Chris went next. He was short and chubby and direct, with thinning brown hair and bright blue eyes. Mom was serving trays full of drinks and snacks, and he grabbed a plateful of cookies as she was passing. “Y’all think I’m bald from chemo or something, right? I’m actually an old guy who showed up for free food.” People laughed a little uncertainly.
Sylvia followed. She was also heavyset, with long, thick black hair and a slight Spanish accent. After talking about her cancer, she said, “My stepfather told me I’m stealing his wife, since she’s always with me in the hospital. My sister hates me, I think for the same reason.” It was really hard to hear.
Mom, who’d toted the trays back to the kitchen, reappeared on the staircase, accompanied by two teenage girls. They looked like they’d been pulled off a Hollywood set.
“Sorry we’re late,” one of them said, a bunch of bracelets sliding down her arm as she tucked some strands of hair behind her ear. She was friendly enough. The other one seemed chilly.
“Welcome,” I said. “Sit wherever you like. We’ve been introducing ourselves and talking about what we’re dealing with. Go ahead and jump in.”
“Oh, cool,” the warmer girl said. “I’m Beverly. I’m seventeen and in remission from leukemia. I’m just glad to meet other people my age dealing with the same stuff. So hi.”
Eyes turned to Beverly’s friend, who looked like a prom queen—pretty, perfect hair, and smug—but without the smile. She didn’t make eye contact with any of us. She didn’t seem nervous. Just rigid and cold. She finally said, “I’m Monique, also seventeen. Same story as Bev’s, basically.” She looked down at her watch.
The five remaining people introduced themselves. By the time we got to Oscar, people seemed pretty comfortable. He talked for a while. When he finished, he flopped back on the couch. “I gotta say, it feels good to finally be around people who really get you.” Everyone in the room was nodding.
Aura probed deeper into the challenges we were facing, and people were engaged. Everyone had something to add—except Monique. I wondered why she’d even bothered coming.
Overall, the meeting went well. “I hope this has been helpful for you,” Aura said to us when it was over. “Do you want to meet again?”
“Yes,” everyone said.
“We’re totally open to suggestions,” I added. “Like if there’s something specific you’re looking to do.”
To my surprise, Monique raised her hand. “Go for it,” I said. It wasn’t like we were at school or anything.
“I think it’s great to get together and talk about the tough things we’re going through,” she said. “But I also think we should have fun.”
She won over the entire group with a sentence. Before that, the room felt settled, maybe even tuckered out. Now, everybody seemed energized.
“What about a party?” Chris said.
Oscar, smiling, gave him a thumbs-up.
Monique jumped at the opportunity. “Yes,” she said, “a dance party! We can have it at my house.”
* * *
•
A month later, I was out in the city of Tarzana, standing in Monique’s dining room next to a table full of appetizers her mother, Hugette, had prepared. “Eat, Jef-fer-rey, eat,” Hugette said, with a thick French accent.
“Did you make all this?” I asked. The food was delicious.
“Everything,” she said.
“You’re amazing,” I said.
“Stop charming me. I’m married!” I think my face turned red, because standing right next to me was Norman, Monique’s father.
He and I ended up talking a lot, and he was in the middle of a story about his childhood bout with polio when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned around to find Monique and Beverly. They looked alarmed.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Nobody is dancing,” Beverly said.
Monique jumped in. “You’ve got to help us.”
“Your dad’s in the middle of a story.” I prayed he’d continue. I wasn’t into dancing.
“Don’t let me keep you from responding to an emergency of such proportion,” he said.
Monique winked at her father and she dragged me out to the patio.
In spite of my initial reluctance, Beverly and Monique got me onto the dance floor. The three of us burned the place up. It was infectious. When “Like a Virgin” came on, most of the group and their dates were out there with us. One of the guys was spinning his wheelchair.
I danced with Monique. I didn’t know the first thing about her, I realized. She’d been so cold the day we met, and that’s how I’d seen her as a person ever since. But it was just self-defense, or shyness, or something like that. The girl twirling and swaying in front of me couldn’t have been warmer or more vibrant—more alive.
My eyes went over every inch of her face, stopping on her lips, which were absolutely perfect. I must have smiled at her, because she looked at me and started grinning.
Back home that night, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t even want to. Monique was occupying my head. Both versions of her were there—the anxious, pouting girl who begged me to dance and the liberated one who moved so freely, effortlessly, with that infectious smile and those beautiful lips. What blew me away was the transformation that had taken place, not just in how she looked from one moment to the next, but in how I saw her, and how much, how very much, I wanted to see her again.
All sorts of cool conversations had taken place at Monique’s dance party, but the most interesting was the one I stumbled upon between Oscar and Chris. They were in the kitchen, each holding a cup of Hugette’s fruit punch, and talking about wishes. “What was yours, Jeff?” Oscar asked totally matter-of-factly as he took a sip.
I had no idea what he was talking about. “What, like if I die?” I said.
