chapter eight

A couple of days later, the deadline for the Oswald contest is looming and I’m no closer to finding my flash of artistic brilliance. Never has my ability to create been obstructed before. It’s like the cancer slithered over to poison me with some of its evil.

Because Mom is out at some important charity luncheon with the professors’ wives, she asks me to leave school early to be with Kristina, so I take a cab to the hospital. When I walk into Kristina’s hospital room, she’s alone. Not even a nurse around. She’s lying on her bed and when I get closer my breath catches. Her eyes are closed, she’s motionless, and I’m compelled to check her chest to make sure she’s breathing. It’s rising and falling slightly but she doesn’t wake, so I pull a chair up beside the bed. I sit down and study her. Her cheek bones look more angular and her collarbones jut out from her blue hospital gown. I’d have to use different techniques to sketch her now. Her essence has changed. She’s less charcoal and more shading.

She’s thinner than me now. It kills me because just a few weeks ago it would have made her so happy.

After a while Kristina must sense me, because her eyelids start to flutter and then she opens her eyes. Her mouth morphs into a small smile but it disappears quickly.

“Hey, Tess.” It almost sounds like she’s glad to see me.

“Hi,” I say shyly.

“I feel like crap,” she says.

“I know.” It’s the best I can manage. “I’m sorry.”

She makes a tiny mewing sound, but it’s just a sigh. “I know you are.”

We don’t speak for a minute. “Do you want to see some sketches? I’m nowhere near where I need to be for the competition, but I’ve done some rough stuff.”

“What competition?”

She doesn’t remember.

“The Oswald. The winner gets showings of their winning piece and a scholarship to the Academy of Art University.” I don’t tell her my inspiration has dulled since she got sick.

“Really? Sure. Let me see.”

She doesn’t sound enthusiastic but I paw through my backpack and pull out the book and open it to some of the sketches I want her to see.

I’ve been working on volcano scenes. They’re raw with rippling lava and harsh lines. I hand her the pad and she holds it as if it weighs a hundred pounds. She is quiet as she flips through the pages.

“These aren’t exactly what I want,” I tell her as she studies the sketch that is closest to what I want to portray. “I’m trying to get across the unique unstable ground. Volcano ridges. Explosions. I’m not there yet.”

“I thought you just did portraits and animals, but this is amazing,” she says, and lays the book down on her chest like it’s too exhausting for her to look at it. “You’re really talented.”

My cheeks warm and I take the sketchbook off her. “Thanks.” I close it and slide it back into the backpack. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Well, it’s true. You’re artistic and smart.” Her lips turn up at the corners, but she closes her eyes as she talks. “Being smart works for you. You’re so much stronger than me in some ways.”

“I am?” I ask.

“Yeah. You never worry what other people think. I know you think I care too much. But I can’t help it. I’m more like Mom that way.”

I snort softly. “I worry more than you know, Krissie. I mean, you, you’re so good with people. Everyone likes you and you know how to talk to them. I’d love to be able to do what you do with people. People think I’m weird.”

Kristina shakes her head but it’s a weak movement. “They don’t think you’re weird. They think that you’re judgmental. Or intimidating. With me, they only love who they think I am. Not who I really am. Or who I was.” She opens her eyes and turns her head to the wall. “I’m afraid, Tess,” she says, and a lone tear slides down her cheek. And then she closes her eyes again, her breathing slows, and she seems to drift to sleep.

“Krissie?” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond.

The conversation bothers me. I did think Kristina’s friends were shallow, but didn’t know it showed. Besides, it seemed kind of cool having a group to belong to like that. It surprises me that she has so little faith in them. Was being popular for Kristina just as lonely as not being popular for me?

“I’m afraid too,” I whisper, and vow to let her be whoever it is she wants to be. If she even knows anymore.

My thoughts whirl around my head, so I decide to get out of the room for a breather and head down to the cafeteria. As I ride the elevator to the main floor, I make deals in my head. Deals with God or whoever is in charge up there. Deals to help Kristina get better. I promise I won’t eat crappy food if Kristina’s cancer will go away. I won’t make fun of her friends. I add the Honor Society to my list. I won’t mind not making the Honor Society if Kristina gets better.

