The Girl Who Wasn't There

by Penny Joelson

  “You can help me choose. Anything colorful or exotic-looking. You know the kind of thing Nani likes. While I edge the border, you take this pen and circle anything you like.”

  I feel a wonderful sense of calm as I browse through the catalog, glancing up frequently to watch Nav chopping the border with an edging tool. He does not seem to like straight lines and is curving it in a very attractive way. A robin is sitting on the fence watching, too, and a few other birds are twittering cheerfully by the bird feeder. It really is starting to feel like spring now, and I feel a renewed optimism.

  “I need a drink,” he tells me. He goes in and brings out two glasses of juice, then sits down beside me.

  “Seen anything you like?” he asks.

  “I like these rudbeckias—and the dahlias,” I tell him.

  “Good choices—I love them, too.” He grins. “I want to get a bench, too, with an awning over it, so Nani can relax where there is warm sun, but also a little shade. I’m watching on auction sites, and Mom has said she’ll pay if I can find one that’s not too expensive.”

  “I like the way you’ve done the edge of the border—all curvy,” I comment. “It looks much nicer than when it was just straight.”

  “I saw it in this garden book. It shows you how to add mirrors to make it look even bigger. That’s something I’m thinking about.”

  “I can’t wait to see it in the summer,” I say.

  “I can picture it so clearly in my mind,” Nav replies. “I hope I can make it happen.”

  “I’m sure you can,” I say.

  I last for a whole two hours in the garden, before I have to go home and lie down for a while. I even do some studying in the evening. I’m so happy Nav is moving in next door, but a little bit of me is worried that they may have given him my place at school because they think I won’t be coming back. Inside, I hope that’s just me thinking the worst again.

  * * *

  On Monday, Ellie and Lia come by on their way back from rehearsals, full of the show—which is just before the Easter break, less than two weeks away—and how brilliant it is going to be.

  “You will come, won’t you?” Ellie demands. “You’re so much better now.”

  I discuss it with Mom and Dad. They agree in the end that I can go to the show but come right home afterward. Dad will drive me and I’m to call him to pick me up the moment it ends.

  I mention to Nav that I’m going and to my surprise he asks if he can come, too. I’m not sure how I feel about that—I’m happy for him to come, but I know that one of the reasons I want to go is to see Josh. I hope that won’t be too obvious.

  On the day, I make an effort with jeans and a nice top I haven’t worn for nearly a year. I manage to wash my hair and Mom blow-dries it for me.

  “There, you look almost human!” she teases.

  I look in the mirror and am happy with what I see. Even my skin is looking healthier.

  Dad and Nav both compliment me on how I look. Dad drives me and Nav to school and is full of reminders about calling when it finishes so he can pick me up. We pass the staircase where I panicked last time I was here, all those months ago, and I glance up at it. I’m sure I could manage those stairs now, but I’m still glad the show is on the ground floor.

  I sit with Nav in the second row. Some people give me strange looks—maybe they’re surprised to see me, or they wonder who this boy is that I’m with. Bethany and Amy from my grade come up smiling, saying it’s nice to see me. I’m surprised, because they’ve never been that friendly.

  Then they sit two rows behind, and I can hear them whispering loudly about me. “Thought she was sick? She looks fine.” I don’t turn to look, but I know that’s Amy’s voice. “How come she’s well enough for a show and not well enough for school?”

  “Too right!” That’s Bethany. “Anyway, my dad says there’s no such things as ME. It’s all in your head.”

  Nav gives me a look. He’s heard them, too, and looks as if he’s going to say something back.

  I shake my head. “They’re not my friends,” I tell him. “Just ignore them.”

  “I hope they’re not all like that here,” says Nav.

  Before I can reply, Miss Giles comes over, saying she’s pleased to see me not needing a wheelchair and hopes I’ll be back at school soon. She talks enthusiastically about the award again, and I start to feel better.

  Then Erin and Tilly, who I thought were my friends, but who I haven’t seen for months, shuffle over to say hi.

