Save Steve

by Jenni Hendriks

  “Is that coconut?” Crap. That damn shampoo smelled so freaking good!

  “What?” she asked, and I prayed she meant, What did you say? and not, What are you doing talking about the luscious scent of my hair?

  “Steve!” I sputtered. “That Steve! What an ass—”

  “Steve has cancer.”

  Certain that her intoxicating shampoo must have somehow affected my hearing, I searched for possible homophones—“Steve likes canned pears”? or “Steve has back hair”? or “Steve makes Cam scared”? Accurate. But since none of that made any sense in this situation, I bravely asked her to repeat herself. “What?”

  “He hasn’t been feeling well, so he went to the doctor. And . . . they felt something. A lump. So they did a bunch of tests. And . . . it’s cancer!”

  “Steve has . . . cancer? Like, ‘cancer’ cancer?” I searched for something that would keep those words from being real. “But he just threw that enormous party . . .”

  She pulled herself from me and reached into her bag for a tissue as she explained, “I know! His parents let him throw it to cheer him up. He . . . he . . . didn’t tell me . . . till yesterday!”

  As she blew her nose, I tried to make sense of what had just happened. Steve Stevenson was indestructible. He was The Rock. Literally every year for Halloween. And he looked healthier than anyone else at his party. How could he have cancer? Obviously, I knew anyone could get cancer, but Steve always had a force field around him that made it seem like the whole world just moved out of his way. And now . . . cancer . . . How?

  “That’s . . . terrible . . .”

  “He keeps saying it’s no big deal. ‘Hodgkin’s is the good cancer.’ But how can he not be freaked out? His mom’s a mess. His dad had to take leave from his business to care for him because his mom’s the one with insurance. Which totally sucks. I mean, that house. The payments are so high. And I guess their insurance isn’t that great because they’ve already got like twenty thousand in medical bills. . . .” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry, it’s not your problem. . . .” Then she wiped her eyes and tried to regain her composure. For a moment she seemed okay, but then the news hit her all over again. “It’s just so messed up!” Another wave of grief washed over her.

  She leaned into me and I cautiously put my arm around her. She was right. This was so messed up. I thought about poor Steve. And his family. And Kaia. And how life was so delicate. And how we were all just a moment away from death. And Kaia exhaled and let her full weight rest on me. And the scent of the Hawaiian Islands swam in my head. I wished this moment would never end.

  How could I make this never end?

  “We should do a fundraiser for him!” I blurted. Wait. What did my mouth just say? But then Kaia pulled back, blinking away her tears, and I just went with it. “Get them the twenty thousand dollars, you know?”

  “Oh my god. That’s a great idea!” The hopeful light in her eyes was like rocket fuel.

  “I mean, you and I, we can fundraise anything! Can’t we?”

  And then she paused and looked a little confused.

  Crap! Was that too familiar? I shouldn’t have assumed she knew everything I volunteered for. I was just some guy she saw around.

  “I mean, saving the shark is just my latest thing. I also did a book drive for the local homeless shelter and I campaigned for bike lanes to be added to Main Street. And didn’t we work together on the Straw-Free-Campus campaign and the Santa Clara Wetlands Preservation?”

  “Oh, wow . . . I didn’t . . . I mean, I knew about the wetlands.”

  “And we did dune restoration, too, didn’t we?” Okay, that sounded desperate.

  “I didn’t realize we’d worked together so much.” But she seemed surprised and not creeped out, so air once again filled my lungs.

  “And last year you ran the Fun Run for No Guns and the Love Is Love Valentine’s Day Bake Sale, right?” I added, to let her know it wasn’t all about me.

  “Yeah,” she confirmed. “But they were small.”

  “Well, I think we’d make an amazing team.” Was “team” too far? But then she smiled. A big, happy smile, directed right at me. But just like that, it faded.

  “Look, you don’t have to do this. I mean, you’re not really friends with Steve, are you?”

