16 Things I Thought Were True

by Janet Gurtler

  “Good. I told you my bracelets were magical. I expected this.” She leans back against her pillow. Her face is paler than usual, I notice, and she seems tired. “Does everyone at Tinkerpark know?”

  “No!” I say. “We’re keeping it secret.” I don’t want everyone knowing about it.

  “Why?” she asks. “Are you ashamed of each other?”

  “No,” I say and notice Adam doesn’t say anything.

  “Morgan,” Amy says, “are you worried about what people think? You do know you’re kind of an asshole sometimes.”

  I laugh. “You’re right. I am.”

  “Wait, are you embarrassed to be dating me?” Adam asks, grabbing at his heart and pretending to be shocked.

  “No. Well, maybe at work, since you’re a manager.” I make air quotes on the word manager.

  Amy clucks her tongue. “You’re better than that, Morgan.”

  My cheeks heat up. “Never mind me,” I say. “How about you? How are you feeling? Are you okay?” I resist putting my hand up to feel her forehead as if she’s a little girl.

  “Yeah. Great.” She doesn’t look up though, and she twirls her ID bracelet around and around her wrist. She doesn’t have her usual string bracelets on. I wonder if the hospital made her take them off. “You know, for someone who has cancer.” She tries to grin but isn’t quite successful at making her lips turn up.

  “You beat it once; you can beat it again,” I say to her.

  “Come on. Amy doesn’t need that kind of stuff,” Adam says and frowns at me. I wonder if he’s mad I haven’t wanted to “come out” at work as the girl he might sort of be dating—maybe.

  “No Hallmark card-isms,” he says, and the words sting and my cheeks warm. I’m worried I’m doing this all wrong, and he’s kind of confirming it by critiquing me.

  “And you know that because you’re going to be a doctor?” I ask a little too snarkily and put my hand on my hip.

  “It’s a routine operation, but you don’t have the right to minimize how she feels about it,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

  “Whoa.” Amy waves both hands in the air without sitting up. “No fighting allowed, you two. It’s bad for my health.” She glares at Adam. “And I know what she meant. People don’t always know what to say.”

  I grit my teeth. “I’m sorry if I sounded like a jerk.”

  “I forgive you,” Adam says.

  “I was talking to Amy,” I snap, even though he’s trying to joke. I think we’re both angry at the wrong person. Or maybe the situation. It’s not easy to see Amy in a hospital and not be able to do anything. I’ve been shoving down bad feelings for days, and they’re piling on top of each other, trying not to spill out at the wrong person.

  “I’m so glad you’re my friends. Don’t fight,” Amy says, trying to bring us back together. “Our trip was so much fun…” She glances at me. “Other than your dad, I mean, and, uh, your mom.” She stops. “Have you talked to them?”

  I shake my head and pretend to search for something in my purse. Bob and his wife have been calling lately. Texting too, but I’ve ignored them. I don’t know what to say yet, what I even want from them. And besides, I’ve been preoccupied with her.

  Mom and I aren’t talking. Well, I’m not talking to her. It’s been surprisingly easy to give her the silent treatment, but it adds more layers to my mountain of repressed feelings.

  “What time is your surgery?” I ask Amy. “I want to be here when you wake up—if it’s okay with your parents.” I tug on the sleeve of my Tinkerpark shirt.

  She scowls. “I don’t know.”

  Adam rests his butt on the bed so he’s sitting beside her. “We totally should have picked up that hitchhiker. Don’t you think, Amy?” he says to change the subject.

  “You are such a dork!” she says but smiles. “We’d be in pieces on the side of the highway by now.” She giggles. “I never would have guessed Morgan could change a tire. Right? Or that you were afraid of cows.”

  “I’m not afraid of cows,” Adam interrupts. “I don’t like them. There’s a difference.” He glares at her, but it’s a mock glare. She makes a chicken clucking sound and they both laugh.

  “I loved that hostel, even though I thought I was going to hate it. I loved those old ladies from England. If I ever visit, they’re going to make me real tea.”