  “Good to see you!” Erin tells me. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’m pretty useless around sick people.”

  I’m not sure what to say to this, so instead I introduce them to Nav and they start talking to him. The seats are hard, and, although it’s embarrassing, I’m glad Mom made me bring a cushion. I wouldn’t have lasted three minutes otherwise.

  A few more people come over to say hi and tell me how well I’m looking.

  “Seem like a friendly bunch,” Nav says, “apart from those two losers behind us.”

  I nod. I almost feel like a fraud, I feel so normal. Maybe I will be back at school sooner than I thought. The lights go down and the concert begins. To my delight, I am close to where Josh is sitting in the orchestra and I have a perfect view of him. I keep hoping he’ll glance up and see me. If he’d only look at me—meet my eyes, give me a friendly wink or nod or smile—it would completely make my day. But he doesn’t. He’s really focused on the music and concentrating with every breath.

  Ellie and Lia have small roles in the show, but perform them impressively and are clearly enjoying themselves.

  “Wow! That was so good!” I tell Ellie, when she comes out. I introduce Nav, and she says hi.

  She looks at her watch. “It isn’t even late, there’s a party now—the after-show party. Will you come—just for a little while? Nav, you’ll stay, too, won’t you?”

  Nav hesitates. “It’s up to you, Kasia. I’ll stay if you want to.”

  I glance around to see Josh putting his violin in its case. I don’t have the energy or nerve to go over now, though I’d love to tell him how good the show was, how good he was. I imagine him smiling, his whole face lighting up as I speak.

  Feeling a little guilty, I turn back to Nav. “Just for a few minutes,” I agree. “I don’t want to overdo it.”

  “Great, come on then,” says Nav. “You can introduce me to some more people.”

  Nav and I follow Ellie, leaving Josh still packing up his violin and talking to some classmates.

  We reach the cafeteria, where the party is being held. The room’s been cleared and there aren’t many chairs. My worst fear is that there will be nowhere to sit down. I am still clutching my cushion and get a few odd glances. I want to put the cushion on a chair and sit on it as quickly as possible.

  “Nav…” I begin, but I don’t even need to finish, since he’s there with a chair he’s grabbed from somewhere. I just hope he didn’t tip anyone off it in his haste.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He grins. “I’ll get us some drinks.” He turns to Ellie. “What would you like?”

  He goes off to get Ellie a soda and me some water, and Ellie watches him, chuckling.

  “What?” I demand.

  “It’s like he thinks he’s your nurse or something—fussing over you like that. Don’t you find him annoying?”

  I feel instantly irritated with Ellie. “No, I don’t,” I say firmly.

  More people are coming in, and the room is getting crowded. I’m starting to feel hot and a little dizzy. I’m relieved when Nav comes back with the drinks.

  We chat with Ellie, Tia, and Erin, and I introduce Nav to a few boys from our class. Then the others go off to mingle, and I’m left with Nav.

  “I hope I can get back to playing the cello,” I tell him. “I should have been in th
is show. I loved being in the orchestra.”

  “I’d really like to hear you play,” says Nav.

  “I want to get back to playing, but I can’t even lift it now,” I say.

  “One day you will,” he assures me. “Maybe you’ll even play in next year’s concert.”

  “I’m getting stronger all the time,” I say, nodding.

  He gives me a sweet smile, and I smile back.

  Then I see Josh has come in. There is a kind of aura around him, an energy that’s almost like a beam of light. For a moment he’s on his own, looking around. I wonder if he’ll see me. I want to get up and go over to him, but I don’t dare—what if he doesn’t remember me at all?

  Then a girl goes up to him. They’re talking. I don’t know her name, but she’s in the same grade as Josh. He’s smiling and nodding. Is he with her? Are they together?

  “So?”

  Nav has asked me something, and I’ve missed it completely.

  “What? Sorry?”

  “I think maybe we should go now? Are you going to text your dad?”