Guilt nibbles at me as I know Melissa would be upset if she knew I’d sacrifice it, but truthfully, since Kristina got sick, Melissa’s been negative and nasty and it’s like I’m seeing her through new lenses.

I don’t want to deal with that idea, and hurry through the cafeteria lines, ignoring the apple pie and sweet squares I want and picking out healthier choices. Salad. A whole wheat bun. A glass of skim milk. At the cash register, I glance back and spot Jeremy. Shoot. He’s in line with a tray of his own. I wave my hand, but turn back to the woman perched on the stool at the cash register. She gives me the total for my food, takes my money, and hands me change without expression.

“Share a table?” Jeremy calls.

I fake a smile. “Sure.”

To offset all the healthy stuff, I slather butter on my bread as he sits opposite me, clutching his tray. I look at his selection of food. A triangle-shaped sandwich wrapped in plastic cling wrap, a glass of white milk, and a bowl of mixed fruit for dessert. Mom would approve.

He sits and begins unwrapping plastic from the sandwich.

“You here visiting your Mom?” I ask, stating the obvious.

He nods, a serious expression on his face. “Yeah. She’s having a nap. How’s Kristina?”

“Sleeping.”

He nods again. “Chemo is really hard on the body.”

I stop chewing and stare at the table. “Yeah,” I manage to say.

“How’re things with you?” he asks. “You hear anything about the Honor Society yet?”

I glare at him.

“Clark said the selections will come in soon,” he says.

I resume chewing. “I guess. I don’t know, I’ve missed more classes lately then I did my entire junior high career. And I haven’t exactly been a model student.” My stomach gurgles and I put down my bread.

He chews slowly, watching me. “The school must be pretty good about it though. Under the circumstances.”

“Maybe. In theory they’re not supposed to know. Outside of the principal. I think they do. But no one is talking.” At tables around us, different colored scrubs gather for lunch. I see two women wearing hot pink. One is holding a clipped-out obituary from the newspaper and showing it to her lunch mate. I wonder if it’s a patient they lost. If they care or it’s just gossip.

“Yeah,” Jeremy says. “People don’t like to talk about cancer.”

I see real sympathy in his eyes and then he turns the conversation over to less emotional ground. We talk about reality TV shows and I’m intrigued to find out he’s also a huge fan of MythBusters. When we finish eating, I tell him I should get back to Kristina’s room. Jeremy puts away his tray and heads out with me. I don’t prevent him from walking with me to her room, but he stops in the hallway.

“I should get back to my mom,” he says.

“Jeremy?” Kristina’s hoarse voice calls.

He glances inside the room and the eagerness in his expression makes my insides flutter with a weird mix of happy and sad for my sister and him.

I hold out my hand for him to go in ahead of me.

“Hey,” he says, and the sparkle in his simple greeting lightens the heaviness in the room.

I see Kristina struggling to sit up. He hurries to her side to help, but it’s not awkward or patronizing. Her face glows with more happiness than I’ve seen in days.

“Beauty sleep seems to be working,” he tells her. He doesn’t let her hand go right away.

“Shut up,” she tells him, but her lips curl up at the corners.

“Think it would work for me?” I ask, trying to be funny.

They both stare at me and then Kristina lets go of Jeremy’s hand. “She wants you to tell her she’s beautiful,” Kristina says, but she smiles at him.

My cheeks turn red. “No, I don’t.” I’m horrified. Was I really looking for a compliment in the middle of all this?

“You’re beautiful. Just like your big sister,” Jeremy says.

“He’s a smooth talker,” Kristina says to me. “Watch out for him.”

My mouth remains shut. I avoid looking at either of them.

“Nah. I am most decidedly not a smooth talker,” Jeremy says with a shrug. “Mostly I’m a dork.”

The thing is, he doesn’t sound unhappy or apologetic about. Just accepting.

“You are not. You’re sweet.” Kristina points at the MP3 player on the end table by the window. “He burned me an entire disk of Neil Diamond songs and loaded them on my iPod.” She looks back at Jeremy. “I think he made a copy for himself.”

She’s teasing and my insides relax a little, enjoying their easy sparring.

