L I L L Y

 

“Please?” Lilly begged.

“Some specialists are coming, volunteers from overseas.”

“I don’t want to go—please, Daddy?”

Her dad kept his eyes on the traffic as he swerved ahead of someone. Here he was racing to get to her medical appointment on time, and it was the last place she wanted to go.

“Can’t we tell them I’m—” No, they couldn’t call in sick to a team of doctors. “Tell them I have something really important I need to do with my friend? Homework?”

“You can see Rain later, we’ll have her over for supper.”

Lilly wished she could harrumph, or kick the glove box, or tip back the bucket seat and mourn her horrible life in private. But she was too jammed in; there wasn’t an inch of room to spare, even to breathe.

She couldn’t make him understand the rollercoaster reality of her feelings. On the one hand the day had started great with a delivery from Kendra: a perfect, comfy pair of jeans, two cute tops (one with stars, one with butterflies), and a new book bag. She went to school feeling ordinary in a way she hadn’t since the semester began. As happy as she’d been about getting fitted for a wardrobe, she hadn’t taken Kendra’s promises about “proportional” outfits all that seriously. But truly, her jeans and star-speckled T-shirt fit like they were made for her. And her backpack, draped over her shoulder, was the ideal size. Rain had oohed and aahed and wished aloud, for the millionth time, that they had their own cellphones so Lilly could snap-and-zap pictures of each garment as they arrived.

That had been the only good part of Lilly’s day.

The weirdness with Declan was like a stinky fart that kept her from getting too close to people. Could they smell it on her? That she’d let a fourteen-year-old touch her boob? Was it obvious, by how she stood or looked or walked, that she’d liked it—at first? After her brain—and conscience—had clicked on she’d begun doubting everything and was now quite worried about who and what she was. A slut? Already? A slut before she’d even kissed anyone?

She really, really wanted to tell Rain everything, but the possible reactions made her heart jump, which in turn made her lightheaded. At best Rain might say, “Declan? You let Declan

touch your what?” And even if she saw past the Brother Issue, what she’d done might sound freakish and like nothing Rain would do, at least not without consulting Lilly first.

There hadn’t been time to consult Rain. Or anyone else. But it was easy to imagine Rain feeling betrayed by the who and what of it. What Lilly really wanted—needed— was for someone to tell her it was okay, that she hadn’t done anything unforgiveable. But alone with only her pummeling misgivings, the more unlikely it became that she would tell anyone. Ever.

Before her gargantuan growth spurt Lilly—like Rain—had only “breast buds” (so described in a book given to them by Mrs. Shen). They were dumb, sore little nubs that had

filled them with dismay. Regardless of how many colors they came in, bras looked like cranky traps meant to keep wild animals from running away. Periods were even worse. Adolescence didn’t sound very promising. Pubic hair and underarm hair and darkening leg hair, as if adulthood was lurking just beneath their skin like an ogre they’d need to tend for the rest of their lives. If given the choice, she’d have preferred to skip puberty and get a cat.

But when the boobs grew in, almost overnight…. Truthfully, they were better than the nubs. Rain had pushed her dresser against her bedroom door—the furniture her only lock—and Lilly lifted up her shirt. They weren’t pendulous old lady boobs, or round-and-fake like a coconut bikini top. Dainty and happy-looking, Lilly’s little breasts had reminded them of a painting they’d once seen in a museum, of a tree heavily laden with soft, irregular fruit. Something about the nipples had embarrassed her, the live-wire that coiled inside them, altering their shape; and then Declan had rubbed them—over shirt, over bra—and she’d finally understood. The little buggers had been reactive in a surprising and not unpleasant way.

A way she wanted again.

No. No!

So there was nothing to do but pretend with Rain that nothing had happened. Which added guilt to the guilt and Lilly worried for the first time that her body would ruin them.

Her dad zipped into the parking lot, screeching to a stop by a sign that read Patient Discharge.

Where was Rain when she needed her? Rain would take one look at that sign and snort, a preface to an eruption of laughter. Discharge. There was a paragraph about that in Mrs. Shen’s Ever So Helpful book, and there it had nothing to do with dropping off frail or late humans who needed easy access to an automatic door. Their bodies were promising to ooze and stink and increase the surface space it needed to dispel their mate-attracting pheromones.