Oscar’s eyebrows shot up toward the ceiling. He spit into his cup.
Chris stepped in. “No, dude. Wishes, like a day at Disneyland or meeting Tom Cruise—you know, the kind the Starlight Foundation or Make-A-Wish offer. What was your wish?”
“I never had one. I mean, I thought that was for kids. I’m almost sixteen.”
“I’m fifteen,” Oscar said, “and they just gave me one.”
“Yeah, and I’m sixteen,” Chris said. “I’ve had two.”
“How’d you get two wishes?” I asked.
“My cancer came back. You see, recurrence ain’t all bad.”
The three of us cracked up when he said that.
That was what got me started on wishes. In the days after the party, I thought about them a lot, though not nearly as much as I thought about Monique.
Paul told me back in eighth grade that you’re not supposed to call a girl immediately after meeting her or she’ll think you’re desperate. I don’t know where he got that from—it wasn’t like he had a girlfriend—but I always took it as fact. It seemed like a decent strategy to use with Monique, given that she was a whole year older than me, in her junior year, and I knew how clueless and desperate freshmen sounded to me. So after a lot of debate, I settled on two days—that was how long I’d hold off before giving her a call.
After a day and a half of thinking about her nonstop, I couldn’t hold out any longer. Plus, with Ted at the gym, Mom out shopping, and Dad at work, I had the house to myself. I perched on the edge of my bed, drew in a deep breath, and made the call. I was so nervous dialing, I had to do it twice.
“Jeff—I was hoping you would call!” Monique said. “Did you like the party?”
“I loved it. Everybody did.”
Monique let out a satisfied sigh. “I was so worried because hardly anyone was dancing. But you totally saved it.”
I snorted out a laugh. The only saving I might’ve done was to demonstrate to everyone that at least one dancer there was worse than they all thought they were.
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Our conversation turned out to be the easiest thing in the world. We had a million things in common, like school and parents and doctors. Just a few minutes into it, I couldn’t believe how nervous I’d been calling her in the first place.
After talking about her life plans—she was thinking of becoming a nurse, just like her mom—I remembered the conversation with Chris and Oscar about wishes. I asked her if she’d ever had one.
“Yes, but it’s embarrassing.”
I laughed. “Even better.”
“Mine was for a personal water polo lesson from the Olympian Terry Schroeder.”
“What, like the two of you swimming in a pool together?”
“See, it’s totally embarrassing.”
“Not at all. It sounds like fun. I’d love to get a water polo lesson from Madonna.”
“I totally didn’t know she was into water polo.”
“Heck, I don’t even know if she can swim. But I’m sure I’d enjoy anything she’d be willing to teach me!”
Now Monique was the one snorting out a laugh. “All right, playboy, what was your wish?”
“Never had one. I thought you had to be a kid, like five years old or something.”
“No way. Eighteen is the cutoff. You should definitely do it. What would you wish for?”
“Me? I have absolutely no idea.”
“Just relax for a second. What’s the first thing that pops into your head?” The image was of me on the beach in Marina del Rey when I was a kid, launching a rocket with my dad. I’d never forgotten the look on his face after seeing that thing take off.
“I wonder what my dad would think was cool,” I murmured.
“Um, Jeff, this is your wish we’re talking about.”
I rubbed my nose. “Yeah, I know. I was just curious.”
“Can you maybe stop thinking for a second and try again?”
“Funny, that’s exactly what my brain tumor was trying to get me to do.”
“Jeff.”
“Okay, okay—for you, anything.”
“Finally,” she said, exhaling sharply. “Now just close your eyes for a second. Relax. Take in a deep breath. Blow it out.” I did exactly what she told me. “Now imagine you’re offered an actual wish, something you can’t do on your own. It’s something you really, really want. Something that excites you.”
“Okay.” For several seconds, my mind was blank. “Nothing’s coming.”
“That’s okay. Just keep breathing. Something—maybe someone—will pop up.”
An image slowly formed, of myself as if viewed through a camera lens. I was strapped into a seat, wearing a helmet. The lens pulled back, revealing more of the scene. I was on the flight deck of the space shuttle Columbia, in the mission commander’s seat, with the pilot next to me. The image broadened further, and now I could see the shuttle on the launch pad, strapped to a fuel tank, with booster rockets on either side and white vapor streaming from the bottom. I was about to go for a ride.
The thrill of it surged through me. It’s what I’d spent my whole childhood dreaming about—becoming an astronaut. Could that somehow be my wish?
I must have sighed. “You’ve got something, don’t you?” Monique said.
I told her I did.
“Ooh,” she said, when I revealed what was going through my head. “That definitely sounds interesting.”
I heard a voice in the background—Monique’s mother calling her to dinner.
“Sounds like you’ve gotta go,” I said.
“Yes, but I really love the idea of you somehow getting yourself to outer space.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course. I mean, it’s kind of crazy, but so are you.” She giggled. “Seriously, keep thinking about it. I’ve got to run, but I really enjoyed our conversation. Keep me posted on your wish, ’kay?”
