Six days went by, and no one would tell me a thing. Kurt’s parents hung up when I called. I tried getting up to the third floor in the hospital again, but each time I tried someone told me that since I wasn’t family I wasn’t allowed.
Nobody at school knew anything. The story going around was that Kurt was getting better and he just had to stay in the hospital for “a while.” It was one of the hardest weeks of my life. I flunked every test that came my way and couldn’t read three lines in a book without forgetting what I had just read.
Then I was at my locker after fifth period and who shows up but Jason, chewing bubble gum. “So, are you going to be there for the unveiling of the new improved Kurt Richards today?” he asked. Then he blew a pink bubble in my face.
“What are you talking about?”
Jason sucked the gum back in and it caught on his cheek. He tried to untangle it from the puny growth of hair on his top lip. “We’re invited to visit the fallen hero,” he said sarcastically, “the living legend of the soccer field who didn’t even last one game into the season.”
I could have slapped the smirk off his face. “Who invited you?”
“His mom.”
It figures, I thought. Leave it to her to invite a dork like Jason and not me. But it sounded like good news to me anyway. It meant Kurt was improving. I heaved a sigh of relief.
“What time?” I asked.
“What room?”
Jason took out a slip of paper and read the number. “Three fifty-seven.” Then he popped his gum into the slip of paper, wadded it up and batted it with the palm of his hand across the hallway. “Should be good for a laugh,” he said.
I slammed the locker in his face and walked away. I should have been mad at the jerk, but all I could think about was going to see Kurt. I would be there, invited or not. My heart jumped up in my throat.
I got to the waiting room at three-thirty and, this time, no one stopped me. When I walked off the elevator I heard the snickering first; then I saw Wicket, Jason, Dorfman and Leach—all guys from the team. None of them were really good friends of Kurt’s. Kurt was a loner like me. That was why we had always understood each other so well.
“Hi Tina,” Wicket said, trying to be polite.
“Thought you weren’t invited,” Jason teased. He knew there was tension between Kurt’s folks and me. I said nothing. Jason was hugging his motorcycle helmet like he’d been doing all week at school. He had just got his license and his parents had bought him a spanking new Kawasaki. Carrying around the helmet was his way of gloating over his new toy in front everyone—Kurt included, I suppose.
The door to room 357 opened and Kurt’s father walked out. “Thanks for coming, guys.” I hid behind Wicket. “Come on in. Kurt’s anxious to see you.”
I slinked in last and stood near the back of the room, avoiding Kurt’s father. Mrs. Richards wasn’t around, thank God.
Then I saw him, propped up in bed. I almost didn’t recognize him. His face looked sort of yellow and his eyes were sunken in. He had a tube going up his nose and another going into his arm. Everything was secured with white tape and the tubes were hooked up to dripping bottles. Kurt tried to smile but had a hard time faking that he was happy to see everybody.
Nobody said anything and then Jason pointed to another clear plastic sack that was suspended from a hanger at the bottom of the bed. It was connected to a tube that came from under the covers on the bed.
“How’s it going, dude?” Dorfman asked.
Kurt coughed and cleared his throat. “No homework. No responsibilities. It’s like a vacation,” he said. There was little energy in his voice.
Kurt hadn’t seen me yet. I was still hiding. If Mr. Richards was going to throw me out, I wanted to be able to hang around as long as I could before he did.
“Did we win?” Kurt asked. Everybody knew what he meant.
“Nah,” Jason answered. “We lost by one goal. If you’d made your shot it would have been a tie.” Good old Jason wanted to rub it in, even now.
“Easy, dude,” Dorfman said, putting an elbow in Jason’s ribs, then turning to Kurt he asked, “When you getting out?”
Kurt shrugged. His father interjected, “We don’t know for sure when he can leave. His liver has been badly damaged. He’s still bleeding inside.”
“Tough break,” Jason said. “Hard to stay in shape when you’re in a hospital bed.” He flexed his muscles like he was trying to make the most of it. Dorfman smacked him on the side of the head.
“How’s school?” Kurt asked, sounding like he was half interested, half asleep. Maybe it was the drugs. He might have been on painkillers.
Nobody knew what to say. They shuffled their feet and stared down at the floor. The room grew quiet—too quiet. The silence was broken by the sound of liquid dripping down a tube and emptying into a plastic bag. Jason nodded toward it to draw every-one’s attention. Kurt didn’t notice. I think he was fading off to sleep.
We all looked at the tube coming out from under the sheet. It was clear and the fluid inside it was a sickly yellow with streaks of red.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Leach said and looked around the room for a good place to puke. All he found was a trashcan. He threw himself over it and heaved out his lunch.
Wicket and Dorfman looked like they were about to do the same. They held their noses and ran for the door. Leach followed, his head hung over in embarrassment. Only Jason and I stood there. Jason had a stupid grin on his face like he thought it was all happening for his personal entertainment. I shoved him toward the door and he took the hint.
I’m not sure if Kurt knew what had freaked out the guys. And I don’t know if he knew that I wasn’t supposed to be there, but he noticed me for the first time. So did his dad. Mr. Richards was about to speak, but I fired a look at him that would fry meat. He stayed quiet.
I walked to Kurt’s side and he held up his hand. I grabbed onto it and gave a squeeze. He squeezed back, but he didn’t seem to have much strength. I leaned over and put my cheek next to his. I closed my eyes and realized he was crying when I felt his tears run down my cheek. “Thanks for coming, Tina,” he said in a whisper. “Stay with me.”
When I opened my eyes, I saw Mr. Richards carry the trashcan full of vomit out of the room. He closed the door quietly behind him.