  It was true that there was no universe, not even in a multiverse scenario, where I was friends with Steve Stevenson. But I didn’t see that as a problem. “Just because Steve and I aren’t best friends doesn’t mean I don’t want to help him. I’m not friends with the shark either, and I’m still trying to save it.”

  She laughed. Oh my god. I needed to hear that again. Should I go for a joke? I was going to go for a joke. “And the shark doesn’t even have cancer!”

  She laughed again, and damn, I could listen to that forever.

  Kaia breathed a sigh of relief. “God, just the thought of doing something is already making me feel better.”

  “Right?”

  “You really want to do this?”

  I wanted to say, I want to do this more than anything in the whole world. But I went with, “Yeah. Totally.”

  “Okay then.” She pulled out her phone. “Put your number in.” She held it out to me, its purple biodegradable case sparkling in the light. It was just a standard phone, but feeling it in my hand and staring at its unlocked screen seemed suddenly so intimate. Her whole life was in there and she was letting me stare into it. Well, at the blank page of the contact app, but it still rattled me. It took me way too long to get my info right as I debated adding email, social media, home phone, address, birthday . . . Finally, I settled on just my number and handed it back before things got too weird.

  She examined it, tapped something quickly on her screen, and then looked up at me.

  Buzz. My phone shuddered and I picked it up, gathering that she’d sent me a test message.

  On my screen were the words: You’re the best.

  I dropped my phone and the screen cracked into six fissures.

  “Oh my god, your phone!” Kaia gasped.

  I picked it up quickly and assured her it was no problem. The screen still worked. Her text was still there.

  And I would happily look at those cracks until the end of time.

  I pulled down my Dear Evan Hansen poster and made room for a Save Steve vision board. I darted around my room like a deranged dragonfly as I plotted the biggest fundraiser Ventura had ever seen. Grabbing a pack of blank note cards and a Sharpie, I stared at the empty space in front of me.

  Car wash? Bake sale? No! It had to be bigger. Run-a-thon? Dance-a-thon? Too small! This had to be special. Memorable! Impressive! Epic! Or else Kaia would think I was just some mediocre do-gooder.

  Kaia.

  Our moment by the Wall of Service bulletin board still swam in my head. Mostly the pungent smell of tropical paradise, but also . . . everything. She had let me comfort her. She felt she could trust me. She knew who I was!

  You’re the best.

  I couldn’t stand still anymore. I jumped up on my bed and giddily bounced. “You’re the best! You’re the best!” I banged my head on the ceiling, forgetting that I wasn’t seven anymore, but it didn’t matter. I continued bouncing (a little more cautiously) and I just kept repeating, “You’re the best.” Then I flopped on my bed, held up my cracked phone, and gazed at her text to make sure it wasn’t accidentally erased.

  Kaia: You’re the best.

  There it was. I had added her name to her number, making her text even more heart-stopping. She was in my phone! I sat up and let that thought linger. We were going to save Steve. Together. Then I felt a presence and knew exactly who it was.

  Michelle.

  I looked over at her proudly. “I am going so high, Michelle. Did you see who I’m saving? This isn’t an orphaned child from Syria with cancer we’re talking about. This is Steve fucking Stevenson. I mean, look at this guy!”

  I opened Instagram and flipped through his feed. Each photo that came u
p was more obnoxious than the next. Steve photobombing the science fair. Steve photobombing the Cesar Chavez assembly. Steve photobombing last year’s production of The Crucible.

  “I’m not sure it’s as big as you hanging out with Melania during the inauguration, but we are close. We are very close.”

  “Look, I know he’s scary and has a terrible reputation, but if you just give him a chance—” The woman pushed her shopping cart past me without stopping. I was in front of the Ralphs on Victoria Avenue with my fellow activists Todd and Patrice. Armed with clipboards, we had a five-minute spiel about the negative impacts of keeping a shark in captivity, if only anyone would stop long enough to listen. Most people rushed by, refusing to make eye contact, but we’d managed to get a few signatures.

