Airhead a-1

by Meg Cabot

  I tried to think why I would be in a hospital with wires coming out of me. I am actually a very healthy person and have only been to the hospital once, when I broke my arm falling off the see-saw in our apartment building’s playground in the second grade. Had I fallen off something again? I couldn’t remember climbing on anything. How had I ended up in the hospital? I didn’t feel hurt. Just super-duper tired.

  But I felt better than my dad looked. He had a lot of grey stubble all over his face, like he hadn’t shaved in a long, long time (which seemed kind of funny to me, since when I’d seen him just last night at dinner, he hadn’t had a beard. Or had he? Looking back, I couldn’t seem to remember… hadn’t I had dinner with my dad last night? It seemed so long ago…). Also, his shirt was super wrinkly and there were some stains on it.

  The truth was, my dad looked pretty awful. I wondered why my dad would look like that. I didn’t want to wake him up to ask though. That seemed like it would be a selfish thing to do.

  On the other hand… I was so thirsty. Seriously. I thought I was going to die of thirst.

  But there didn’t appear to be anyone else around. And it looked as if, whatever was wrong with me, it was kind of serious, given all the tubes and wires.

  If I could just get a sip of water I’d go right back to sleep, no questions asked…

  I opened my mouth and tried to say Dad’s name. At first nothing happened.

  That’s right. I tried to say the word Dad and no sound at all came out of my mouth. I had to try a couple more times before I was able to make any kind of noise and, even then, it was more of a grunt than anything else.

  ‘Dad?’

  Only the word sounded really strange. I don’t know why. Maybe my voice was rusty from lack of use or something. Or thirst.

  But my dad’s head jerked up anyway, and he stared at me all bugeyed. ‘Er… Em?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘H-hey,’ I said. ‘S-sorry —’

  Except that came out sounding weird too. What was wrong with my voice?

  Dad seemed to think my voice sounded weird too, since, his eyes still wide, he jumped up from his chair, yelling, ‘Doctor! Doctor!’ and then rushed off.

  Which indicated to me that I must be more hurt than I’d originally thought.

  But I was too tired to wait around to find out how hurt. Seriously, I felt even more tired than I usually feel in first-period Public Speaking. Which is pretty tired. Probably if I didn’t stay up all night playing Journeyquest with Christopher — then have to stay up the rest of the night finishing my homework — I’d be able to get up in the morning, but…

  I wanted to stay awake. I really did. I wanted to find out what was wrong with me, and why I was in the hospital. I wanted to get some water…

  But I just couldn’t keep my eyes open a minute longer. I closed them, thinking I’d just take a little nap until Dad got back.

  But of course I went back to sleep. Mmmm, sleep. Delicious sleep.

  I hoped I wouldn’t start drooling after I dropped off. But I figured in a hospital they must be totally used to that.

  When I opened my eyes again it was daytime. And my mom was sitting in the chair my dad had jumped out of. She was calling my name.

  ‘Mom,’ I said groggily Because the truth was, I was still pretty tired. ‘I don’t want to go to school today. OK?’

  At least that’s what I tried to say. I’m not positive those are the words that my mother heard, because they didn’t sound much like what came out of my mouth.

  Instead of arguing with me though, Mom flattened her hand across her mouth and started to cry. That’s when I noticed she wasn’t the only person in the room besides me. Behind her stood my dad and a couple of people in white coats I’d never seen before.

  I figured the reason she was crying was because my voice still sounded so weird. It was kind of… I don’t know… high-pitched.

  Also, I still wasn’t sure the words I’d said made sense.

  ‘Honey,’ Dad said. He had his hands on Mom’s shoulders and was looking at me funny… like the time I slipped and hit my chin on the side of the pool at the hotel we were staying at in DisneyWorld, and I didn’t know it but a big chunk of my skin had come off and I was bleeding copiously, but since it didn’t hurt I wasn’t crying or anything, nor did I notice I was covered in my own blood because I was wet anyway. ‘Do you, um, know who we are?’

  Whoa. Whatever number I’d done to get myself into the hospital, it must have been serious.