“I promise.” We hung up and I lay back on my bed. At that moment, my wish had everything to do with Monique.
* * *
•
Astrocytomas, the kind of tumor Dr. Egan had removed from my brain, tend to grow back pretty fast. You always have to be on the watch for recurrence, and that doesn’t just mean being on the lookout for symptoms, because you might not have any. It means brain scans, like those CT scans I started with, or the much more intrusive MRIs, which Dr. Gourevik ordered for me every three months. A nurse would pack me like a sardine into a tube, and then a technician would blast me with deafening pulsations. They gave me earplugs, but that hardly seemed helpful. After forty-five minutes in that tube, with every inch of my brain bombarded, I’d get up feeling half dead and completely woozy.
I went in for an MRI a few days after that conversation with Monique. When I finished and was escorted to the waiting room by a nurse, Mom took one look at me and wrapped me in a bear hug.
On our way home, Mom stopped in front of Fair Oaks Pharmacy.
“Do you have to pick something up?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Two ice cream cones.”
“Seriously?”
“You need to have a little fun. And I need an excuse to have ice cream.”
That cracked me up. I followed her in.
We ended up getting sundaes. Halfway through mine, my headache mostly gone, Mom asked me what I was thinking about.
“Monique’s party. I talked to some guys there about wishes.” I paused, then looked at Mom. “If you were offered a wish, what would it be?”
She gazed out the window for a second, then turned back. “I’d wish for you to be completely healthy.”
I pinched her cheek. “That’s really sweet, Mom. I was actually talking about those organizations that grant wishes to sick kids.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them. Are you interested in that? What would you wish for? Something space-related, I assume?”
I figured it was best not to specifically mention trying to get myself on a space shuttle flight. “Yeah, definitely something space-related.”
“That’s very exciting, Jeff. I’ll bet your dad would be interested in hearing about that. I remember how much he enjoyed launching that rocket with you out at the beach.”
“I never told you that.”
“You didn’t. He did.”
That sent a tingle through my spine. “Do you think he, like, would be supportive of a wish?”
“If he thought it would make you happy.” She thought about what she’d said, then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he would.”
That was all we said to each other until we left. The rest of the time we just sat there, the two of us smiling, scooping away at our cups.
* * *
•
Dad got home relatively early that night—a quarter to six—and I met him at the front door. Amiga beat me to it, her tail wagging. I slid open the door and she rushed to him, with his arms opening wide as he dropped to a knee.
“How’d your scan go?” Dad asked as he gave Amiga a belly rub. “It was one of those MRIs, correct?”
“Yup.” I considered telling him how much the pounding bothered me, but he didn’t like hearing complaints. “It went fine.”
“Good, Jeff. That’s good. Did they share the results?”
“I’ll get them from Dr. Gourevik in a couple of days.”
“I see,” he said, standing up. He tugged back the left sleeve of his suit jacket to reveal his watch. I was sure he was thinking about his news program.
“You’ve still got thirteen minutes,” I said. “By the way, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“May I say hello to your mother?” I turned to find her at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing a warm smile.
“Hello, Bob,” Mom said. He walked over and they did their classic chicken-peck kiss. Seeing it always made me think I was the result of an imm
aculate conception. I followed Dad down the hallway to the old playroom after he hung up his jacket, and we sat on the couch in front of the television. I looked at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes. It was enough time to get a decent conversation started.
“Have you ever heard of Make-A-Wish or the Starlight Foundation?” I asked.
“I believe so.”
“Well, some of my friends in the cancer support group have made wishes with them, and I’ve been thinking about making one myself.”
I was expecting him to ask what I had in mind. Instead, he slowly rubbed his jaw. I hadn’t given him anything to consider, but it was like he was deep in thought.
After several seconds, he spoke. “I was under the impression that these organizations only serve children.”
The muscles in my neck started to tighten.
“Isn’t a child defined as someone under the age of eighteen?”
“A minor is so defined, not a child.”
He was being so difficult. “Okay, Dad, so they offer wishes to minors. I happen to be a minor, you know.”
“Indeed,” he said. “And minors have things other than wishes that require their focus and attention.”
“Like what?”
“Like schoolwork.”
He’d recently seen my quarterly grades. The one I got from Mrs. McKendrick wasn’t stellar. I was also a little behind in biology homework, but he wasn’t aware of that.
“I can participate in a wish and still complete my homework, Dad. Practically all the other kids in my cancer support group have managed to do it.”
“Perhaps they have. But you’ve got a lot on your plate. Not just a demanding school environment, but three more rounds of chemotherapy, and they might have to be administered in the hospital.”
I shook my head.
“Is that not correct?”
“Only if my white blood cell count stays low. But I don’t see—”
He lifted a finger. “I’m afraid I need to use the bathroom.”
He got up and I groaned. Mom had witnessed our exchange from the kitchen. She came over and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to him, Jeff,” she said.
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