Symptoms of a Heartbreak
Page 30
Link’s mom looks a bit worried as she turns to Dr. Arora, who is all nonchalant, as if he didn’t just have a meeting with my nemesis. “Is it really necessary, Dr. Arora?” she asks, looking from Cho to Arora. “It takes so much out of him.”
I want to tell them it’s 100 percent necessary—an ounce of prevention versus a pound of cure, or whatever. But I’m not allowed to talk. I’m here only in official “friend” capacity. So I compose my face to neutral, not negative, not positive, just observing innocently. Then I say: “You should do it. Just in case.”
“Just in case it doesn’t stick?” Link says, his eyes on me, a bit amused at my major failure to not speak. But his mood is dour, for someone who’s just been given a sort-of clean bill of health. “It never sticks, is what you’re saying.”
Arora looks thoughtful for a second, rubbing the scruff on his chin. Then he does that half-smile thing I’ve gotten so used to. It’s a diffusing method. And it works. “I’d advise that we do the last round, Link. We want to come out of this fighting strong. Let’s face it, finding that marrow match was pretty much a miracle.” He grins at me. “We don’t want to waste this shot.”
Howard steps in, paperwork in hand. “We all set?” she asks. She reads the room, her face worried. “What’s up?”
“Link’s pouting because of chemo,” I say, and he glares at me. But I grin. “But he’s overruled. Doctor’s orders.”
Link’s mom sighs. “I guess that means mother’s orders, too,” she says, putting her hand out for the paperwork. “Now, where do I sign?”
She scrawls on the sheet Howard lays on the table, and that’s it. He’s out. He’s done. He’s free.
Which means we’re free. Finally. This has been the longest almost three months of my life. First, he was just so tired, barely awake, and completely not himself. But the marrow transfer was working. The new cells were growing, multiplying, devouring and replacing the malignant old cells. I looked at some of the slides under the microscopes—thanks to Howard, who’d sneak me the samples—and it was a like a real, true miracle. Science at work. The marrow and the medicine together were rebuilding a better, stronger, faster Link. One who’s standing in front of me now, grinning, worn for the wear, but alive and well and healthy.
“I can’t believe it,” I whisper to Link as the rest of the doctors follow his mom off to the conference room, leaving us behind—though José’s still hovering, fluffing pillows, adjusting the bed, his eyes on us. I can tell he wants to be nosy, but is working very, very hard to give us some space. “You’re okay.”
“Yeah.” He grins. “And you didn’t get fired.”
“Probation,” I remind him. “But yeah.”
“And so, Saira with an i, I ask, will you do me the honors?”
I shrug. “What?”
“Well, now that I’m cancer-free, alive, and well, I’m feeling a little reckless.”
I don’t get it. But José’s grinning.
“Wanna drive me to the beach?”
I can feel my perfect brows perch high.
“This boy truly has a death wish,” José says, laughing.
I grin, then get my purse. “Okay, sure, I’ll tell the boys to meet us there.”
Link frowns. The boys? “Not quite what I had in mind.”
I wave a packet of papers in his face. He frowns harder. More paperwork?
“It’s the first day of the rest of your life, Link,” I say. “And you already have plans.” He looks around the room, then at José, who shrugs. “Vish and I sent Rock Star Band Camp a tape from the ABC News shoot—he used it for his USC app, remember? Anyway. You’re in the top ten, if you want it. But that means you’re headed to LA next month. And you’ve got a month of rehearsals to catch up on.”
Link looks shocked, but a slow grin spreads across his face. “Always with your plans, huh, Saira?” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “That’s kind of what I love about you.” Then he adds, “But tell the boys Rock Star Band Camp can wait. First, you and I are going to make up for lost time. And get out of this damned hospital.” He hands me his keys. “To Pizza Hut! Our chariot awaits.”
Together, we walk away from the cancer wing, knowing, certainly, that we’ll be back. But in the meantime, we’ve got a lot of life to live.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I sat down to write these acknowledgments so many times. After all, no author gets to The End alone. But every time I did, I cried. Because so many people contributed their hopes and hard work to this book.
First and foremost: To all the little brown kids—the dreamers, the schemers, the overachievers and especially the underachievers. I see you. This story is for you. I write so that maybe you can see yourself, too. To Kavya, to Shaiyar, to all of you: You can be whatever you want to be. It’s okay. Thank you for chasing your dreams and changing the world.