  I look at my watch and notice with horror that it’s after eleven. How did that happen? I pull out my phone and see three unread messages and three missed calls from my dad. He’s not going to be happy. And I am right. He is furious when he arrives—with Nav as well as me.

  “I’m so sorry,” Nav tells him as we get in the car. “But I think Kasia’s fine. I’ve been looking after her. She’s been sitting down the whole time.”

  “I think I’m okay, Dad,” I tell him. “I had fun—I almost felt normal for the first time in months. Please don’t be angry.”

  “We said clearly that you could go, but to text me right after,” Dad reminds me. “There was no mention of a party! We would never have agreed to that. Why do you ignore us? We say it for good reason—for your health!”

  Dad sounds so disappointed, I feel horrible. I hate letting him down.

  “I didn’t mean to ignore your messages. I just… I mean, I lost track of time. I’m sure I’ll be okay, though—I feel fine.”

  “We’ll see,” says Dad. “I hope you’re right.”

  Nav gives me a big smile and squeezes my hand before he goes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I walk quickly upstairs to bed, eager to show Dad that I am fine. My legs are actually not too bad, and I am buzzing with excitement. Normal life, school, friends—everything that’s felt so far away suddenly feels much closer.

  18

  The next day, when I wake up, I check my body for pain. Legs—some pain, but not too bad, arms—the same. Head pretty clear. I sit up gingerly and then stand. I am okay. Not perfect, but no major relapse. I am delighted.

  Nav texts to check I’m okay and I’m relieved to tell him I feel fine.

  “See—your dad was wrong! Going to the show was good for you,” he tells me. “As well as giving me the chance to meet lots of people before I start at your school.”

  “I wish I was ready to start back, too,” I reply. “But at least it feels like it will be possible one day.”

  The following day I wake up and find I can’t move at all. I am too weak to sit up, and my legs are throbbing. I feel completely wiped out. It’s a delayed reaction, and I should have known it would happen. Why do I never learn? And I hate that Dad was right.

  I can’t walk. I can’t get out of bed. And it’s not just for one day. I’m worse than I was when I was bedbound before and I feel so depressed. It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair.

  I feel so bad I start to blame Nav for encouraging me. Even the fact that I saw Josh doesn’t cheer me up anymore. Seeing him with that girl didn’t help since they’re probably going out together now. I feel helpless and so, so alone.

  One night, Mom comes to check on me on her way to bed and I pretend to be asleep since I don’t have the energy to speak or even open my eyes.

  “Yes, she’s asleep,” she tells Dad. I hear their bedroom door close, but within minutes I can hear them arguing—and it’s about me.

  “We should never have let her go,” says Dad. “Look what she’s done to herself—and after all that progress!”

  “It’s understandable that she wants to do these things—to be with her friends,” says Mom.

  “But she knows full well what happens when she does too much. She has to take responsibility. And so do you. Why aren’t you phoning the doctors, the hospital, to insist on some real treatment? You accept what the doctors tell you—you let her lie forgotten on a waiting list!”

  “That’s not fair,” Mom protests. “I’m the one caring for her all day, every day. I gave up my job to do that. I want her healthy and back at school just as much as you do.”

  “Why is this happening to us?” Dad groans. “What have we done to deserve it? We move to this country, we both work hard to make a good life for our children. And all we have is one dropout, good-for-nothing son and a daughter who can’t get out of bed.”

  “Oh, Stefan—you can’t think like that,” Mom tells him. “These things happen.”

  “But why to us?” Dad yells. I hear a thud. I think he’s thrown a book or something. It’s rare for Dad to get so angry. He’s my comedian—the one who makes me laugh. I hate that he feels like this. I don’t cry often, but I can’t help it now. I lie there, crying into my pillow.

  * * *

  I stay in bed for two more weeks. Nav texts, and so does Ellie, but I don’t feel like replying.

  Nav is persistent, but I don’t answer. I feel too low.

  Then I get this message from him: Coming over—don’t move!

