Broken Birthday

by Courtney Sheinmel

  “I want to sit up,” I said. “I can’t sit up.”

  Dad reached over and pressed a button on the bedrail. It made the top half of my bed lift up. There, that was better.

  There were more buttons on the railing. One was to call the nurses’ station. (I pressed it by accident, and a nurse named Gina came in.) There was also a remote on a cord that I could pull up. It turned on the TV across from my bed, which had a bunch of channels, including a game channel that was even better than playing Pony Hair Salon.

  Gina had peach scrubs on, just like Patricia and Peter, but she didn’t have a mask or a surgical cap. “Well, good morning, Ms. Batts,” she said. “How about we take your vital signs while I’m here?”

  I didn’t know what vital signs were, but she told me: my blood pressure and my temperature. She said both were exactly what they were supposed to be, and she said my breakfast delivery would be in shortly.

  “Delivery—like room service?” I asked.

  There’d been a room service menu at the Hotel Aoife, where we’d stayed for Aunt Laura’s wedding. But Penny and I didn’t actually get to order anything, because we’d been busy with wedding stuff.

  Now Gina opened a drawer in the cabinet next to my bed, and pulled out menus for lunch and dinner. “Your dad took care of your breakfast order,” she told me. “But you can decide what you’ll have next. Okay?”

  “Okay!” I said.

  “And Camille will be happy to hear you’re awake,” Gina said.

  “Who’s Camille?”

  “Your roommate.”

  “I have a roommate?”

  “You sure do,” Gina said. “She’s in the playroom now, but I’ll tell her you’re up.”

  “There’s a playroom?”

  Wow. Hospitals sure weren’t like what I expected them to be.

  “Unfortunately, Dr. Marconi doesn’t want you moving that leg just yet, so you’re not going to be able to go down there for a couple days. But we can bring some toys to you. Plus, it looks like you’ve already discovered your TV has a game channel.”

  “It looks really cool,” I said. “But I can’t do everything from my bed. Like, I’ll still have to get up when I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Gina said. “When you have to go, I’ll bring the bathroom to you.”

  I sort of had to go right then. Gina left and came back a couple minutes later with a piece of plastic that sort of looked like a toilet seat, and sort of looked like a bowl. Dad left the room to give me some privacy with Gina. She had me hook my arms around her neck, and oh-so-gently, she lifted me up so she could slide the plastic thing under me.

  “It’s hard to go when I’m not sitting on a real toilet,” I said. “I hate this.”

  “I know,” Gina said. “It’ll get easier. Just relax. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. You can do it.”

  I hated feeling like I had to go to the bathroom, but not be able to go. Finally I went. Gina cleaned me up. It was my last day of being eight, and I couldn’t even go to the bathroom by myself. I felt like a baby, like my brother, Marco. Penny was wrong—it was not fun to be a baby again. Not at all!

  But then Dad came back in, and someone delivered my breakfast. There was a table that slid over, so I could eat in bed. After I was done, Mom came with Penny. My roommate, Camille, came back from the playroom and she said hello to everyone. She was the same girl I had seen earlier. She walked perfectly fine on her two unbroken legs. Her arms weren’t broken, either. Nothing looked wrong with her. I wondered why she had to be at Somers General Hospital at all. I didn’t ask because I knew it would be rude. But Penny is only five years old, so she didn’t know.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked Camille.

  “Penelope Jane!” Mom said. “That’s not nice to ask.”

  “But no one has to ask Stella what’s wrong with her, because you can see her bad leg,” Penny said. “How else will I know if I don’t ask?”

  Which was exactly what I was thinking.

  “I have diabetes. I just found out yesterday,” Camille said.

  Penny looked up at Mom. “Am I allowed to ask what that is?” she asked. “Because I don’t know.”

  “It means I can’t eat sugar,” Camille explained.

  “Are you allergic to sugar?” I asked.