“Maybe.” Jeremy glances at me. “I stop by and see Kristina whenever I’m here. Last time, we were talking about the music our parents made us listen to growing up. She professed an undying love for Neil. Instead of mocking her, I had my own confession.” He seems to be trying to involve me in the conversation.

I pretend to gag as the two of them riff off of each other, but it’s nice. I’m surprised I’m actually envious. Kristina eventually gets quieter and more tired and Jeremy notices too and excuses himself.

Kristina goes to sleep almost as soon as he’s gone and I move my chair up beside her bed until Mom arrives from her late lunch. Kristina is still asleep so we make hand signals over her sleeping body and get up to leave.

We drive home in silence until Mom pulls the car to a stop at a red light. My head rests against the passenger window and I’m thinking about Kristina. And about how nice Jeremy is. Easy to talk to.

“Tess?” she says, as if my name is a question.

I consider pretending to be asleep but she knows me well enough to know I can’t sleep in cars. I wish she’d leave me alone to think. Or not think. Just alone.

“Gee’s mom called me today. She told me the girls are really worried about your sister. Apparently, the team had a meeting about it. They wanted to come by the house as a group with some magazines and books and stuff for Kristina.” Her voice drops off. “She wanted to know if I wanted to come to the next game with her. She said they miss me in the stands. My cheering.”

“What’d you tell her?” I ask, still looking out the window.

“I said it was a nice gesture but that Kristina wasn’t up for visitors and I didn’t feel comfortable going to the games until Kristina is well enough to come with me. But I miss them too. I miss the other moms and I miss the games.”

Her answer makes my stomach hurt and I turn to look at her. She’s gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

“Then she asked if she could bring over food or something. The girls want to do something for her. To show they miss her. That they care.”

“Well, you can’t expect Kristina to just drop off the planet without her friends noticing. It’s a major source of gossip.”

“I know. I just want to respect your sister’s privacy right now. I want to do what’s best for her.”

I don’t answer that. I have my doubts about her motives.

“I need a favor,” she says.

I want to tell her no before I even hear what it is. On principle. She’s making me do enough things I don’t want to do already. Missing school. Sitting with my sister, trying to think of things to talk about. Keeping her cancer a big friggin’ secret.

“What?” I ask with a deep sigh, bracing myself.

She reaches across the console separating us and takes my hand and holds it. I have an urge to pull away. It makes my skin scratchy but I don’t move.

“You think I’m silly,” she says and her voice is sad. “You think my life is silly.”

“No, I don’t,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to me.

She smoothes her fingers over my skin, patting me. I’m dying to break the contact.

“I’d like to take you shopping,” she says, and her voice catches.

I pull my hand away. “What?”

The light changes to green and a car behind us honks but she doesn’t move yet. “I don’t know what to do, Tess. I don’t know how to handle this. I’m lying to people. I don’t know how to help my own child.” She starts to cry. “When I’m upset, I shop. And I know it’s silly and I know you think it’s stupid, I’m stupid. But I’d really like it if you would go shopping with me.”

The car behind us honks again and she starts driving.

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I mean, don’t cry. Kristina’s going to be all right. I’ll go shopping with you. Don’t cry.”

It feels surreal. My sister is in the hospital getting chemo and not one of her friends is aware of it. My dad seems to have disappeared, and now my mom is crying and wants to take me shopping?

Mom’s foot presses hard on the accelerator and she speeds up and drives to the mall. When we’re inside, she drags me into her favorite stores.

“Try on a pair of these jeans,” she says, and holds up an expensive pair of low-riding jeans that I would never in a million years wear.

“Those are Kristina jeans, not me.”

Her eyes are lit up like patio lanterns at midnight and she ignores my comment. “Oh, come on, Tess, live a little. You’re so skinny—you can wear these. They’ll show off your long legs…”

I shake my head, but she’s already grabbed one pair and then she grabs a few others and pushes me toward a changing room. A salesgirl sensing a woman with a wallet and a purpose runs toward us and Mom sends her off in search of cute shirts to go with the jeans.

Mom drapes the jeans over my arm. “Go,” she says, and pushes me inside the dressing room.

