He probably won’t make it to eighteen. He’ll never even get to vote.
I didn’t know whether I should open my eyes and let him know I was awake—he might get embarrassed. Or maybe he wanted me to wake up.
I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was the picture perched on the bedside table next to me. The photo of Jess and his friends at senior movie night last November, back when things were normal, sane. It was in one of those clear lucite frames, and cracks ran across the middle of the thick plastic, right over the faces. Jess’d smashed it to the floor when I suggested he let his friends come to see him. I didn’t bring them up again, but I couldn’t just stick them in a drawer, and that’s how the photo wound up facing me.
I looked past it and focused on Jess in his bed. He lay with his face in his pillow—not fun for him to do. He told me once that moving after a round of chemo felt like trying to do jumping jacks when you have a stomach virus.
He was crying pretty hard—I could tell by the way his whole body shook, even though the pillow muffled the sound. All I could see of his head was the deep purple skull cap with the peace sign that he insisted on wearing, even though it must have made him too hot. He didn’t need it. I didn’t care if he was bald; Gwen certainly didn’t care if he was bald; Maria didn’t care if he was bald. But he cared. I guess I would too.
He sucked in his breath, like he was trying to stop sobbing but couldn’t. He clenched the pillow, and the bedcovers were pushed down to the knees of his pajamas. He used to sleep in boxers, but wouldn’t wear them with me there, even though I told him it didn’t matter. We used to take baths together when we were little, so what difference did it make now?
I slid back my thick comforter and stepped onto the cold, bare wood floor. It was only April, but Maria kept the central air turned up on account of Jesse’s cap. If I could’ve opened the window, we’d have gotten a nice fresh breeze; then he wouldn’t have needed the a c. But we’d also have heard the sounds of people playing in Central Park, and whiffed the grassy smell.
Jesse never let me open the window.
Goosebumps sprang up across my body as I padded the few feet to him, past the shelves of trophies mounted against the red-striped wallpaper, and past the wheelchair, for bad days, parked beneath them.
“Jess?” I touched the soft cotton shoulder of his pajamas. He flinched.
He lifted his head and looked at me. “Samantha, I’m sorry …”
“Shhh,” I said. What was he sorry for? Waking me up? Crying? Dying? I stared into his eyes. Even blood red from crying, they were gorgeous. His irises were hazel, a mix of brown, blue and green. Stunning.
I climbed over the metal bar—my ankle brushed against it and a chill shot through my leg—and flopped next to him. There was a way to lower the stupid bar, but I could never figure out how. “Mom might not like this,” he said, his voice sounding clogged.
“Shhh,” I said again. I wiped a tear from his pale cheek. The chemo washed out his color besides knocking him out. He was so weak, I helped him roll on to his back. He winced.
You wouldn’t know Jesse was sick by his physique. He’d lost a little weight in the three months since his diagnosis, but he hadn’t wasted away.
Jesse’s war was internal. The cancer and the chemo were going head-to-head; Jesse’s insides were the scorched battlegrounds.
I rested my head against his chest. The fabric of his pajama top was cold, but I could feel the warmth from beneath. Jesse wrapped his arms around me and cried into my long brown hair.
BOOKS BY SELENE CASTROVILLA
By the Sword
Melt
Revolutionary Friends
Saved by the Music
The Girl Next Door
Upon Secrecy
g
Selene is pleased to have a piece included in the charitable book anthology
Travel in the Sixties,
whose proceeds fund art/music therapy for Alzheimer’s patients.
Copyright © 2014 by Selene Castrovilla
All right reserved. Published by Last Syllable Books, 4251 New York Avenue, Island Park, NY 11558
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, or as provided by the United States of America copyright law.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without the written permission of the Publisher. Please purchase only authorized editions.
Castrovilla, Selene
Melt / Selene Castrovilla. – 1st ed.
p. cm
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Dorothy meets seventeen-year-old Joey in a Long Island doughnut shop, and struggles to save him from alcoholism and nihilism, while Joey keeps a secret that threatens them both: his police officer father abuses and terrorizes his family.
ISBN-10:978-0-9916261-2-0
ISBN-13:0991626125
[1. Young adult – Fiction. 2. Family problems – Fiction. 3. Domestic violence – Fiction. 4. Alcoholism – Fiction. 5. Abuse – Fiction. 6. Love – Fiction. 7. Bildungsroman – Fiction. 8. New York – Fiction.]
Cover Design by Damonza.com
Cover photo by Sarah Delk
Interior Design by Damonza.com
Edited by Evelyn Fazio
Copyedited by Jenny Peterson
Printed in the USA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Melt Page 15