  “Stella’s allergic to lettuce!” Penny exclaimed.

  “No, she’s not,” Mom said.

  “I wish I was so I never had to eat it,” I said.

  “Well, I’m not exactly allergic to sugar,” Camille said. “My body just doesn’t know what to do with it when I eat it. So I’m not allowed to have candy anymore.”

  “Not at all?” Penny asked. “Not even a SLIVER?”

  Slivers are what we call the eensy weensy pieces of fudge you can get as free samples at Batts Confections.

  “I don’t know,” Camille said. “But I don’t think so.”

  “Wow,” Penny said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t eat sugar.”

  “I think you’d be fine,” Dad told her.

  “At least you can walk,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Camille said. “At least I can do that.”

  “Your leg will get better,” Mom reminded me. “And then you’ll be able to walk again, too.”

  Grandma Dee and Grandpa Willie came a few minutes later. My little side of the room was packed with people. There weren’t enough chairs, but Camille said we could use the ones on her side.

  “When your parents come, we’ll give them back,” Mom promised.

  “I don’t think they will,” Camille said. “My mom doesn’t live in California and my dad has to work.”

  “What’s your dad’s job?” Penny asked.

  “He manages the supermarket by our house,” Camille said.

  “Can’t he take the day off?”

  “That’s a lot of questions out of you, Penelope Jane,” Mom told her.

  “That’s okay,” Camille said. “I don’t mind telling you. He can’t. I mean, I guess he could, but then he wouldn’t get paid.”

  “Oh,” Penny said, and after that she was just quiet. I guess she was out of questions.

  But Dad had one. “Do you want to hang out with us for a little while?” he asked Camille.

  “Sure,” she said. “I can even bring some games back from the playroom.”

  “Goody!” Penny said. “Can I go and help pick them out?”

  “If Camille says yes, then you can,” Mom said.

  Camille said yes. But when she and Penny got back, I was feeling tired, even though I hadn’t been awake that long. Dad said I probably still had a lot of medicine in my system from when they put me to sleep for the operation. I needed a nap, which made me feel like baby Marco all over again.

  Grandma and Grandpa said goodbye, and so did Dad and Penny. Camille walked around the curtain to her side of the room, and Mom sat next to me with a book, while I closed my eyes.

  ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

  That’s me napping.

  ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

  When I woke up, Mom said Aunt Laura had texted and wanted to talk to me. We called her on FaceTime. She was with Uncle Rob, and Lia, too. Everyone wanted to see my broken leg. I moved the phone to give them a glimpse.

  “Wow,” Uncle Rob said. “Looks like age eight is going out with a bang.”

  “More like a smash,” I told him.

  “Feel better, Stella,” Lia said.

  When we hung up, Mom let me call Willa, but she wasn’t home. I left a message.

  “Hi, Willa,” I said. “I should be with you right now, planning my birthday dinner, but instead I’m in this stupid hospital. Call me back, okay? Thank you. Oh, this is Stella by the way.”

  And then I called Evie. “Stella!” she said. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried about you!”

  “I’m in the hospital,” I told her. “My leg is broken and I had an operation, so I can’t go to Pennsylvania.”r />
  “I know,” she said. “My mum told me. She said you were in the same hospital where I got my stitches.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t have to sleep over, did you?”

  “No,” Evie said. “I only had seven stitches.”

  “I don’t know how many I had, but probably a lot more,” I said. “And I have to stay here even though it’ll be my birthday tomorrow. Do you think you could come visit?”

  “Um . . . ,” she said. “I don’t know. I think my parents said I’d be busy tomorrow.”

  “Well, can you ask them?”

  “Yeah, okay,” she said. “But I think they’ll say no.”

  We said good-bye, and I handed Mom back her phone. “You only turn nine years old once in your whole entire life,” I told her. “Now I’ll never get to make it a good birthday. This was my one chance, and my one chance is over.”

  “It’s not your birthday yet, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Anything can happen.”