Mumbling and grumbling and ignoring my pasty white skin that looks even sicklier in the fluorescent lights, I turn from the full-size mirror and pull on the first set of jeans. I can’t even do up the zipper. I suck in my stomach, but the zipper won’t budge. I check the size and shake my head as I pull them off. Good thing I don’t have a complex, because they are my size but they definitely are too small. The next pair is too baggy around my nonexistent hips. Sighing, I toss them to the ground, remembering with vivid clarity why I hate shopping so much.

I pick up the third pair and they’re softer than they look. I pull them on and they snuggle down below my belly button in a way that’s surprisingly comfortable. I turn my head and peer over my shoulder, and a tiny thrill courses through me. My butt looks friggin’ amazing in these jeans. I’m not supposed to care, but it looks…friggin’ amazing.

I stare and suppress a giggle. Instead of being as flat as my chest, my butt looks rounder and, well, for lack of a better word…bootylicious. The bottom half of my body actually looks attractive.

Mom rattles on the other side of the door. “Let me see!”

I allow her access and she squeals with delight as she makes me do a pirouette. The salesgirl joins us and demands that I come out of the room and they practically shout with excitement. The salesgirl holds an armful of tank tops and offers them to me, but I shake my head.

Mom looks at my face and must sense my brain is about to go into overload. “Okay, no tops. Well, maybe just this one.” She pulls a turquoise top off the salesgirl’s arm and checks the size. “And a black one. They’re your colors. You don’t even have to try them on. Just these and those jeans.” She smiles at the clerk. “Maybe another pair of the same style in black? Okay? Please, Tess.”

I’m the weirdest teen in the world if my mom is begging to buy me cool clothes.

“Okay, okay,” I say, like I’m being forced, but I close the door to the changing room and turn to admire the reflection of my butt and then the front view. The cut of the jeans makes my legs look long but the color and texture add muscle tone to my thighs. I’m rocking these jeans like a friggin’ Sister of the Traveling Pants. It shouldn’t matter. I’m above needing clothes to make me feel good. But I love them. And I want them. I imagine Nick checking out my butt and then freak out inside and pull them off and put my old comfy pair back on.

At the cash register, Mom pulls out her credit card and, as the clerk slides it through the reader, she smiles, seemingly having reached the shopping high she was looking for. While she’s signing the receipt I wonder if I’ll have the nerve to ever wear them to school. I don’t want to look like I’m trying to be one of the cool kids, do I? I’m not sure I can pull it off or if I even want to risk it.

She puts an arm around my shoulders as we head to the parking lot. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but believe it or not that helped.” I wiggle out from under her. “Thanks,” she says. “For doing that for me.”

It’s hard to say “You’re welcome,” to something so self-serving. Coping is so stupid.

***

The next day I bike to school but I don’t stop at my locker before class. Melissa is acting snarly and I’d rather not face her questions or snarky comments about Kristina.

She finally catches up with me at lunch when she finds me outside. I’m taking advantage of the warm fall weather before the snow arrives. “Where’ve you been?” she asks.

I lift a shoulder and bite into my sandwich. She makes a face as she unwraps hers and plops down on the grass beside me. “How’s your homework?” she asks, but there’s much more in her voice.

“Fine.”

“You getting good grades?”

I shrug again.

She takes a big bite of her sandwich. “I heard rumors about your sister.” She’s speaking with food in her mouth, and it turns my stomach almost as much as her words.

My head snaps up. “What rumors?”

“She’s sick. I heard brain tumor.” Chomp, chomp, chomp. She bites off another hunk of bread, watching me.

I swallow. “She does not have a brain tumor,” I tell her, my voice tight and uppity.

“Pregnant?”

“What do you think, Melissa?” My hands shake a little and I lower my sandwich to my lap.

“Hospitalized for anorexia?” Melissa’s eyes bore into mine for a second and I think she’s going to say something else, but then she looks down at the grass. She eats in silence, but my appetite is gone. When she’s done, she mumbles an excuse about studying in the library, packs up her stuff, and leaves me.

I head back inside to my own class, and when it’s finally over I head out the door and stop. Devon is leaning against the wall, watching me. He stands straighter, as if he’s waiting for me. “Hey,” he says and I realize he was. He shuffles around and I actually feel a bit sorry for him, even as I’m wishing him away. I try not to remember that he’s obsessed with sex. With my sister.