  ‘Um, yeah,’ I said. ‘You’re Daniel Watts and she’s Karen Rosenthal-Watts.’

  The words didn’t really come out sounding that clear. There seemed to be something wrong with my enunciation.

  Maybe that’s why my mom burst into loud sobs. Which was really startling. I’ve never seen her cry that way before. Not even at the end of the movie Love Actually, which always makes her weep like a baby.

  I’m pretty sure Dad had never heard her cry like that before either. He looked totally startled by her outburst, and kept going, ‘Karen, it’s OK.’

  Fortunately one of the people wearing a white coat stepped around my parents while they were huddled in their weepy hug and said, in a kind voice, ‘I’m Doctor Holcombe, Emerson.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. Then I tried to clear my throat. Only it didn’t work, because there was nothing in my throat to clear, apparently. ‘Why does my voice sound so weird?’ I asked.

  Dr Holcombe had taken out a penlight and was flashing it into my eyes. ‘Are you in any pain?’ he wanted to know. I wasn’t sure if he was ignoring my question or if he just hadn’t understood me. My voice sounded so weird, I couldn’t quite understand myself.

  Meanwhile, another person in a white coat, this one a lady with her dark hair in a bun, said, ‘I’m Doctor Higgins. Can you wiggle your toes for me, Emerson?’

  It was hard — I was still so tired — but I wiggled my toes.

  ‘What happened to me?’ I wanted to know.

  ‘Can you follow the end of my finger with your eyes, Emerson?’ Dr Holcombe wanted to know. ‘Don’t move your head. Just follow it with your eyes.’

  So I followed his finger with my eyes. I could see everything just fine now. No more amoebas everywhere.

  ‘I mean, I know I’m in the hospital,’ I went on. ‘But what’s with all these wires? And why does my voice sound like that?’

  ‘Just keep looking here,’ Dr Holcombe said as he continued to shine the light in my eyes as I was following his finger with my gaze.

  ‘Can you squeeze my hand, Emerson?’ Dr Higgins wanted to know.

  I squeezed her hand.

  ‘Seriously,’ I said. Since Mom was still crying and Dad was still trying to help her pull herself together, I had no choice but to address my concerns to these doctors I had only just met. ‘How much school have I missed?’ Because I was in all Advanced Placement classes, and it was no joke if you fell behind. And then, because I still sounded so weird to myself, I asked, ‘What is wrong with my voice?’

  ‘We’ll get to all that,’ Dr Holcombe said, finally flicking off his flashlight, ‘in time, Emerson.’

  ‘Em,’ I corrected him. ‘I go by Em.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dr Holcombe smiled, and put his penlight away. ‘Now why don’t you try to get some more rest? Your family, as you can see, is fine —’ he glanced at them, realized they were both still sniffling, and looked uncomfortably away again — ‘er, at least, they will be. They’ve been very worried about you, that’s all. It’s quite a relief to see that you’re doing so well. You can go back to sleep now, if you want to.’

  I was still pretty sleepy. But I was worried about the school thing. His assurance that we’d get to all that in time didn’t mean I wasn’t going to have bucketloads of work to make up.

  And how come no one would answer my question about my voice?

  But the doctor with her hair in a bun was jiggling some of my wires, and suddenly I got sleepier than ever. So I closed my eyes for another little
nap.

  And when I opened them again, it was night-time, and the handsomest guy I’d ever seen in my life was sitting in the chair beside my bed.

  Five

  ‘Oh, you’re awake then,’ the guy said when he noticed that I was staring at him.

  And then he smiled.

  And I knew exactly what it must feel like to reach level sixty at Journeyquest. Suddenly, it was a little hard to breathe.

  Also, it wasn’t at ALL annoying that one of the machines next to my bed started pinging like MAD in time with my heartbeat.

  ‘Oh no,’ the guy said, the smile disappearing as he glanced at the machine in alarm. ‘Did I do something?’

  ‘No,’ I assured him in my still-weird voice. But who even cared?

  Obviously this guy was a hallucination.

  But one that I was going to enjoy as long as I could.