Ugh.

Lilly waited inside as her father parked in the garage. There was other stuff she couldn’t tell him: she was scared—of the doctors, and what they were looking for. And the way they touched her with their cold hands. Only her original pediatrician, Dr. Benoit, still spoke to her as one would a child (a frightened child), but Dr. Benoit was no longer in charge of Her Case. Lilly was a “Case” now. A thing to be recorded. A problem to be solved. In the presence of the doctors her issue wasn’t rapid growth but infectious invisibility. In their presence her true self receded, faded away, until there was just The Body. The Problem.

 

 

Per the routine, she changed into a cloth hospital gown that snapped at the neck, tied at the waist, and was covered in a design that looked like wrecked ships. It was meant for someone very, very wide not very, very tall, but it was the best they could do. For once Lilly wasn’t totally mortified

that the gogglers might see a flash of her underpants: Kendra made her some nice ones in soft stretchy pastel cotton that were exactly what a girl would wear, not a gramma.

She sat on the exam table, ankles crossed, hands in her lap, eyes on the wrecked ships in their pale blue sea. Six men—seven, if she included her dad—circled her, clipboards in hand, stethoscopes around their neck. Three were doctors she saw every week and three were new, but she didn’t bother to look at them or learn their names. One of them asked her dad a bunch of questions about eating and sleeping and growing while the others took turns listening to her heart and lungs.

When she grew bored of studying the gown she turned her attention to the floor. It had a splatter pattern in autumn colors that might camouflage drops of blood. She didn’t want to hear what the doctors were debating. But their words snuck in.

Radiate. Pituitary. Ossification. Biopsy.

Unpleasant images turned like pages through her mind. There was the frog she’d dissected the previous year for her advanced biology class. It had been a fascinating project that made her briefly consider a career in medicine (her recent experiences quashed that). Now she possessed a more immediate understanding of being exposed and studied; of course the frog was never meant to benefit.

She also remembered standing in the archway to the Shens’ living room, transfixed by what Mr. and Mrs. Shen and Declan were watching (her dad only watched sitcoms or tennis). Once there’d been a real person who was so deformed they called him the Elephant Man. Rain called for her to hurry up, but Lilly had struggled to pull herself away from the captivating imagery. Later she Googled “Elephant Man,” and now she was concerned that someday someone would erect an immense glass case to display her bones.

Would she be boiled, to remove her flesh?

She sighed when one of the doctors started measuring her. In her peripheral vision she saw he was an “old” one—she’d seen him many times—though he was the youngest of the group. He smelled of red-and-white swirls and smiled at her with peppermint eyes. He had Boy Band hair and sometimes his fingers lingered against her skin. Every week they gleefully did this, barely able to suppress their excitement at her increasing measurements. The doctors reminded her of Christopher Columbus, a man with a lofty reputation for his discovery of a land mass that was quite well known to the people who lived there.

“Can’t we just give them Kendra’s numbers?” It was the first she’d spoken and the doctors looked as if the table had come to life.

“Kendra?” One of them asked.

“She measured me yesterday, for all my new clothes.”

“Let them do what they need to do, honey.” Her dad said it kindly, as if he sympathized with her vulnerability, but he never said no to them. Like the doctors, he wanted the exams and data to reveal something. He wanted a cure, where she just wanted to be left alone. Lilly had started to feel like he couldn’t be counted on to protect her.

It wasn’t so bad when Kendra measured her. For one thing, Lilly hadn’t been almost naked. For another, it resulted in the exponential increase of a desirable wardrobe. But every week the doctors measured everything: nose, ears, fingers, toes, the distance between her eyes, the diameter of her head. And when they asked her to lie back so they could check her private parts she thought she was going to die. Her legs were too long for the exam table and it was the inadequacy of things—furniture, cars, hand-held objects—that made her feel the most insecure. That, and the way her father turned his head. On some level she presumed he was mortified too, but he never said no.