Other kids walk by, glancing at us. The hot senior boy and the freshman nobody. Of course, ever since my sister, the wonderful and mysteriously absent Kristina Smith, disappeared, I’ve become the freshman nobody with the missing hot sister. Less nobody only because people think I have the inside scoop on my sister.

Devon steps beside me so we’re both facing the same way and I’m forced to walk with him. “So,” he says.

I wait.

“Uh…” He puts out his hand and stops me. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see the confused expression in his eyes. “When’s Kristina going to be back?”

I bite my lip and lift my shoulders, looking around at people passing by us, anywhere but at him. “I’m not sure,” I manage to say.

“She okay?”

I try. I really do try. But I can’t think of anything to say, so I shrug again.

“Is she, uh, mad at me or something?” He has no idea my sister is sick.

“I don’t know,” I say. “But I really doubt it.” It’s about as honest as I can be.

“Um, because…” He looks over his shoulder and checks to make sure no one is listening. He lowers his voice. “I’ve been texting and emailing and calling and she hasn’t answered. She hasn’t even signed onto Facebook.”

I nod and wonder why Kristina didn’t come up with a more elaborate explanation for her absence. Saying she’s home with the flu isn’t going to buy many more absent days. The flu wouldn’t cause Kristina’s total abandonment of her social connections on top of missing school. Rumors are flying if Melissa heard about a possible brain tumor. Or eating disorder.

Devon stares at me as if he’s waiting for me to say something more. I chew my lip and squirm. “Uh, she, uh…she’s just not up to it. She hasn’t been on the computer at all.”

“So she’s really sick?”

I nod. “She doesn’t have a brain tumor, if that’s what you heard.” At least this much is true. God! She lost her virginity to this guy and he has no idea why. I wonder if he thinks she’s pregnant.

“Can I stop by to see her?” he asks.

“No!” I almost yell. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

His cheeks go pink and he throws his shoulders back and stands straighter. “Well, whatever then,” he mumbles and then starts to hurry off. I almost see the steam coming out of his ears. Smooth, Tess.

“Devon.”

He turns immediately as if he’d been waiting for me to stop him.

I walk forward so I can speak to him in a quiet voice. “She won’t see anyone. It’s not you. She really isn’t feeling well.”

He stares at me. I can tell by his eyes that he cares. “Is she okay?” he asks again. “I mean. Is it something bad? Or is she pissed at me for…something?”

My eyes burn with tears but I can’t let myself cry. I bite my lip hard. “No. She’s not mad at you. She’s just…sick,” I tell him.

He takes a deep breath. “You’re sure?”

“No,” I say softly. “She just won’t see anyone. Not even you.”

He lets out a breath of air and reaches out and takes my arm. “Okay. Well, will you at least tell her I said hey?”

A gaggle of freshman jock girls walk by then, openly ogling us. Their eyes are wide and their ears are practically wagging, trying to pick up what we’re talking about. I try not to be bothered by the girls but there I am again, totally visible, in a place I never wanted to be.

“Sure,” I tell Devon. “No problem.”

“Thanks.” Devon touches my arm again and I step back, but he just spins around and leaves me while the girls whisper-squeal about the physical contact between us. Me, the invisible girl, and Devon.

“That is so skanky. She’s totally hitting on her sister’s ex,” I hear one of them squeak as Devon saunters away from me down the hallway. “Sonya said she pushed Kristina off a ladder and broke her leg, and that’s why Kristina’s been away from school so long—she has to get one of those metal things put in it.”

“I know. I also heard she’s hooking up with Nick Evonic,” another answers. “Someone saw them outside the school making out. Man, going after him and Devon.”

A wave of fury rattles my head. “That’s a lie, get a freakin’ life,” I yell at them.

They stop in unison and spin to stare at me, their mouths open.

I hear the sound of a voice clearing and look over my shoulder. Faculty Advisor Extraordinaire, Mr. Meekers.

And me. Not exactly performing a show of extreme student leadership.

