Darby
Shaw’s waiting for me after I shower. She’s placed two chairs at right angles to each other. I only need one shot to guess the empty chair is for me.
“There you are.” Shaw doesn’t bother to stand.
I steady the towel wrapped around my head and sit. “I decided to shower after PT.”
“How’d it go?”
“The shower or PT?”
Shaw gives a small smile. “PT.”
I shrug—or try to ‘cause the c-collar blocks me—and scrunch my nose. I have to wear the thing all the time, sleeping, showering, sitting, walking, PTing, and I can’t wait to rip it off. “Okay, I guess. It’s boring.”
So boring I had to wait twenty minutes for my physical therapist to figure out what she wanted to do with me. Her excuse? She hasn’t worked with spine injury patients much. Not comforting. At. All.
Good thing I wandered and found that weird kid, Adam, in the other room. Talking to him gave me something to do. Sure, he was shy, but kind of cute and his lip ring means he’s not a complete loser.
“It’s important for your recovery.”
“I could recover at home, but I … ” I pick at a hangnail. Mom and Dad haven’t visited or called since I kicked them out.
“Don’t want to go home.”
“More like I’m not welcome there.”
Shaw’s face pinches. It reminds me of when Mom purses her lips or Dad picks his teeth when they see my report card. “What makes you say that?”
I twist away from her.
“Your parents love you.”
“Can we get out of here?”
Shaw uncrosses her legs. “You’re upset.”
I shake out my hair. “I’m sick of being cooped up.”
“Our little outing last night gave you a taste of freedom, I see.” Shaw stands and snatches her coat off the back of her chair.
I find my sneakers. “I don’t care where we go, I just can’t stay in this room anymore.”
Shaw helps me into my rain jacket. “Okay.”
We head in the opposite direction from last time. A light drizzle falls. Dampness seeps into my bones. I don’t care. It’s better than being in the kiddy room with safari walls.
There are more people on the sidewalk than last night. Makes sense. It’s day time. Most rush along, heads bowed or tucked under umbrellas and hoods and hands stuffed in coat pockets. Shaw and I take a right, entering a small park at the bottom of a hill. We pass empty flowerbeds and leafless bushes until we find a bench next to a pond. The wood is worn and wet.
“Not the best place to sit,” Shaw says.
I tuck the back of my coat under my butt and sit anyway. “My jacket’s waterproof.”
She sits next to me. “So is mine.”
My nose runs from the cold. I wipe it with the back of my hand.
Shaw rubs her hands together. “Chilly out here.”
“I can’t go inside.”
“It was cold like this the day my mother died.”
I stare at her out of the corner of my eyes.
“My mom and I were in a car accident, like you and Daniel. Somehow, she lost control of the car and we crashed into a lake. Water started rushing in almost instantly.” She closes her eyes and hugs herself.
I want to say something, but what’s there to say?
“Mom’s head hit the steering wheel. She was knocked out. I shook her and shook her, but she wouldn’t wake up. I managed to drag her out of the car and to the shore. It must have been a rush of adrenaline. I was just a little girl.” Shaw pierces me with her dark stare.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I know how painful it is to lose someone you love and I know how painful it is to be separated from your mother. Yours is still alive. You should savor every moment with her.”
I pull my cuffs over my hands. “I’m sorry about your mom. What happened was horrible. But you don’t know anything about my life or about my mom, so you shouldn’t tell me what to do.”
Shaw stands. She stares down at me, her face clouded, even in broad daylight. “You’re a sharp girl, Darby Fox. Seems I underestimated you.”
“Most people do.”
She lifts her chin. “Even your parents.”
I stand so we’re more on equal ground. Doesn’t matter. She’s still a foot taller than me. “Right.”
“I apologize for overstepping my bounds. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“Isn’t it your job to know better?”
She runs her tongue over her teeth. My jab stung. “Indeed. Sometimes I take a chance and sometimes it doesn’t work out.”
I drop my gaze to the pond. She’s not the only one who’s failed at taking chances. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty good at making mistakes, too.”
“Like what?”
“The accident was my fault. If I hadn’t been arguing with Daniel, maybe he wouldn’t have … ” My throat closes, strangling the end of my sentence.
“Hit that patch of ice? The roads were horrendous that night. You can’t blame yourself for the weather.”
I make eye contact with her. “Like you can’t blame yourself for your mom not surviving.”
The edge of her mouth ticks up. “Never said I did.”
Confusion fuzzes my head. “Oh.”
She crosses her arms. “It’s easy to assume, isn’t it?”
I snort. Boy, she’s good. “Thanks for making me look like an ass.”
She lowers her chin. “That was not my intention.”
I scratch my jaw. “No, I deserved it. Especially after I snarked at you for telling me about your mom.”
She extends a hand. “Truce?”
I shake. “For what?”
“We have a lot more in common than you think. I know what it’s like to have a loved one’s organs be donated. My mother’s heart was given to someone else. I never knew who they were and it kills me to this day.”
