locked on each other’s as we struggle for air.
For once, it has nothing to do with our CF.
I sink under the water and she follows me, small bubbles floating to the surface as we look at each other across the washed-out world underneath the water, our hair floating up and around us, pulling toward the surface, the lights casting shadows off our thin bodies.
We smile at each other, and even though there are a million reasons why I shouldn’t, looking at her now, I can’t help feeling like I’m falling in love with her.
CHAPTER 19
STELLA
We leave the pool, our hair slowly drying as night turns into early morning. We walk past things I’ve seen a million times in my years at Saint Grace’s. Dozing security guards, and surgeons angrily shaking the broken vending machine by the lobby, the same white tile floors and the same dimly lit hallways, but everything seems different with Will next to me. It’s like seeing everything for the first time. I didn’t know it was possible for a person to make old things become new again.
We walk slowly past the cafeteria and stand in front of a huge glass window off to the side, away from any passersby, watching the sky slowly lighten. Everything is still quiet on the other side of the glass. My eyes land on the lights at the park in the distance.
I take a deep breath and point at them. “See those lights?”
Will nods, looking over at me, his hair slicked back from the pool water. “Yeah. I always look at them when I sit on the roof.”
He watches me as I look back at the lights. “Every year Abby and I would go there. She used to call them stars because there are so many.” I smile, laughing. “My family used to call me Little Star.”
I hear Abby’s voice in my ear, saying my nickname. It hurts, but the pain isn’t as sharp. “She’d make a wish and she’d never, ever tell me what it was. She used to joke that if she said it out loud, it would never come true.” The tiny pinpoints of light twinkle in the distance, calling out to me, as if Abby is out there now. “But I knew. She wished for new lungs for me.”
I breathe in and out, feeling the ever-present struggle of my lungs to rise and fall, and I wonder what it would be like with new lungs. Lungs that, for a short while, would completely change life as I know it. Lungs that would actually work. Lungs that would let me breathe, and let me run, and give me more time to really live.
“I hope her wish comes true,” Will says, and I lean my head on the cold glass, glancing over at him.
“I hope my life wasn’t for nothing,” I say, my own wish on those twinkling lights.
He gives me a long look. “Your life is everything, Stella. You affect people more than you know.” He touches his chest, putting his hand over his heart. “I speak from experience.”
My breath fogs up the glass of the window, and I reach up, drawing a big heart. We look at each other in the reflection of the glass, and I feel the gravity of him, pulling at me across the open space. It tugs at every single part of me, my chest and my arms and my fingertips. I want to kiss him more than I want absolutely anything.
Instead, I lean over, kissing his reflection on the glass.
He reaches up slowly, touching his mouth with his fingertips, like he felt it, and we turn to face each other. I look over at him as the sun slowly crests the horizon, casting a warm glow onto his face, his eyes bright and filled with something brand new but somehow familiar.
My skin starts to prickle.
He takes a small step toward me, his gloved hand sliding slowly up the length of the pool cue, his eyes cautious as my heart begins to race. I move to step closer, to steal back a few more inches, to be just that much nearer to him.
But my phone goes off, chirping away over and over, and the magic of the moment floats away like a balloon. I grab my phone from my back pocket and see a text from Poe, feeling a mix of sadness and relief as Will and I pull away from each other.
SOS.
Barb is looking for you two!!!
WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?
Oh my god. Panic fills every part of me, and I look up at Will, my eyes wide. If she finds us together, we’ll never have a second date. “Oh no. Will. Barb’s looking for us!”
What are we going to do? We couldn’t be farther from our wing.
He looks panicked too for a fraction of a second, and then he pulls himself together, his eyebrows furrowing as he goes into full-on damage-control mode. “Stella, where will she look for you first?”
My mind races. “The NICU!”
The west entrance. Barb will be coming in from the other side. If I book it, I can maybe make it there in time.
My head snaps over to the elevators, and I see the doors slowly closing. Grimacing, I lean the pool cue against the wall, and bolt for the stairwell as Will books it in the opposite direction, back to our floor.
Putting one foot after the other, I chug up the stairs, my arms and legs starting to burn as I drag my body up to the fifth floor. Yanking my portable oxygen farther up on my shoulder, I head down the empty corridor. My feet slap against the floor noisily, my breathing coming in frantic gasps.
This is so bad. Barb will kill me. Well, first Will, then definitely me.
My lungs feel like they are on fire as I slam my body against the door with a large red five printed on it, the west entrance to the NICU swimming into view. I try to suck in as much air as I possibly can, coughing desperately as I flip open a keypad, my hands shaking too much to type in the numbers.
I’m going to get caught. I’m too late.
I grab my right hand with my left, steadying it enough to type 6428. NICU. The door unlocks with a click, and I throw myself onto an empty couch, my head swimming as I slam my eyes shut, pretending to sleep.
Not even a second later the east entrance door bursts open, and I hear footsteps, then smell Barb’s perfume as she stops short right next to me. My chest burns as I try to control my breathing, trying desperately to look tranquil while my body yearns for air.