“We didn’t say a word to her, Mr. Meekers,” one of the girls whines. “I have no idea why she yelled at us.”

“That’s not the kind of attitude or behavior we encourage around here, Miss Smith,” he says, and his nose turns up as if he’s smelled something foul. I’m doomed.

The girls scurry down the hallway, leaving me alone to face the lion. I hear their giggles as they hurry off, hyenas who escaped the predator.

“I expect more from you.” He taps his finger against his cheek, staring at me. “You know that a measure of a man’s worth is how he handles adversity.”

“I’m not a man,” I remind him, and groan inwardly. Way to assert my growing verbal powers and defend my gender to my obviously frustrated art teacher, whose only pleasure is the miniscule power control he holds over students like me.

I step into the human-body freeway rushing by and disappear in the opposite direction. He calls my name with an abrupt tone, but I keep moving, knowing I’ve just added another paragraph or two to my Honor Society obituary. Melissa would be so pissed off, but I’m definitely not going to be the one to tell her.

Truthfully, the drawing contest needs my attention now. I want to win it so badly. It means more to me than a club. It means redemption. I have to get myself in the proper mind frame to do it right.

***

The dinner table is quiet. For the first time in as long as I can remember, Mom hasn’t cooked us a well-balanced, healthy meal. She ordered in pizza. Normally this would make me delirious, but now it is just another sign of how much things have changed around the house.

I gaze across the table at Dad. He’s stuffing pizza in his mouth, chewing with gusto. The picture of health. Mom is nibbling on the crust of the one piece she’ll allow herself. Her teeth nibble and nibble. My stomach hurts watching the two of them, so focused on their food.

“I can’t keep this secret any longer,” I blurt out.

Dad glances at me and then at Mom, and then takes another slice of pizza from the box and bites off a huge chunk.

“Why not?” Mom asks, putting down her single piece of pizza and reaching for her napkin to wipe her fingers.

I stare at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“Well, it’s not as if…I mean…you and Kristina don’t have a lot of friends in common, so how hard can it be?”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I shout.

“Hey,” Dad says. “Calm down.”

I shoot him a death ray. He’s been burying himself so deeply I wonder if he even remembers my name. He’s ignoring everything going on right in front of his eyes and we’re letting him get away with it. A family pattern I’d never let bother me before.

“I’m being stalked by the entire girls’ volleyball team. And half the boys’ team. People are bugging me every single day. I’m supposed to be focused on school…making the Honor Society, not sabotaging myself by missing classes and hiding from people. I should be working for my leadership and service obligations, but instead the freakin’ Prom Committee is chasing me down between classes and at lunch, looking for my sister and her witty quip contributions. They asked me for ideas. People are making things up. Brain tumors. Pregnancy. Worse, Kristina’s boyfriend is hunting me down with big puppy-dog eyes, wondering why she won’t return his phone calls or text messages. It. Is. Very. Hard.”

“Her boyfriend?” my mom says. “Kristina has a boyfriend?”

“Give me a break!” I shout and throw my napkin on the table. “Do you really think that’s what’s important right now? Whether or not she has a boyfriend?”

My mom mumbles something under her breath but, for the sanity of both of us, I choose to ignore her.

“We can’t keep the cancer a secret anymore. It’s not doing anyone any good and what exactly is the freaking point? Are you ashamed of Kristina because she has cancer? Because to me, you’re giving her the message that she should be ashamed, or maybe that you are ashamed that your perfect daughter is no longer perfect.”

My mom clamps her mouth shut and stares at me with wide, shocked eyes. My dad looks guilty and uncertain.

“But what will people say?” Mom finally asks.

“Who cares what they say! They’re already talking, and anyhow it’s not her fault!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “And don’t you think she wants to hear what people have to say? I mean, the people who care about her? She might get some support from her friends. Her entire volleyball team is freaking out.”

When exactly did my parents turn into children?

“We need to respect Kristina’s wishes—” my dad starts to say.

“Do you know what her wishes are, Dad? Have you sat down and asked her?” He harrumphs me, but has the decency to look embarrassed. He’s come to me, but has he gone to her?