The more she talks, the more gutted I am. “What am I supposed to do with all this stuff you’re telling me?”
“I don’t want you to feel bad for me. That’s not why I’m sharing.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“We need to work together, not against each other.”
“How?”
She laughs. “Not used to collaborating?”
I start walking up the hill. “If we’re going to ‘work together,’ I need you to lay off the loving parents angle, okay?”
She takes easy strides next to me. “Okay.”
“And how long are you going to make me wait before you tell me who had Daniel’s heart?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re ready.”
I halt. “When will you know that?”
“I’ll know.”
* * *
I stir the gloppy, overcooked pasta around my plate, pushing watery green beans to the edge. A couple of them splat onto the plastic tray. Since I haven’t picked things on the menu, the kitchen sends up whatever they have. I glare at the lime gelatin for desert. Gross.
I push the plate aside. It bonks against a can of Boost. If Mom were here, she’d force me to suck it down.
But she’s not here and I doubt she’s coming.
I slide out of bed and shove my feet into my slippers. Shaw had paid for my food the other night, so I still had twenty bucks. I tug on my hoodie and make sure the money is in the pocket.
The hallway is empty. Two nurses at the nurse’s station have their backs to me. I sneak off the unit without being seen.
Shaw’s right about me sweating the taste of freedom.
My stomach growls. Holding my belly, I step out of the elevator on the main level and follow the yellow signs to the cafeteria. A few visitors wander around, talking about fountain soda versus canned and what their favorite pudding flavor is. I do a lap myself to scope the place out. Pizza, burgers, salads, soups, ice cream, sushi. Sushi? Yuck.
I settle on a slice of white pizza with broccoli and a half pint of caramel swirl ice cream. A group of staff take up half a dozen tables near the registers. They complain about double shifts on weekends.
After checking out, I pick a table on the empty upper level. I point the chair so it faces the window. The lights are dimmer inside and the streetlights are brighter outside, so I get slight hints of myself—the petite girl with a huge c-collar swallowing her up. The drizzly rain from before has turned to sloppy snow. Flakes cling desperately to the dead grass and bare tree limbs for a second, then melt into nothingness.
I have to wonder if I’m doing the same—clawing onto a life I don’t deserve by going out with Shaw … and letting myself look forward to seeing a boy with a double lip ring.
Adam.
The kid is cute. In an odd sort of way.
Bet it’s his British accent.
I sink my teeth in the pizza. Much better than the slop that was on my tray. I nosh until I get to the crust, then pry open the ice cream container. It’s soft from sitting out, but not soupy. I take a ridiculously large bite. Rich caramel coats my tongue. I close my eyes and savor another spoonful.
“I’ve never seen someone so happy while eating ice cream.” The guy’s voice has a clear accent.
I fumble my spoon. It bounces off my thigh before clanging to the floor. “Dammit.”
I twist, half-surprised and half-pissed at the interruption. My jaw drops. It is him. “Adam.”
“Hello.” He drops a heart-shaped pillow on the table and sits across from me. He’s got a facemask on, though it’s tucked under his chin. “Mind if I join you?”
So proper. “You already have.”
He snort-laughs. It’s shy. And adorable. “Yes, I guess I did. I can leave, if you want.”
“No,” I blurt. Way too fast. Heat burns my cheeks and I hope, no I pray, the dim lighting hides it.
He uses his tongue to wiggle his lip ring. I can’t stop staring. OMG.
“What’re you doing here?” My question comes out barely more than a squeak.
He frowns and leans forward. “Come again?”
I clear my throat. “Why are you here?”
His gaze wanders around the room. “I’m sick of being cooped up in my room.”
“I know the feeling. How come I haven’t seen you on the Pediatric unit?”
“I’m on the cardiac floor. The staff is more trained if my heart decides to go wonky.”
“Wonky?”
“Odd term, eh?”
“Does it scare you? Your heart, I mean.”
He scratches the back of his head. “Yes. A lot. But my heart is supposed to be … better now.”
“Good.” I tip the ice cream container in his direction. “Want some?”
One corner of his mouth slides up. “Need another spoon?”
“Since you made me drop mine and I didn’t grab two, yeah.”
This pulls a full smile out of him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I stand. “It’s okay. Wait here. I’ll get two spoons.”
“Okay.” He settles deeper into the plastic chair. Comfortable. Not awkward at all like he was in the exercise room. What a quirky boy.
I force myself to take my time over to the plastic utensil dispenser, but I let myself rush—a little—back to the table.
“Here.” I offer him a spoon.
Our fingers brush against each other. My skin tingles from the contact.
“Thank you.” He stares up at me. The light above him catches his eyes. They’re a color I’ve never seen before, a mixture of blue, green, and brown. Didn’t look that way yesterday. Chameleon eyes. Beautiful.