  Todd clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Good try, kiddo. Now, about saving this Steve kid . . .” I’d been explaining to Todd and Patrice my plan to help Steve. They’d worked together up and down all of California on various causes—they’d gotten a law passed that forced almond growers to use less water and saved a riverbed in Mendocino from a strip mall development. I figured they’d have some pointers. “Noble shit, man. But he sounds like the biggest asshole,” Todd continued.

  “But that’s a good thing, right? Helping someone who doesn’t deserve it?” I’d left out anything about spending more time with Kaia, because I didn’t think that was super pertinent. But Patrice suspected something.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you ever watch The Fault in Our Stars?”

  “Is that the doc about corruption in the Pentagon?” Todd asked.

  “No. What the fuck rock do you live under? It’s the tragic love story about two teens dying from cancer.”

  “Uh, Kaia doesn’t have cancer,” I offered.

  “Not my point.” She waved to a passerby. “Excuse me, do you know that a shark is being kept under sickening conditions for the amusement of humans?” The mom with her two toddlers gave us a horrified look, then scurried toward the safety of the grocery store. “Hey! I know your kids love that ‘Baby Shark’ song. How ’bout some love for a real shark?” she called as the double doors snapped closed. She turned back to us. “Okay, how about the movie Love Story?”

  “Haven’t seen it,” Todd said.

  “Terms of Endearment?”

  “No.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “A Walk to Remember?” We stared blankly at her. She sighed. “Whatever. There are a thousand of these. My point is, a cancer love story is an unstoppable force. You don’t get in the middle of something like that.”

  “I’m not getting in the middle,” I protested.

  Patrice leveled her gaze at me. “So that was just your passion for rescuing sea creatures that had you all starry-eyed at our last protest and not cute little Kaia.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “I’m gonna bring you my copy of Before I Die.”

  “Stop. You don’t understand. Steve’s not dying. He has good cancer.”

  Both of them raised their eyebrows. “Good? Cancer?” Todd asked.

  “Pretty sure that’s not a thing,” Patrice added, crossing her arms.

  “No, I know, but it’s not like serious, dying cancer. It has a ninety-four percent recovery rate.” I looked back and forth between them, seeking assurance.

  Patrice put her hand on my shoulder. “Look, I stand by it. You don’t mess with a cancer love story.”

  Rattled, I got home as the sun was setting, turning the taupe stucco of our town house a vibrant orange. Letting myself inside, I could hear the TV and smell enchiladas.

  “You stood by that pussy grabber all those years, and now you’re telling me what to do with my body? Fuck you and your patriarchal bullshit!” My mom was watching the news while she cooked. It was one of her favorite activities. She said it made the food spicier. I tried to sneak upstairs, but the screen door banged behind me. “That you, Cam, honey?”

  “Yeah. I just—”

  My mom came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Can you believe those manipulative, conniving dipshits?” She wrapped me in a tight hug, then let me go. “They’ll do anything to get what they want. Oh, sure, they pretend it’s for a good, noble reason, but deep down it’s evil.” Hold on. Was this about me helping Steve? Did she sense I had more than one motive? Was this a not-so-coded message? “Don’t ever be like one of those assholes.”

  But just as I started to explain, her frown switched to a bright smile. “Dinner’s in half an hour, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked back to the kitchen, already screaming at the TV again.

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t about Steve and Kaia after all. Regardless, I stood alone in our entryway with a horrible thought: Was I a manipulative, conniving asshole?

  Upstairs in my room, I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I could feel her eyes on me. Michelle. I rolled over. She stared at me from her picture frame.

  “You think I should back out, don’t you?”

  Michelle continued to stare, knowing she didn’t need to say anything. I already knew the answer.

  “But this is my chance!” I pleaded. “In fact, all those moments I missed before, that was probably for the best. Kaia might have said no. But if I do this, she’ll know for sure what a great guy I am. And I’m not trying to break them up. Steve will do that on his own. Whatever, Patrice is wrong. This isn’t some tragic cancer love story.”

  But Michelle wasn’t having it. I could feel her skepticism radiating through the glass of the picture frame.

  “It’s a good thing, I swear. You of all people know what a mess health care is in this country, Michelle. His parents need the money. If I back out now, I’m actually taking something away from him.”