I feel a blanket fan out over me, and then hear her steps slowly leaving, the east entrance door opening and closing behind her.
I sit bolt upright, coughing, my eyes filling with tears as a blinding pain shoots across my chest and all over my body. The pain gradually fades, my vision clearing as my body gets the air it needs. The amount of relief I feel right now is matched only by the amount of adrenaline coursing through my body.
I pull out my phone, sending a thumbs-up emoji to Will. He responds half a second later with: I CAN’T BELIEVE WE DIDN’T GET CAUGHT.
I laugh, sinking down into the warm couch, the whirlwind of last night still making my heart float miles above the hospital.
* * *
There’s a knock on my door, jolting me awake from my uncomfortable nap sprawl in the hideous green armchair by the window. I rub my eyes sleepily as I check my phone, squinting at the screen.
It’s already one o’clock. Which would explain the three million texts from Camila and Mya and Poe asking about how last night went.
Last night.
I smile at just the thought of it, feeling a wave of happiness overtake me. Standing, I shuffle over to the door and pull it open, confused when there’s nobody on the other side. That’s odd. Then I look down, noticing a cafeteria milk shake sitting on the floor, a note resting underneath it.
Bending down, I pick it up, smiling as I read: “Poe
said you like chocolate. Vanilla is obviously the better flavor, but I’ll let it slide because I like you.”
He even took the time to draw a cartoon podium, with a vanilla ice-cream cone beating out chocolate and strawberry for the first-place medal.
I laugh, looking down the hall to see Will outside his door, wearing a face mask and gloves. He pulls the face mask down and makes a face as Barb rounds the corner. He winks at me and pushes open the door to his room, quickly disappearing inside before she sees him.
I hide the milk shake and note behind my back, slapping on a big smile. “Morning, Barb!”
She looks up from a patient chart, eyeing me suspiciously. “It’s afternoon.”
I nod, slowly stepping back inside. “Sure, right. Afternoon.” I gesture with my free hand. “All this snow, you know, makes it hard to tell . . . what time of day it is.”
I roll my eyes, closing the door before I can say anything more ridiculous.
We lie low for the rest of the day so we don’t make Barb more suspicious of us. We don’t even risk Skyping or texting. I make a big show of reorganizing my med cart, secretly slipping notes under Will’s door every time I’m in the hallway to get more supplies.
Will heads to the vending machine about a dozen times, his replies coming with every new bag of chips or candy bar.
“When is date number two?” he writes, and I smile, glancing to my notebook at what I’ve actually spent my day working on.
My plan for his birthday tomorrow.
CHAPTER 20
WILL
I watch my mother sleepily from the edge of my bed as she argues back and forth with Dr. Hamid. As if screaming about it will somehow help change the results of my stats. There’s been no change from the Cevaflomalin.
Not exactly the best birthday present.
“Maybe there’s an adverse drug interaction. Something keeping the new drug from working as it should?” she fires back, her eyes practically frantic.
Dr. Hamid takes a deep breath, shaking her head. “The bacteria in Will’s lungs are deeply colonized. Antibiotic penetration into lung tissue requires time for any drug.” She points at my daily IV of Cevaflomalin. “This drug is no different.”
My mom takes a deep breath, gripping the edge of my bed. “But if it’s not effective—”
Not again. I’m not leaving again. I stand up, cutting her off. “Enough! It’s over, Mom. I’m eighteen now, remember? I’m not going to any more hospitals.”
She spins around to look at me, and I can tell she’s ready for this moment, her eyes filled with anger. “Sorry I’m ruining your fun by trying to keep you alive, Will! Worst mother of the year, right?”
Dr. Hamid slowly backs toward the door, knowing this is her cue to leave. My eyes flick back to my mother, and I glare at her. “You know I’m a lost cause, don’t you? You’re only making it worse. No treatment is going to save me.”
“Fine!” she fires back. “Let’s stop the treatments. Stop spending the money. Stop trying. Then what, Will?” She stares at me, exasperated. “You lie down on a tropical beach and let the tide take you? Something stupid and poetic?”
She puts her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “Sorry, but I don’t live in a fairy tale. I live in the real world, where people solve their . . .”
Her voice trails off, and I take a step forward, raising my eyebrows, daring her to say it. “Problems. Go ahead, Mom. Say it.”
It’s the word that sums up what I’ve always been to her.
She exhales slowly, her eyes softening for the first time in a long time. “You are not a problem, Will. You are my son.”
“Then be my mom!” I shout, my vision going red. “When was the last time you were that, huh?”
“Will,” she says, taking a step closer to me. “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to—”
“Do you even know me at all? Have you looked at a single one of my drawings? Did you know there’s a girl I like? I’ll bet you didn’t.” I shake my head, the rage pouring out of me. “How could you? All you see of me is my fucking disease!”
I point at all the art books and magazines stacked on my desk. “Who is my favorite artist, Mom? You have no idea, do you? You want a problem to fix? Fix how you look at me.”
We stare at each other. She swallows, collecting herself and reaching over to take her purse from off the bed, her voice soft and steady. “I see you just fine, Will.”