  “Do you think my leg will be better by then, because Dr. Marconi said no.”

  “I’m afraid Dr. Marconi is right about that,” she said. “But let’s focus on the good things.”

  “There are no good things,” I told her. “I’m tired again.”

  I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  Officially Nine

  I woke up in the middle of the night.

  “Mom?” I said.

  But Mom wasn’t there. The chair beside my bed was empty. The big lights were off. There was light coming in through the window, and also from down the hall, so I could see a little bit around me. I could see Mom’s purse on the chair, and the blanket scrunched up on the footstool.

  She wouldn’t have left her purse if she was leaving me. Maybe she was just in the bathroom. I started to count in my head as I waited for her. I counted all the way up to three hundred. It takes about three hundred seconds to count up to the number three hundred. That equals five minutes. What was taking Mom so long?

  I started to cry a little bit, but not too hard, because I heard footsteps coming closer, which meant Mom was coming back.

  “Where were you?” I started to say. But then I stopped myself, because it wasn’t Mom who came around from the other side of the curtain. It was Camille.

  “Does your leg hurt?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Oh,” she said. “I heard you crying, so I thought maybe it was hurting you. I could call a nurse, if you want.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. I sniffled and wiped my eyes with my hand that didn’t have the IV in it. “I just don’t know where my mom went. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I was awake anyway,” Camille said. “It’s hard to sleep in here.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s okay when my mom is here—or my dad.”

  “My dad has to be home at night for my sister,” Camille said.

  “You have a sister?”

  “Yeah, her name is Lexi. She’s three.”

  “So you, your dad, and your sister live in California,” I said.

  “Yup,” Camille said. “And my mom lives in Pennsylvania, which is two thousand and eight hundred miles away. I looked it up.”

  “I was supposed to take a plane to Pennsylvania today,” I said. “Tomorrow is my birthday, so that’s why. I wonder if my friend Willa knows your mom.”

  “Maybe,” Camille said.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Tabitha,” Camille said. “Why?”

  “I’m going to ask Willa if she knows her,” I said.

  “There are a lot of people who live there,” Camille said. “I bet she doesn’t.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re probably right.”

  We were both quiet, and the quiet part seemed to go on for a long time. It was Camille’s turn to talk, but she didn’t say anything. She just watched me, and I watched her.

  Finally I said something. “You can go back to bed if you’re tired,” I told her.

  “I’m not tired,” she said. “But I’ll go back if you are.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not tired, either,” I said. “Do you still have those games from the playroom? I’ll play with you now, if you want.”

  “No,” Camille said. “But I do have something. I’ll be right back.”

  She went around the curtain to her side of the room, and came back with a plain deck of cards, which is all you need to play the best game in the world. If you’ve read my other books, you can probably guess what it is. But if you can’t, that’s okay, because I’ll just tell you . . .

  SPIT!!!!!!!

  I don’t know why it’s called Spit, because it has nothing to do with saliva. But that’s the name of the game. I asked Camille if she knew how to play it.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “That’s why I have the cards in my backpack. My friends and I play at lunch sometimes.”

  “That’s so funny,” I said. “Because MY friends and I play at lunch sometimes, too.”

  Camille sat across from me on my bed, next to my good leg, not my bad one. She slid my table between us and split the deck. I took my half of the cards, and we each made our five piles. “One, two, three, spit!” she said.

  I flipped over one of my cards, she flipped over one of hers, and after that it went really fast. We finished the round in record time. Camille won, so she picked the smaller pile, since the goal of Spit is to have fewer and fewer cards until you’re left with none.

  We dealt out the cards for round two. “Ready?” I asked, reaching for a Spit card.

  “In a sec,” Camille said, straightening her piles. “Happy birthday, by the way,” she said.

  “Not till tomorrow,” I reminded her.

  “I think it’s probably tomorrow right now,” she said. “It’s pretty late.”