I sit, trying to settle the somersaults in my stomach. A simple idea hits me: Paint them.
Guilt stomps it out. How can I think about picking up a paintbrush when my brother is dead? He’ll never shoot a basketball again, or drive his precious car, or get the sports scholarship Dad’s been rooting for. I don’t have a right to enjoy anything if he can’t.
“You alright?” Adam asks.
I chew on the spoon. “Y-yeah … Hey, you wear contacts?”
“No. Why?” The lean muscles in his forearms ripple and the tendons in his hands work as he fiddles with the ice cream container.
I sort out the color combinations I’d have to mix to get just the right shades to match his irises. I can almost feel my fingertips sliding across a blank canvas, reading it, urging it to tell me its story. My fingers twitch, aching to hold a brush again. Can I?
“Nevermind. How come you’re not with your parents?”
He offers me the carton. “I made them go home. Needed a break, you know? I’m sure they needed one too.”
I dig into a ribbon of caramel. “Yeah, I know.”
“How about you? Where are your parents?”
“Home.”
He sets his spoon down. “I think I’ve forgotten what home is like.”
“Me too.” It’s not a lie. I’ve been in the hospital so long, I’ve gotten used to the smell, the dry air, the noise all night long, and the craptastic color scheme.
“How long do you have to stay here?”
“Probably forever.”
He puffs his cheeks. “Sometimes I feel that way too.”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin and ball it up. Home is the last thing I want to talk about, or even think about. My stomach curls with anxiety. It won’t be too much longer before the doctor will say I’m ready to be discharged. Mom and Dad will have to pick me up. I’ll have to get used to living in the house, going to school, and just being … all without Daniel. “You supposed to wear that mask?”
He tugs on the elastic hooked around his left ear. “Yes, but it’s kind of hard to when I’m eating.”
“You weren’t wearing it when you came up to me.”
He twists his mouth to the side. “Touché.”
The angles of his cheekbones and chin contrast with the softness of his mouth. His black lip ring pops against his skin. I drool, thinking about the brushstrokes it’d take to capture his face. I could do it. He’d fit in my Fire and Ice collection.
I toss the container on my plate next to the pizza crust. “Why do you have to wear it? Are you contagious or something?”
He tugs the mask into place. “No. My immune system is crap because I have to take a bunch of medicine … ”
“Why?”
He slides his chair back and crosses his arms, stuffing his long, thin fingers into his armpits. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
He’s not the only one. “It’s too bad the mask hides your lip ring, because it’s bad ass.”
The corners of his eyes wrinkle with a smile. His laugh is muffled from the mask, but its warmth reaches me. “My mum and dad hate it.”
I giggle. “My parents hate my blue hair.”
“You have to keep it. It’s ace.” The joy in his eyes is genuine.
“Ace?”
“Um, yes. I think you Americans call it awesome?”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
He tips his chin down. “Let’s get something out in the open, yeah?”
I stiffen. He’s going to make me talk about Mom and Dad or the accident. “O-okay.”
He moves the chair to the table and leans his elbows against the tabletop. “Neither of us wants to talk about why we’re here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So I say we call a moratorium on the subject.”
This kid uses some weird words. “A what?”
“A moratorium. It means we both agree not to discuss it.”
As long as he doesn’t dig into my story, I won’t dig into his. I stick out my hand. “Agreed.”
He slips his hand into mine. His skin is warm. “Ace.”
“Ace.” That tingle I felt before when we touched comes back, twice as intense. I pull my hand away even though I don’t want to. “You’re different, Adam. I like that.”
“You’re different too, Darby. I wish I could be as straight forward as you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Uh, you just were.”
He gives his soft laugh again. It’s so simple, like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or eating buttered popcorn in a movie theater. “I should probably get back before the nurses send a search party.”
“Good point. Don’t want to be counted as going AWOL.”
Adam insists on picking up the garbage. After dumping the leftovers, we head to the elevator.
We hit buttons for different floors.
“Too bad we’re not on the same unit,” I say.
“Agreed, though I kind of like these clandestine meetings.”
“I like your vocabulary.”
My floor comes first. The doors open and I hesitate.
“This you?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He presses the door open button. “See you at PT tomorrow?”
I’m not ready to leave. But I have to. I lean into him, rise up to my tippy toes, and kiss him on the cheek. “Yep.”
Hyped on adrenaline, I dash out of the elevator before he can respond. I can’t breathe normally until I step into my room.
I’m used to kissing boys, but it’s different with Adam. I don’t know why, but things mean more with him.
I snort. Things mean more with a boy I don’t know. But somehow it’s like I’ve known him forever. Maybe I’m just desperate.
I mean, really. I’m getting all romantic and sentimental. What would Shaw say about that?
In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection. I draw my fingers along my upturned lips. It’s a smile. Haven’t used one of those in a while. I’d forgotten the pull and tug of muscles. The tingling in my belly from the urge to laugh.
I can’t wait to see Adam again.