I don’t want to hear excuses from my parents and their misbehaving, stubborn-little-kid act. I’m fifteen, for God’s sake! I don’t want to be the one to start having the power of veto in my family, but they both seem content to pretend we’re living in a TV sitcom and our life is an episode that will miraculously be solved by a team of writers.

“What’s wrong with you people?” I yell.

My mom lifts her finger and starts biting her nail. The only bad habit she allows herself. “Do you really think we should tell everyone?” she asks.

Dad runs his hands through his messy hair. “It might be best,” he mumbles, then looks at me with watery eyes.

“Yes,” I say. “It is.” I’m so exasperated I want to shake both of them.

Suddenly, I am the voice. And it scares the hell out of me.

“Does she really have a boyfriend?” Mom asks.

I push away from the table and leave the room.

***

Mom decides we’ll go to the hospital together and discuss it as a family. However, on the drive to the hospital, she announces her brilliant idea that I should talk to Kristina alone first. Sister to sister. As if Mom even knows what it’s like to have a sister relationship, or how far off Kristina and I are from exchanging secrets like Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. As soon as we get to the hospital, Mom and Dad sneak off with an excuse about grabbing coffees to give the sisters a chance to talk.

“Tell her that it’s probably for the best,” Mom says. “To involve her friends.”

As if fifteen-year-old me can do a better job talking to Kristina than they can. Great. Suddenly I’m the responsible one. How do you spell dysfunctional? S-M-I-T-H.

“So,” I say, when Kristina and I are done with small talk. Like, hello.

She’s laying on her side, curled up in a fetal position. I pull my chair up so we’re at eye level. She looks so tired and pale I almost want to put off the conversation, but if I hold it in too long, I’ll explode or chicken out.

“Mom and Dad and I think we should tell people. You know. That you have cancer,” I blurt with all the tact of a mating elephant.

Kristina blinks and stares and then glimpses at the doorway. “Let me guess. They made you be the one to tell me?”

I nod once. “I guess they’re afraid you’ll be mad at them. Maybe they think you’ll only hate the messenger. You can yell at me if you want, get it off your chest.”

Without meaning to, my eyes go to the tubes poking out of her gown. Right from her chest.

Kristina sighs. She doesn’t seem to have the energy to get mad. I kind of wish she would yell at me. Bully me and intimidate me with stupid threats.

“You’re okay with it?” I ask. “I mean, everyone at school is going crazy worrying about you. I can’t keep it quiet anymore. There are rumors.”

“What are they saying?” she asks, but she’s looking at the wall, not at me.

I lift my finger to my mouth and chew the hangnail. “You know. That you’re pregnant, on drugs, being treated for an eating disorder.”

For the first time in a long while, a real smile tugs at her lips. “I’d like to go with pregnant. It makes me sound kind of like Juno.”

She’s more Clueless than Juno.

She spurts out a single giggle. “Oh my God! Can you imagine if I really was pregnant with Devon’s baby?”

I gag. “No, thank you.” I stick out my tongue with disgust. “Anyhow. Seriously. I think that we should tell people the truth. I mean, for your sake too. There are a lot of people who care about you and stuff.”

Her head dangles down and then up again, as if it’s a huge effort. “Fine. What’s the point in trying to hide it anyhow?” she says. “The doctor said I’m going to be as bald as a cue ball before long.” She lets out a long, loud breath of air.

I’m not sure what to say. “If anyone can pull it off, you can,” I mumble.

Kristina doesn’t say anything for a minute, then looks out the window. “This chemo cycle ends tomorrow. I’m coming home for a couple weeks until the next cycle starts.”

I’m not surprised no one bothered to tell me. Kristina doesn’t seem excited to be coming home, but I guess it’s hard to feel happy about much in her condition.

“I don’t care who you tell,” she says softly. But then she looks me directly in the eye and I see a flash of her old stubbornness. “But no visitors. Not at home either,” she tells me. “I don’t want to see anyone. No one.”

“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” I tell her in an equally quiet voice.

“You have no idea how I feel.” She snorts, but it’s feeble. “And don’t tell anyone I might lose my leg. Please, Tess?”

“Your friends will stand by you. Whatever happens.”