  “That makes you the first person to wish me happy birthday on my actual birthday,” I told her. She smiled. “When’s your birthday?”

  “In six months,” Camille said.

  “What’s the date?” I asked.

  “November twenty-first,” she said.

  “That’s my half birthday,” I said. I paused. “Wait a second. That means MY birthday is YOUR half birthday!”

  “Yes, I told you it’s in six months,” she said.

  “But I didn’t know you meant EXACTLY six months,” I said. “We’re kind of twins. My birthday is your half, and your birthday is mine. Plus, we’re both here, and we’re both good at Spit.”

  “Speaking of Spit,” she said, “I’m ready now.”

  “One, two, three, spit!” we said together, and we started round two.

  We played even faster than the last time. At first it looked like Camille would win the round again, but then I started winning, and then—

  “Girls!”

  “Mom!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” she repeated. “I’m staying here—because YOU are staying here.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “I forgot for a second. You see, I woke up and I didn’t know where you were. I got really scared and I started to cry a little bit.”

  “I’m sorry, Stel,” Mom said.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “Camille heard me and she came over to keep me company. Then we were having fun so I forgot we were at a hospital in the middle of the night, because it felt a little bit like a playdate.”

  Mom smiled. “Thank you for being here, Camille,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” Camille said.

  “I’m glad you were here for my girl, but now you both need to get some rest.”

  “It’s hard to rest when you don’t have a grown-up,” I told Mom.

  “I know, sweets,” she said. “Camille, would you like me to get a nurse to sit with you while you fall asleep, and I’ll sit with Stella?”

  “Yes, please,” Camille said.

  Mom went out for a minute, and came back in with Gina. Gina pulled Camill
e’s IV pole as Camille walked back to the other side of the curtain. “Wait,” she said. “Is it Sunday yet?”

  Gina looked at her watch. “As a matter of fact, it is. Just now. It’s midnight.”

  “Happy birthday!” Camille told me.

  “Shhh,” Gina said gently. Then she added, “Happy birthday, Stella.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Hey, Camille, happy half birthday to you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She disappeared behind the curtain. I could hear Gina getting her settled into bed, while Mom sat back down on her chair and propped her feet up on the footstool, which was a little bit like lying down.

  “What time was I born?” I asked Mom.

  “Just about four o’clock in the morning,” she said, talking softly, so she wouldn’t disturb Camille on the other side of the curtain.

  “So it’s not really my birthday yet.”

  “Almost,” Mom said. “Exactly nine years ago to this very second, I was a couple floors down in this very hospital, getting ready to meet you for the first time.”

  “Tell me what happened,” I said.

  I’d heard the story before, but I wanted to hear it again. The story of when I was born is one of my favorites. I also like stories about when I was a baby, because I can’t remember them, but I’m still in them.

  “Daddy and I got to the hospital, and we didn’t know if you were going to be a boy or a girl,” Mom said. “Since you were our first baby, we wanted it to be a surprise. We had names all picked out—Andrew for a boy, and Nicole for a girl.”

  “And then I was born, and the doctor said, ‘It’s a girl!’ ”

  “Shush,” Mom said, but she was smiling. “Yes, you were a girl,” she said. “Our sweet baby girl. The most perfect baby your dad and I had ever seen, and we fell in love with you instantly. There was just one problem.”

  “I didn’t look like a Nicole,” I whispered. “The way a chocolate doesn’t look like a gummy.”

  Mom smiled. “Exactly,” she said. “We still loved the name, but it wasn’t quite right for you. One of the nurses gave us a baby name book, and we tried out all different names for you, but none of them fit. Then the morning after you were born you were being fussy, and your dad said, ‘Sweet dreams, little Stella.’ I remembered the name from the book I’d loved when I was just about your age, but I hadn’t heard it since. You stopped crying right then, and Dad and I looked at each other. We agreed that was your name. You were a Stella. You are a Stella. Our Stella.”