  I smiled back at him, and asked, relieved the pinging had gone back to normal (how embarrassing!), ‘Are those for me?’

  Because he was holding a big bouquet of red roses. Like his presence wasn’t enough of a treat. He’d brought me flowers as well.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, looking down at the roses like he’d only just remembered they were there. He laid them down on the bed beside me. ‘Yes, they are. Do you remember me? Gabriel Luna? From the Stark Megastore grand opening last month?’

  I had no idea what he was talking about. I guess I semi-remembered something about a Stark Megastore. I definitely remembered him though. Or at least, I thought I did. That dark hair and those piercing blue eyes — those I knew.

  Just not the name that had been attached to them. Or how I knew them.

  I couldn’t believe such a totally hot guy was visiting me in the hospital. And I really couldn’t believe he had brought me flowers.

  ‘Of course I remember you,’ I lied.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ Gabriel said, smiling again. And this time, even though my heart didn’t speed up (thank God), I felt it melt. Just a little. Because of course even though he was handsome, he wasn’t Christopher. ‘I wasn’t certain you would. Couldn’t have been the best day of your life… ’

  What was he talking about? I had no idea.

  ‘Ha ha,’ I said, smiling back at him. I reached over to touch one of the rose’s silky crimson petals.

  Which is when I noticed my hand…

  … wasn’t my hand.

  I mean, it was, obviously. It was attached to my arm. But it looked… different. Instead of my chewed-up, raggedy fingernails (I’m a hardcore nail-biter), I saw that I had what appeared to be a grown out, though perfect-except-where-the-cuticles-needed-to-be-pushed-back, French manicure… pink on the bottom, with white tips.

  Weird. Also, did my fingers look… thinner than before? Could you lose weight in your hand? I suppose so, if you were unconscious long enough.

  But still. How long had I been sleeping, anyway?

  Then I realized: long enough for Frida to glue on those Lee Press On Nails she was always threatening to make me wear.

  Then I realized Gabriel was talking to me. He was saying, ‘You look well. They’re saying — well, all sorts of things about you. I didn’t know what to expect. No one would tell me anything about you. They aren’t allowing visitors… I had to sneak on to this floor —’

  He snuck on to my floor to visit me? That was so sweet…

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, actually sounding concerned.

  ‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘A little sleepy… ’

  ‘Then you rest,’ Gabriel said, looking slightly alarmed. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ I said, fearful he was preparing to leave. My hot-guy hallucination! It couldn’t end so soon!

  But the truth was, I was having a hard time keeping my eyelids up. They kept kind of falling closed, no matter how hard I tried to keep them open, just like in Mr Greer’s class.

  ‘Don’t go,’ I said to him. It was just an inch or two from the rose petal I was stroking to where he was resting his hand. And before I could stop myself, I had lain my fingers over his. What was I doing? I mean, me, touch a boy’s hand? Especially the hand of a boy as cute as Gabriel Luna. Not that any boy as cute as he was had ever come close enough to me before in order for me to reach his hand… I mean, obviously there was Christopher, who I considered cute…

  … but I knew the rest of the world — or at least Frida and the rest of the Walking Dead — didn’t technically agree with me. At least, not unless he got a haircut.

  Then again, Christopher had never brought me ROSES before. Christopher hadn’t come to visit me in the hospital (don’t think I hadn’t noticed). Christopher had never stroked the back of my hand with his thumb, as Gabriel had just done. The few times I’d ever touched Christopher’s hand with mine, he’d moved his out of the way with lightning fast speed, thinking it was an accident (it so wasn’t).

  But the thing was, none of this was really happening anyway, since it was all a hallucination… so what did it matter? This was the perfect opportunity to practise holding a boy’s hand so that, when the opportunity with Christopher actually arose — and it was going to have to some day, right? Right? — I’d know what to do.

  The minute my fingers touched his, Gabriel stopped looking like he was getting ready to get up and leave. Instead, his face kind of softened a little, and he even turned his hand over to hold mine, and, doing that amazing thumb-stroking thing, said, in that deep soothing voice of his, ‘I’ll stay until you go to sleep.’