  I was pretty proud of that point. But Michelle still wasn’t buying it.

  “Fine. You’re right. Kaia could totally do it without me. But then she’ll probably hate me for saying I’d help and then backing out.”

  If Michelle could raise her eyebrow, she would have.

  “Yes! Okay! I know! She won’t hate me. She’d totally be understanding. She’d probably even check on me to make sure everything was okay. That’s the problem. She’s amazing! And I . . . like her. I really, really like her.”

  I covered my face with my arm so Michelle wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. She waited patiently. I took a deep breath and let it out.

  “I’m doing a good thing for the wrong reasons and that’s not okay.” I sat up and grabbed my phone. Michelle watched. I rolled my eyes at her. “Yes, fine. I’m circling Kaia like a horny vulture. You don’t need to rub it in.” I scrolled to Kaia’s last text. “Okay, Michelle. I’m going even higher.”

  I texted: Hey.

  I started to type, About earlier. I’m going to be too busy with the shark . . . but before I could get further, Kaia texted back.

  Kaia: I was just about to text you! I’ve been thinking about what you said all day! Can’t wait to get started! We are gonna fundraise the shit out of this!

  Then she sent a “making it rain” GIF. But I wasn’t focused on the dollar bills falling gently on my screen. I was focused on a single word.

  We.

  Holy shit. Why were those two little letters doing such crazy things to my insides? I looked at Michelle, lost.

  “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

  My phone buzzed.

  “It’s gonna be great, Michelle!” I shouted over the music. I’d cranked up my favorite “get to work” playlist. Notebooks and sketch pads were scattered around me on the floor. I had markers out and was working on approximately the fiftieth version of the “Save Steve” logo. My laptop was open with the beginnings of a website.

  “By the time we hit twenty thousand, Steve’s four months of chemo will be over; he’ll be in remission and back to peak bro form.”

  I ripped off the latest attempt from my notebook and walked over to the wall above my
desk. A bunch of stuff was already pinned to the corkboard I kept there: facts on Hodgkin’s, a list of ideas to raise awareness, local businesses to contact. In the center was a picture of Steve. I tacked the logo next to him.

  “In no time he’ll be chugging Natty Ice by his pool again and singing Cardi, and Kaia will be tired of his bullshit. Bro shit?” I chuckled. “Anyway, they’ll be broken up. And I’ll be that thoughtful guy who helped her now obviously terrible ex-boyfriend through cancer.”

  The logo wasn’t quite right. It needed to be more . . . “Steve.” More aggro-in-your-face. I ripped it down and started over.

  “And then . . . this time, I’ll be ready. The moment will finally be perfect. And I’ll ask her out.” The marker stilled on the paper as a thought occurred to me. I did some quick math. The timing was too good. “No. I’m not going to ask her out, Michelle.” I stood and walked back to the corkboard. Pinning the logo next to Steve’s face, I smiled. It was perfect. “I’m going to ask her to prom.”

  8

  As Kaia scrolled through the website I’d built, I tried not to let on that there were, like, a thousand butterflies having a Steve-sized party in my stomach. We were sitting in Ms. Torres’s English classroom. First bell was half an hour away and the only sound was the janitor watering the hedges outside the window, the distant hum of the school orchestra practicing, and Kaia’s occasional tap on the keyboard. And my nervous, shallow breathing. But I was pretty sure Kaia couldn’t hear that.

  Every few seconds the corner of her mouth would quirk upward as she came upon some new element and the butterflies would swoop en masse. I’d worked on the Save Steve website all night, and even I had to admit it looked pretty good. It was simple and clean with a big bold logo and a ticker that would show how much money we’d raised. Finally, she looked up.

  “Wow. You did all this last night?” She was impressed. I’d impressed Kaia.

  Did I say there were a thousand butterflies? Make that a million. And they were doing loop-the-loops. “I was inspired.” I couldn’t believe I’d managed to say that in a totally normal, almost cool tone of voice and not in the squeak that I was really feeling. This was going even better than I’d hoped.