  The two of them chatter about our road trip, and I reach for my ChapStick in my purse. I swipe it on and cross my arms.

  “And what about that whale and that cute little boy…” Amy is saying.

  “How can you not know what time your surgery is?” I blurt out. They both stare at me.

  “Do the doctors drop in whenever they have an urge to do an operation? They don’t schedule things at this hospital?” I can’t take more pretending. The antiseptic smell in the room is making me nauseous. The walls are too stark. It’s all so loud, the hospital sounds.

  “Morgan,” Adam says and gets to his feet, “she’s going to be okay.”

  “I know that.” Her eyes blink at me, hurt. But I can’t stop. “I don’t want to talk about that stupid trip. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Adam stands and frowns. He adjusts his glasses and then looks down at Amy. I follow his gaze. She’s staring at me. Her lips are down and quivering. Her eyes fill with tears.

  The trip where Adam and I first kissed. Where Amy became my best friend.

  “I’m sorry,” I cry to both of them. “I didn’t mean that. I’m a self-centered jerk. I didn’t mean it.”

  No one contradicts me. A buzzer rings down the hall and feet shuffle past the door outside. “It wasn’t all great for you,” Amy says.

  I sit down on the side of her bed and shake my head back and forth. “No,” I repeat. “There were good parts. Really good parts. You. Adam. Me.” I glance back. Adam’s leaning against the wall, his expression neutral. “I’m sorry, Amy. I didn’t mean it.”

  Amy reaches for my hand. “I know. I understand what you meant. Don’t worry.” She turns to Adam. “And so does he.”

  Adam nods, and she looks out the window before turning back to me. “For me, it was the most amazing thing ever. Maybe that sounds awful. Maybe I’m the one being self-centered and selfish.” I shake my head, but she smiles at me. “No. You’re dealing with a huge family thing, and I feel bad for you, I do, but I have to admit, I had the time of my life.”

  “I know,” I say softly. “And it’s okay. I get it.”

  Amy reaches over and touches my hand. “For so long, my life has been all about cancer. Everything revolved around it. Even when I outlived the survival rate, I was still getting tested and watched. Even when I got my black belt in karate, it seemed like I got special treatment. I wondered sometimes if I really deserved it. I was treated differently because they were afraid I might break. But then, when I got the job at Tinkerpark, no one knew and I met you guys. And the trip came up and…it was perfect. Not perfect for you, but perfectly real. You know?”

  I wish I could take back my tantrum. “I’m sorry,” I say again. Adam comes over and sits beside me.

  “It’s okay. It’s just that I got to be normal. Perfectly normal. You know?” She smiles at both of us. “I’d already started to feel it. I knew it was coming back. But for that weekend, I had two best friends, and for a while, I got to forget.”

  Adam and I both nod. We don’t know—of course we don’t know. Not really. My throat stings. “We’re still best friends,” I say to Amy.

  Adam puts an arm around me and then bends over so we’re leaning toward Amy. “Group hug!”

  Amy laughs and we gently squeeze all together.

  “I love you guys,” I whisper and vow in my head to make Adam chocolate chip cookies from scratch, to get Amy to five thousand followers on Twitter before I do, and to give myself a personality transplant for my dorky b
ehavior.

  “You’re not going to try to make out with me too?” Amy jokes.

  Adam makes kissing noises at her and we break apart. Then Adam makes another joke about picking up hitchhikers and I watch and smile, feeling like the Grinch as my heart grows to a bigger size. She doesn’t want to talk about surgery or her health. She wants to be treated like a normal person.

  Like me.

  “So,” I say, “I heard Jake came for a visit.” I smile at her.

  Adam stands and stretches his arms in the air. “Girl talk. Is this girl talk?” He walks over to the window, pretending to check out the fake plant, putting some space between us, but I know he’s still listening in.

  A tiny smile curls up her lips. “It was nice of him. My mom and dad like him. He’s a nice boy. He’s been by the house too.”

  “You know his motives aren’t entirely pure, right? You know he has a crush on you,” I tell her.

  Jake is the only one at home who’s talking to me. And he talks about Amy a lot.