  Before I can tell Mom I don’t want any visitors, I hear the bell ring, followed by heavy footsteps running up the stairs.

  “Hi,” he says, sitting down in the window chair. I am in bed, slightly propped up.

  “Hi,” I say back.

  There’s an awkward silence. “So, I think I saw that girl,” he tells me, “looking out of the window across the street.”

  “Really?” I ask. I immediately feel guilty since I’ve kind of stopped thinking about her. I haven’t been well enough to look out.

  “Anyway, I’ve just seen the couple go out,” he says. “So I thought you might like to try again. You know, go and knock on the door.”

  “I’m not up to it, am I?” I huff.

  “I can see that,” he says. “Well, when you are, we can try again. Dr. Nav thinks you should start building up your stamina again, taking it gradually.”

  I am not in the mood for his cajoling. “Dr. Nav should stop sticking his nose into my business.”

  He looks at me, his face dropping. “I’m sorry this happened,” he says. “I can’t believe you’ve ended up like this after just one night out.”

  “I should never have gone,” I say angrily. “I certainly shouldn’t have stayed afterward.”

  “It was a mistake,” he says, nodding.

  “But you encouraged me!”

  His eyes are wide. “Because it was what you wanted. It was your decision. It’s not fair for you to blame me.”

  “Well, I do!”

  I’m not sure why I’m saying that. I don’t really blame him—but he’s making me angry. He thinks he knows it all—he made me feel that if I stayed for the party, I’d be okay. And now he’s walking in here, uninvited, talking as if it’s no big deal.

  “Why?” Nav looks really hurt now, but I can’t seem to get past my anger.

  “You made me believe! All this ‘come downstairs, come out in the garden, see how much progress you’re making, you’ll soon be back at school…’ You gave me hope, Nav. And it was a waste of time.”

  “Sorry I bothered,” he mutters. “I thought you liked being with me. I thought we were friends.”

  “I’ve got friends, Nav. I don’t need you.”

  He stares at me, clearly
shocked. I have shocked myself, too. I should take it back; I should say sorry. But Nav turns and walks out. I hear his feet thud on the stairs and then the front door closing.

  “Everything okay?” Mom says, putting her head around my door.

  “I didn’t feel like seeing anyone. You shouldn’t have let him up here,” I tell her, switching off the bedside lamp.

  “What happened?” Mom sits on the edge of the bed in the dark, but my head is spinning, and I just want to close my eyes and pretend all this isn’t happening.

  “I need to sleep, Mom. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Later then,” she says, but I have no intention of talking about it at all.

  True to my stubborn word, I still won’t talk about Nav the next day, no matter how much Mom presses me.

  “I talked to Devi. She says Nav is very upset. What’s going on?”

  “Leave it, Mom,” I tell her.

  Eventually she sits back and sighs. “Kasia,” she says, “you seem very low, and you’re so isolated. I know you have Ellie, but she’s busy now studying. I think you need some support. How about looking online for a support group?”

  “I looked once and it was full of middle-aged people who’ve been sick for longer than I’ve been alive,” I remind her.

  “But I contacted an ME charity, and they told me there’s a Facebook group for teenagers.”

  “I’m not going to be cheered up by talking to other people who are as miserable as I am, Mom,” I protest. “What’s the point?”

  “You may feel less alone,” says Mom. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I don’t want you to worry,” I tell her.

  “Then you’ll have a look, just to keep me happy?” she pleads.

  So I look. Although I know there are lots of teenagers with ME, I haven’t actually met any. And I’m surprised to find Mom is right. I sign up to the group but have to wait for “approval” before I can see the posts.

  The following day I am notified I can access the closed group. I start reading the posts.

  There’s Dina, who is my age and has been sick for four years. She can cope with half days at school, but is finding it very hard. “People still think I’m faking it, after all this time!” she writes. “They don’t understand why I get to go home early. They wouldn’t be jealous if they knew how sick I felt and how frustrating it is not to be able to stay at school all day.”