She leaves, closing the door quietly behind her. Of course she left. I sit down on my bed, frustrated, and look over to see an elaborately wrapped gift, a big red ribbon carefully tied around it. I almost throw it out, but instead I grab it, ready to see just what she could possibly think I’d want. I rip off the ribbon and the wrapping paper to reveal a frame.
I can’t understand what I’m seeing. Not because I don’t recognize it. Because I do.
It’s a political cartoon strip from the 1940s. An original of the photocopy I have hung up in my room.
Signed and dated and everything. So rare, I didn’t even think any still existed.
Shit.
I lie back on my bed, grabbing my pillow and putting it over my face, the frustration I was feeling toward her transferring to myself.
I resented so much the way she was always looking at me that I didn’t realize I was doing the exact same thing.
Do I know where she’s off to now? Do I know what she likes to do? I’ve been so focused on how I want to live my own life, I’ve entirely forgotten she has one.
It’s me.
Without me, my mom is all alone. All this time I thought she only saw my disease. A problem you fix. But, instead, she was looking right at me, trying to get me to fight against it alongside her, when all I did was fight her tooth and nail. All she wanted was for me to stay and fight, when all I kept doing was getting ready to leave.
I sit up, pulling down the photocopy and replacing it with the framed, one-of-a-kind original.
She wants the same thing as Stella. More time.
She wants more time with me.
* * *
I push back from my desk, ripping out my earbuds as I go. I’ve spent the past two hours drawing, trying to shake off my confrontation with my mom.
I know I should say something. Reach out, with a call or a text, but I can’t help but still feel a little pissed. I mean, this is a two-way street, and she definitely hasn’t been doing a perfect job on her end either. If she would have just shown me she was listening, even a little . . .
I sigh, grabbing a chocolate pudding cup and my afternoon pills from off my med cart and dutifully taking them. Pulling out my phone, I sit down on the edge of my bed and aimlessly scroll through my messages on Instagram to see a bunch of birthday wishes from my old classmates.
Nothing from Stella, yet. She hasn’t sent me anything since last night, when I asked about a second date.
I give her a call on FaceTime, grinning when she picks up. “I’m free!”
“Wha—?” she starts, her eyes widening. “Oh right, happy birthday! I can’t believe I didn’t—”
I wave my hand, cutting her off. No biggie. “You busy? Wanna take a walk? Barb’s not around.”
She pans the phone over a bunch of textbooks sitting in front of her. “I can’t right now. I’m studying.”
My heart sinks. Really? “Yeah, okay. I just thought that maybe . . .”
“How about later?” she asks, the view panning back up to her.
“My friends are visiting later,” I say, shrugging sadly. “It’s cool. We’ll figure something out.” I look sheepishly at her. “I was just, you know, missing you.”
She smiles at me, her eyes warm, her face happy.
“That’s all I wanted to see! That smile.” I run my fingers through my hair. “All right. I’ll let you get back to your books.”
I hang up, lying back on my bed and chucking my phone onto my pillow.
Barely a second later it starts to ring. I grab it, answering it without even look
ing at the screen to see who is calling. “I knew you’d change your—”
“Hey, Will!” a voice says on the other end. It’s Jason.
“Jason! Hey,” I say, a little bummed that it isn’t Stella, but still glad to hear from him. This thing with Stella has been happening so fast, I haven’t really had a chance to catch him up.
“Something came up,” he says, but he sounds weird. “I’m sorry, man. We can’t make it over there today.”
Seriously? First Stella and now Jason and Hope? Birthdays are sort of in short supply for me. But I shake it off. “Oh, yeah, okay. I totally get it.” He starts apologizing, but I cut him off. “Seriously, dude, it’s fine! Not a big deal.”
I hang up, sighing loudly, and as I’m sitting up, my gaze falls on my nebulizer. I grab the albuterol and shake my head, mumbling, “Happy birthday to me.”
* * *
I jolt awake from an evening nap as my phone chirps, a message coming in. I sit up, my eyes focus on the screen, and I swipe right to read a text from Stella.
HIDE AND SEEK. You’re it. XOXO S.
I roll out of bed, confused but curious as I slide into my white Vans and throw the door open. A bright-yellow balloon almost smacks me in the face, its long string tied to the doorknob. I squint, realizing that there’s something sitting inside the balloon at the very bottom.
A note?
I double-check that the coast is clear before stomping on the balloon to pop it. A boy walking back to his room with an open bag of chips jumps about ten feet at the noise, the chips flying out of the bag and scattering on the floor. I quickly grab the rolled-up Post-it note from inside, unfurling it to see a message written in Stella’s neat handwriting.
Start where we first met.
The NICU! I sneak down the hallway, past the boy resentfully picking up his potato chips, and take the elevator up to the fifth floor. I sprint across the bridge into Building 2, dodging nurses and patients and doctors, and head through the double doors into the east entrance of the NICU. Looking around, my head flies in every direction, searching for another—there! Tied to an empty crib behind the glass is another bright-yellow balloon. I carefully tiptoe inside, fumbling with the knot on the string to untie the balloon.
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