  She sticks out her tongue and wrinkles up her nose. “Boys don’t have crushes on me.”

  “Uh. Apparently they do,” I say. Finally there’s color in her cheeks. She bats her eyelashes and picks at the comforter on her bed.

  “Not when they know about the cancer,” she says softly.

  I snort. “Give yourself some credit. And Jake too. You’re much more than a girl with cancer. He doesn’t just want you for your giant boobs. He has discerning taste, unlike his twin.”

  She shakes her head and pick pick picks at the comforter without smiling. I glance over at Adam and he lifts his eyebrows. “Jake’s a good guy, Amy,” I say softly. “And I’m only teasing about your giant boobs.”

  We both look down at her flat chest and start laughing at the same time. “He wanted to ask you out.” My words come back to my ears. “Wants to,” I say. “He wants to ask you out.”

  “Hmm. Well, maybe he can take me to the hospital cafeteria after my surgery.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Now that’s romantic,” Adam says.

  “Jake is good with stuff,” I tell her. “Real stuff. You should have seen him with my mom when she had her surgery. Now, if it were Josh…” I shiver. “He almost passed out just being in the hospital.”

  “He’s nice,” she says and covers her mouth and giggles. “Jake, I mean. But I would never date him if it put our friendship in jeopardy. No offense to your brother, but if I had to pick between the two of you, I’d pick you. You’re my best friend.”

  “That,” I tell her, “is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” And then I smile. “But I won’t tell Jake. And I would never force you to choose. He’s a big boy. You’re a big girl. Well, in theory. You’re actually kind of a miniature person.”

  She rolls her eyes again. “You’re not very nice to sick people, are you?” Her voice is lighter now. Happier.

  “She’s totally not,” Adam agrees. “She’s kind of nasty.”

  She glances at Adam. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Tinkerpark, bossing people around?”

  He pushes his glasses up on his nose. “I’m going in later to work. I rescheduled my time so I could soak up your sparkling personalities.” He gestures at the two of us. “My aunt is being pretty awesome about my schedule.”

  Amy’s smile fades quickly and she turns to Adam. “Do you mind if I have a moment alone with Morgan?” I have a flashback to my mom saying the same thing, and my heart swoops.

  “Of course not.” Adam walks back to the bed and leans down and kisses her on the cheek. “I’ll see you out there,” he says to me as he leaves. I watch him go, and when I turn back, she’s still holding her cheek where he kissed her.

  “He’s good stuff,” she says to me. “You should stop hiding your relationship with him at work. How would that make you feel if Adam was doing it to you?”

  “You’re right,” I tell her and grab the chair in the room and pull it close to the bed and sit. “I am the jerk once again.”

  “You’re not so bad.” She stares at me. “I want you to do something for me,” she says. “For both of us. And you’re not going to like it. But I want you to do it anyway.”

  And then she tells me what it is.

  chapter twenty-three

  16. Potatoes are only good for baking.

  #thingsithoughtweretrue

  I’m tempted to tell Theresa I don’t need my usual break when she comes to relieve me in the gift shop. Amy was absolutely right—I don’t want to do what she asked. But as much as I’m dreading it, I have to go through with it. I want to be able to tell her how it went as soon as she’s out of her surgery.

  As I walk toward the staff room, super slow, I type a new tweet.

  Hermits have no peer pressure, I type. I put my phone away and sigh. I look forward to this as much as I do getting my annual pap smear. But Amy wants me to do it. I figure the bravery required from me is nothing compared to what she’s going through with her cancer and upcoming surgery. I don’t really get exactly what she hopes I’ll accomplish, but whatever.

  I stop outside the staffroom, breathe deeply, and then before I can run the other way, I strut inside with my head held high, ignoring the jumpiness in my stomach. From the corner of my eye, I see a red shirt at the table closest to the door. He’s leaning back in his chair with his legs splayed out in front of him. But with my chin held up, I don’t see his feet right in my path. In slow motion, I start the trip. A déjà vu swirls around my head, but before I fall all over the floor, I grab onto the arm of another red shirt boy walking toward the table.