“No. People are going to feel sorry for me. They’ll be relieved it’s not them and then they’ll pretend we’re still friends but we won’t even know what to say to each other. If I lose my leg…well, then they’ll just be grossed out. Who would want to be my friend then? I might as well just die.”

Fear plummets my heart down to my knees. I suck in a deep breath. “Don’t say that. You don’t want to die. You’ll still be you.”

“You have no idea what I want.”

“Oh my God, Kristina.” I wish my parents would get their asses back this second.

My cheeks burn and I struggle not to cry, but she keeps speaking, her voice monotone.

“I won’t be the same person. I’m already not the same person even if I do keep my leg. You know? I won’t ever play volleyball like I used to. I’m not Kristina Smith anymore. I’m flawed.”

“I always thought flaws made people more interesting,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.

“I know, because you don’t care what other people think.”

I open my mouth to tell her she’s wrong, but she keeps talking.

“I got a rose,” she says. “A really pretty red one.” She lifts her thin hand in the air as if waving away dust particles. “Well, I didn’t actually get it. There’s no flowers allowed on this ward or in the room, but Tracey, the nurse, described it to me. She said it hadn’t bloomed fully yet, but was beautiful. I told Tracey to take it home to her little girl, Carly. She told me Carly has an ear infection, so it’ll make her feel better.”

I smile. My sister loves little kids so it doesn’t surprise me she’d do that.

“She gave me the card. It just said, ‘Thinking of You.’ No signature.”

“Jeremy,” we both say at the same time.

She smiles. “At first I thought he had a crush on you.”

An image of him lighting up at the mention of her pops in my head. “On me? Are you kidding?” A laugh escapes me and Kristina smiles. I realize with surprise that Kristina says things like that to me, trying to make me feel good, when in fact it was pretty obvious Jeremy was falling all over himself to get to her.

“He’s your fan, not mine.” I pause. “Do you like him?”

“He’s young but, yeah, I like him. He stops by my room a lot and we chat. He’s always doing nice things for me. He doesn’t treat me like I’m different than I was.”

I nod.

“His mom has cancer,” she says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

“Well, he is at the hospital all the time.” I decide to stick to the truth. “I’ve talked to him at school too. He told me a while ago that she has breast cancer.” I avoid looking Kristina in the eye. “He hasn’t told anyone about you. At school, I mean. But anyway, I guess people will know soon enough.”

“I don’t want anyone coming to the house when I get home,” she says. “No one is allowed to come and see me.”

“What about Devon?” I ask. “He’s super worried.”

“Especially not Devon.”

“That kind of defeats the purpose of letting people know, don’t you think?”

“No,” she says, “I don’t. I can’t deal with anyone. I feel terrible and I look worse. I don’t want to see anyone.” She clears her throat. “Will you do me a favor?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“Tell Devon first. Before anyone else. I want him to hear it from you. First.”

She blinks fast. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. “I feel kind of bad about, you know…I kind of used him.”

“I think he’ll survive. He got to have sex with you, right?” I keep my voice light.

Kristina turns her head and stares out the window. “Do you think he brought me a rose because he thinks I’m going to die?”

“Jeremy? No. God, no,” I say. “He bought you a rose because he has the hots for you.”

Kristina spits out a weak giggle and then reaches up and strokes her hair. “He doesn’t have the hots for me. He knows I have cancer.”

“So? That means he can’t have the hots for you?”

“Pretty much,” she says.

“Sorry. He wants you bad. Cancer or not. I can see it in his eyes—Kristina trance.”

Her hand smoothes over her face and then her fingers linger for a moment on her lips. “Do you like being smart?” she asks.

I nod slowly.

“I liked being pretty. You know? That’s so vain, right?” She closes her eyes again. “I’m really tired,” she mumbles and almost instantly her breathing slows down and she slips away into sleep. I lean closer to make sure her chest is still moving and watch as she breathes.

A few minutes later Mom and Dad walk into the room, clinging to Styrofoam cups of coffee like life preservers, their faces betraying their guilt. Mom walks over and stands beside my chair, staring down at Kristina.

“Did you get a chance to talk to her?”

I nod.

“She took it okay?” Mom asks.

I want to be mad at them for leaving things to me, but I just nod, not missing the irony that I’m the one sitting in the middle.