Dillon shielded his eyes from the light. It didn’t usually bother him, but right now he wished he was wearing a pair of sunglasses. He closed his eyes instead, shifting uncomfortably on his plastic stool.

Eventually the light would not be enough. Eventually the bilirubin would build up to toxic levels. Eventually he would die.

Unless …

He got what he needed …

And what he needed was a new liver. One that worked.

But getting a new liver scared him almost as much as not getting one. Although he had faith and hope, fear and doubt often fought with them. It was a constant battle.

The idea of doctors cutting him open, ripping out one of his organs and stuffing in a new one filled him with dread. He had talked to his best friend, Jay, about it …

Jayden, or Jay as he preferred, was bigger than Dillon. While Dillon was slim and fair, Jay was broad and dark. A recent growth spurt also put him a head taller.

‘Operations aren’t that scary,’ Jay insisted. ‘Lots of people have ’em. I’ve had one and I’m okay.’

‘You had appendicitis,’ said Dillon. ‘That’s a bit ordinary. This is a transplant. It’s terrifying!’

‘Dude,’ said Jay. ‘My appendix exploded! There was pus floating around in my insides. They yanked what was left of my burst appendix out of me. Then they had to vacuum up all that gloop. I could’ve died, you know!’

‘Yeah, all right,’ conceded Dillon. ‘It sounds pretty gross.’ He hesitated. ‘But still. Mine’s a transplant.’

‘Dude!’ There was that word again. Jay liked it way too much and said it in a poor imitation of a surfer. ‘You’ve gotta chill! Either you get the transplant, or you spend your life getting a tan.’

Dillon laughed. Jay always called the light box a tanning salon. But then his expression became grave. ‘It’s more than that,’ he said, voice quavering slightly. ‘If I don’t get a new liver, things will get worse.’

‘Worse?’ asked Jay. ‘How?’

‘The UV light doesn’t work as well when you get older,’ explained Dillon. ‘At some point it’ll stop working and I’ll …’ He swallowed. ‘I’ll get sick … and … and then I’ll die.’

‘How long?’ asked Jay, his voice now a serious whisper.

‘Not sure,’ said Dillon. ‘I heard my mum and dad talking about it a couple of months ago. They reckon that problems start after puberty. Something about my skin getting tougher and the light not being as effective.’

‘Dude!’ Jay let that word hang there for a while. ‘Dude.’ He shook his head. ‘If it’s life or death, you gotta go the transplant.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Dillon. ‘I know. But it’s a scary thought.’

It was scary indeed. And it had become even more scary since.

Six weeks ago, Dillon had gone to the Royal Children’s Hospital in Melbourne for a transplant operation. Everything had been set to go – he was in a room, dressed in a hospital gown, his mum waiting nervously with him. And then came the blood test to check for the suitability of the transplant. Unfortunately the donor liver had not been compatible and Dillon returned to Adelaide with his old, faulty organ still inside of him.

It had been devastating. His parents spent days in a gloom, barely speaking to each other. It was as if not talking about it meant that it hadn’t happened. And it was better to wipe the whole incident rather than have to admit it might happen again.

The possibility had never occurred to Dillon before then. He’d always believed that when a liver was available, it would just be a matter of putting it in. But apparently it wasn’t. It had to be compatible. And even then, there was a chance of his body rejecting it.

What would happen then? he reflected. If my old liver is gone and my body won’t accept the new one … can I live without a liver? Or will I die?

A space battle on the computer screen brought him out of his thoughts and back into the reality of his light box. He realised that his hands were sweating. He felt a quivering in his stomach and a pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down.

He tried to think of all the good things in his life.

He had fair skin. It might seem like an odd thing to be happy about, but Dillon’s paleness allowed the UV light to work more effectively. It meant less time in the light. And his blond hair meant that the yellowness of his skin wasn’t as noticeable as it might otherwise be. It would be far more obvious if contrasted to dark hair.

Dillon started to feel a little better.

Good things, he told himself. Concentrate on good things.

He had a best friend. He had parents who he loved dearly.

And cricket! He enjoyed playing cricket. And today had been a good day for it. He tried to fill his mind with the events of the day …