Thank you to my team at Imprint—the brilliant Erin Stein, Weslie Turner, Nicole Otto, and the much-missed Rhoda Belleza, another small brown girl with big dreams. There’s also the visionary designer Natalie Sousa, whose poppy, bold cover is sure to make Symptoms a standout on the shelf—and who gave Saira Sehgal those signature, impeccable brows that even her mama can’t complain about. To Katie Quinn and Alexandra Hernandez, for both their hustle and their flow—thank you for your patience and your efforts! Dawn Ryan, Raymond Colón, Avia Perez, and Elynn Cohen—this book could not have existed without you. And thank you to the rest of the Imprint crew!
To my early readers: the brilliant Jackie Hsieh, MD, and kickass writers Candice Montgomery, Sayantani DasGupta, Rajat Singh, Kat Cho, Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich—thank you so much for all your help with this book. You are all amazing, and your insights were priceless.
And thank you so much to cheerleaders Nisha Sharma, Preeti Chhibber, Samira Ahmed, Melissa Albert, Dahlia Adler, Ericka Souter, Ellen Oh, Lamar Giles and the We Need Diverse Books team, my Deb Ball queens, the wonderful folks at WORD Jersey City, and the community of kidlit and YA writers I’m proud to be a part of. And to my neighbor Samantha Howard, thank you for letting me swipe your name.
To my awesome, assertive and ever-ambitious agent, Victoria Marini. Your vision for me, for CAKE, and for the future is always brighter and bolder than anything D and I could dream up. (And we love you for that.) To Dhonielle Clayton, my partner in crime and CAKE. You are truly a sister. Thank you for your patience and practicality. You know how my brain works, and that is huge. Thank you for always being in my corner, for always aiming bigger, for dragging me along kicking and screaming (or sulking). You are a blessing, and I am forever grateful.
And to the amazing CAKE team—Sasha and Sarena Nanua, and Clay Morrell! Thank you for all you do! We could not do it without you.
To Pizza Hut, for all the moments over all the years. And to my big, fat, bustling, noisy, and amazing clan—the Bhambris, the Charaipotras, the Dhillons—for sharing those moments with me. There is so much of your life scattered throughout these pages, and I hope I’ve done you justice. To Vishal, Arun, Sonia Mamiji, Raju Mamaji, and everyone else I’ve borrowed from, thank you. And to Divya Dodhia, you are amazing. Thank you.
And last but certainly not least: To my heart and soul, my family. You are my favorites, and so very loved.
Thank you to Mum and Pappari, for unknowingly letting me steal their names, among other things, and for raising the best man I know. Thank-you to Navreet, Simrit, Joshvir, and Seerit for being exactly who you are.
Thank you, Lisa, for the joy you bring. And to my first and forever collaborators, Meena and Tarun. Love Zona, always.
To Navdeep, Kavya, and Shaiyar, my beloved little band of storytellers. Thank you for always being patient, always being present, and reminding me to do the same. I can’t wait to see the stories you will share with the world.
And to Mommy and Papa. I know my path wasn’t exactly the one you were hoping I’d take. But everything you’ve taught me has led me here. Thank you for believing in dreams, and in me, no matter what dir
ection I went off in. (And even though I still can’t drive.) I hope I can make you proud.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sona Charaipotra is not a doctor—much to her pediatrician parents’ chagrin. They were really hoping she’d grow up to take over their practice one day. Instead, she became a writer, working as a celebrity reporter at People and Teen People and contributing to publications from the New York Times to Teen Vogue. Now, she uses her master’s in screenwriting from NYU and her MFA in creative writing from the New School to poke plot holes in her favorite teen TV shows—for work, of course. She is the cofounder of CAKE Literary, a boutique book packaging company with a decidedly diverse bent, and the coauthor (with Dhonielle Clayton) of the YA dance dramas Tiny Pretty Things and Shiny Broken Pieces, as well as the psychological thriller The Rumor Game. She is a proud We Need Diverse Books team member. Find her on the web at sonacharaipotra.com, or on Twitter @sona_c. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
A part of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
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SYMPTOMS OF A HEARTBREAK. Copyright © 2019 by CAKE Literary, LLC.
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First hardcover edition, 2019
eBook edition, July 2019
eISBN 9781250199119