 

 

A normal tween would wait for her father while absorbed in the complex alternate dimension of her phone. As she sat in the hallway on the double-wide chair—comforted that by its intended purpose to hold very heavy people it would not crumble beneath her—Lilly had nothing to do but eavesdrop. She couldn’t assign faces to the voices in the next-door office, except for her father’s. She imagined him pivoting from person to person, as the doctors were not in agreement and sometimes the voices rose to defeat a differing opinion.

“It may be experimental but we’re running out—”

“The procedure’s too dangerous, and right now we’re seeing only millimeters of change.”

“But it’s just as dangerous if we wait and do nothing and things start accelerating—”

“Perhaps, but we should prioritize. Ossifications aren’t the most pressing matter.”

“Is she going to keep growing?” That was her dad, desperate.

“If you can stop that, we can worry about the other things later.”

They were quieter for a moment and Lilly pictured them nodding and mumbling.

“I think we have to consider radiation.”

“Yes.”

“As soon as possible.”

“It’s dangerous, and there isn’t an obvious tumor—”

“But it’s something to try, and it’s proven successful in cases of gigantism and acromegaly.”

“But we aren’t even in agreement on what this is!”

“How dangerous? Dangerous how?” her father asked.

“Learning disabilities.”

“Personality changes.”

Lilly gripped the arm of the chair and leaned closer to the door. Being excessively tall was one thing, but at least she was still Lilly, smart and capable. She didn’t want to risk losing herself.

“Oh, well that doesn’t sound so bad.”

Her jaw dropped at her dad’s casual acceptance of the consequences.

“There isn’t a guarantee—we can’t be sure of either the efficacy or the side effects.”

“It’s our best chance to stop the process, and that remains—”

“Please fix her! Just do something!” Her father’s wail silenced the room. They stopped talking so abruptly that Lilly wondered if the floor had dropped open, hungry for a snack of mean men.

“We could start next week, Monday.”

“Thank you,” said her dad with a gush of relief.

What were they planning on doing to her? Her Case was far outside the realms of known medicine. They were going to treat her like a humungous guinea pig.

“I’d also recommend admitting her to the hospital. Things are happening that we don’t understand, she could suffer a complication at any time.”

“We should definitely monitor the stress on her heart.”

“Definitely.”

“Now?” Her dad’s voice rose with a panic that Lilly shared. “Her friend is coming for dinner and Lilly doesn’t know anything about this. Could we pack a suitcase and come back tonight?”

Oh. Maybe he wasn’t panicked, but…eager?

“How about we admit her on Monday. Can we all agree to that? Talk to her over the weekend. Explain that there’s nothing painful about the procedure, but we want to keep

an eye on her and make sure she gets the best care.”

“Is it safe, will she be okay if we wait until then?” Her father sounded uneasy.

Lilly tuned them out and slumped back in the chair. She wasn’t going to let them experiment on her. They didn’t even know what they were doing! How could her dad agree with these horrible people?

Once upon a time she would have believed him capable of holding up the moon with one hand if it ever threatened to tumble from its place above their heads. Daddy could save her from every bad thing that lurked in the dark, and years ago she’d asked him to wrestle the big blue monster that hid beneath her bed, to scare him so he’d leave her alone. But clever Daddy had a less violent solution: a one-way ticket on the next Creature Bus—all the way to the Village of Wrong Things. The big blue monster packed up and left and never bothered her again.

But Daddy couldn’t save her anymore. If he really wouldn’t listen to her, take her side, she’d have to come up with a plan on her own—and might have to consider a once-unthinkable possibility: she might need to run away.

She wasn’t sure how much it cost, but maybe she could catch a ride on the Creature Bus. The Village of Wrong Things was a legend, described in a poem, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. If she could find it, maybe she could live happily ever after in a place where she wasn’t so peculiar, so different, when compared to everyone else. All sorts of strange people and animals lived in the Village of Wrong Things. It made her sad to think of leaving Rain behind, but hopefully she could make new friends (even if not a best friend).

When her dad emerged from the office Lilly stood and stomped down the hall. She used the full of her stride and he ran to keep up with her.

“What’s the hurry?” he called from behind.

“Something I need to do.” She had to count the money in her piggy bank, which wasn’t a pig but an elephant. Just in case.