  Wow. That sounded nice. Super nice.

  And exactly what a hallucination should say. I could only hope Christopher, when the time came, would be as nice.

  But there was still something vaguely wrong. Something was missing from my perfect-boy-hallucination scenario.

  Then I realized what it was.

  ‘Will you sing me that song?’ I asked, my eyelids so heavy I was looking out of mere slits. ‘The one you sang… ’ Where? I didn’t even know what I was talking about. All I knew was that I’d heard him sing a song… somewhere. I was pretty sure.

  He smiled. ‘I didn’t know you even heard that song,’ he said. ‘I thought you didn’t show up until after my performance was over. But I’ll gladly sing it for you.’

  What was he talking about?

  But then he started singing, super softly, and it didn’t matter.

  And the sweet notes of the song he was singing soon lulled me all the way to sleep… but not before I heard, way off in the furthest reaches of my mind, a voice that sounded a lot like that of the lady with the bun in her hair going, ‘Hey, you there! What are you doing in here?’

  And the singing stopped.

  But by that time I was asleep anyway, and so I didn’t care.

  A hot guy named Gabriel Luna had sung me to sleep.

  A hot guy named Gabriel Luna had brought me roses.

  A hot guy named Gabriel Luna had held my hand.

  It had to all be a dream. The most perfect dream I had ever had. Or would have been, if it had been a different boy, and not Gabriel Luna.

  I never wanted to wake up.

  Except that of course I did. Wake up, I mean.

  The next time I opened my eyes, it was daylight again.

  And sitting in the chair beside me was a girl who kept shaking my arm and going, ‘Nikki! Nikki, wake up. Wake UP!’

  Then, when she saw that my eyes were open, she went, ‘Oh, thank God. What are they pumping into you anyway, to make you sleep so hard? I thought you were in a coma or something.’

  I just blinked at her. She looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t quite figure out how. Was she someone I knew from school? And if so, why was she talking to me? Because she was totally gorgeous — perfectly smooth cafe-au-lait coloured skin, a funky bleached-blonde pageboy, collarbones so sharp they looked like they could cut through tin cans, like those knives on TV.

  And the gorgeous girls at Tribeca Alternative do not speak to me. Except to ask me to get
out of their way.

  ‘You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to track you down. Do you know they’ve got rent a cops at all the elevators, to keep people from getting up here to see you? Getting in to see you is harder than getting a table at Pastis for Sunday brunch,’ the girl prattled on. ‘I had to sneak up the stairwell, then hide in the ladies’ room until the coast was clear. Thank God I had a copy of the newest issue of Us Weekly to throw on to the head nurse’s desk in order to distract them long enough for me to sneak by. It’s a good thing Britney’s on the cover again, or it never would have worked.’

  Slowly, I realized how I knew this girl. Not because I’d been asked by her to move out of the way in the hallways of my school, but because she’d been on the covers of some of Frida’s magazines.

  She was Lulu Collins, daughter of Tim Collins, the famous film director whose cinematic adaptation of Journeyquest had made so much money… and almost ruined the whole game for me forever after.

  Why in God’s name was Lulu Collins sitting beside my hospital bed?

  ‘Anyway’ she went on, ‘Since no one would tell me anything about what was going on with you, I just took matters into my own hands. I had to. I know Kelly’s going to be mad, but whatever, I’m your best friend — and she’s not going to keep from me what’s going on with my best friend. Also, to tell you the truth, I couldn’t take the whining any more. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s missed you. So I brought her to see you. I know it’s against the rules, but whatever, some rules are just stupid.’

  And without another a word, Lulu Collins reached into her colossal tote bag, and pulled out…

  … Nikki Howard’s fluffy white dog.

  Which she promptly deposited on my chest.

  And can I just say, that dog went mental for me? I have never really considered myself much of a dog person. I mean, I like them well enough, but my parents never thought it was a great idea for us to have pets, given their wacky living situation (Dad in New Haven, Mom in New York City).

  But this dog. Holy moley, this dog loved me. It was jumping all over me, licking my face, dislodging wires –