  I smile at him with relief. He’s a very nice-looking red shirt boy, with firm and round muscles. He pretends to drag me into the seat with him, but I regain my footing and stand straight up. “Thank you,” I manage and he grins.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” says the boy with the trippy feet.

  “No. I totally meant to do that,” I say and spontaneously wink. “I wanted to check out those biceps.” I pat the arm of the guy who caught me and the rest of the guys at the table laugh. It’s with me though, and not at me, and though my cheeks burn and the little girl inside me longs to run and cower in the corner, I think of Amy.

  Use your Twitter voice, out loud, she told me. Don’t hide in the bathroom anymore. Let people see who you are.

  One of the girls at the end of the table tilts her head, watching me and narrowing her eyes. I would recognize that look anywhere. The mean girl gleam. Her lips turn up, but the expression is pure evil. I lift my chin and prepare myself.

  “Aren’t you Morgan McLean?” she asks sweetly.

  I force myself to look her straight on. “That’s the rumor.”

  She giggles. “And there’s plenty of those about her,” she whispers to her friend. She either thinks I’m deaf or she doesn’t care if I hear. I know which one I’d pick.

  “I’ve already heard most of them,” I tell her. “And they’re all lies. But thanks for caring.”

  She glares at me and then starts singing the song, under her breath.

  All the eyes at the table are on me now. I lower my eyes and breathe deeply. I could walk away, tail between my legs—let her win. But I think of Amy, lying on a table, getting her spleen cut out of her body with a sharp scalpel, and I look at the mean girl and smile, showing all of my teeth. And then I turn around and whirl my hips in a circle. “Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, YEAH,” I sing.

  The guys at the table whoop and clap. I keep dancing and turn to face them. They’re smiling at me and laughing. With me. Even the other girls. But not the mean girl. She glares, and her eyes get even narrower. “Oh my God,” she says. “That was so embarrassing. Dancing around in boy’s underwear, having everyone see it.”

  I just don’t care anymore if she doesn’t like me. I care a little that she’s basing her feelings on something that isn’t really
me, but I’ll show her. Me. Twitter girl personality.

  “I happen to have sensitive skin,” I joke. “I’m allergic to girl’s underwear.”

  She rolls her eyes but I smile at her. I don’t have to take it, not from girls like her—not from anyone really. I am who I am. I don’t need her approval. I’ll own what I did. Who the hell is perfect? Sure, my mistake got broadcast all over the world, but I’m willing to put it behind me. “At least I wear underwear,” I shoot at her, the same way I’d sass Josh or Jake, people who don’t intimidate me. I’m tired of intimidation.

  “Burn,” the guy with the muscles says and grabs me by the waist and dips me back, and then he stands, lets me go, and makes a muscle man pose. “I’m sexy and I know it,” he shout-sings.

  Another girl from the table jumps up and starts singing along with him, and the two of them groove out while others start hooting and clapping.

  “Man,” calls the guy who almost tripped me, “how did you make your underwear swing around like the guys in that video?”

  “I put a potato in the front,” I tell him. “They’re not just for baking anymore.”

  They all laugh and whoop. Refusing to hide and be embarrassed is working.

  “You have a nice butt,” someone else says, and there’s a wolf whistle from the table. My cheeks burn but I keep smiling.

  “You’re, like, super famous. I heard they mentioned the video on Jimmy Fallon’s show.”

  The kids at the table buzz with questions and comments about my so-called fame. I’m shocked to hear that these people actually admire me because of the video going viral. I’ve been hiding and they thought I was being a snob. I guess it proves something. The reality TV generation—we’re kind of an odd one.

  I glance over and see the mean girl pretending to be interested in her fake nails. I realize she’s actually jealous of my attention. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

  The guy who tripped me stands and walks to the next table, grabs a free chair, and brings it back, putting it down beside him and patting it. “Sit with us, dancing queen.” I’m pulled down to the empty seat as the kids talk among each other about the number of people who saw the video. None of them seems to remember or comprehend the extent of my humiliation. This is completely not what I thought people were thinking.