Why hadn’t they learned about this kind of stuff in Psych class last year? There’d been big units on moral development, body language, and theories of intelligence—those kind of things. She vaguely remembered a brief discussion about mental health that focused on eating disorders, and they’d been given a phone number for a suicide hotline. But there was nothing about this.
Sage crunched one of the carrots in two. She’d often heard Dr. Surrage complain to her parents about the people who came into her office with self-diagnoses from the internet.
Still, the symptoms aligned so perfectly with what she’d witnessed in Len, and with what Len had told her. She didn’t want to scare her, but what if she was right and Len’s brain was sick? Her heart pounded with something awfully close to excitement, because this could solve everything for Len. A couple articles had mentioned something called cognitive behavioral therapy and a bunch of medicines that doctors could prescribe to help manage OCD. Len probably didn’t know about these options, though.
She punched Len’s house number into her phone.
A busy signal met her ears. “Are you kidding me?” Sage said aloud. She didn’t even know it was possible not to have call waiting. She was about to dial again when she heard the click and whir of the garage door.
Sage tore off the sofa, spilling carrots everywhere, and raced up the stairs.
“Sage!” Mom called from downstairs. “Honey?”
Sage sent her mom a text.
Sage: In bed. Headache.
She barely had time to jump under her sheets, still in her game clothes, before Mom stuck her head around her door frame.
“Hey, baby.”
Sage smiled weakly, her fingers clamped on to the sheet right below her chin. There was no reason Mom would pull back the sheet, but if she saw the uniform, Sage’s volleyball dream would be over.
Mom sat beside her, her weight pulling one side of the sheet down slightly, and put a hand on Sage’s head. “You feel clammy.” Fear crossed her face. “Have you been sweating?”
“I’m fine,” Sage said, willing her to leave so she could change clothes. She rolled over. “I’m tired, Mom, okay? I just want to sleep.”
Mom sat quietly for what seemed like forever. “You know you can talk to me, right, Sage?” Her hand rubbed Sage’s shoulder. “About anything.”
“Um, yeah, Mom. Thanks.”
“Or maybe you’d like to talk to someone else?” Mom said quieter. “Dr. Surrage gave me some names.”
She could not be serious. As if talking to anyone could help her heart become normal. “I’m good, Mom,” Sage said.
“It’s just—”
“Mom! I’m fine.” Then, in a flash of genius, she looked up and added, “Thanks for the flowers.”
“Oh,” Mom said, her relief bursting out in a smile. “You’re welcome.”
It gutted Sage, Mom’s desperation to help an un-helpable situation. Sage turned away again, wanting only to be alone. “Is there any way,” she asked quietly, “you could make me some chicken soup?”
“Of course, baby.” Her tone was grateful at the chance to help. Sage closed her eyes, and the bed lightened as Mom stood up. “Coming right up.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SAGE
THE NEXT MORNING, SAGE WOKE TO KNOCKING. SHE stretched, squinting against the sunlight striping her face, and peered at the alarm on her nightstand. Just after nine a.m. It was still strange not getting up for her regular Saturday morning run, but at least she’d had last night’s game. Otherwise, the inactivity would be almost unbearable.
Another knock. Sage pulled the comforter over her face just as Mom poked her head around the door.
“You awake?” Mom asked. “Some of your teammates are downstairs.”
“What?” Sage threw back the blankets and sat up. “Who? Why?”
“Kayla, Ella, the whole crew.” Mom shrugged. “They said they were here to see you.” Her hand lingered on the door. “Should I send them up?”
“No.” Sage fell back against her pillows, trying to imagine what could have possibly drawn her friends here so early. Especially Kayla, notorious for her hatred of weekend mornings. She kicked her sheets out of the way. “Tell them I’ll be right down.”
* * *
“Hi!” Ella said brightly as Sage appeared at the bottom of the stairs. The others added hellos from behind her.
“What’s going on?” Sage asked slowly.
“We just wanted to hang out,” said Hannah, way more bubbly than usual. “You know, see how you’re doing.”
Lyz and Nina nodded, their smiles a touch too bright.
Sage darted a look at Kayla, but her best friend stared hard at the floor. Sage’s neck prickled, the same way it did when she knew Ian was about to scare her from behind a corner.
“Why don’t you ladies take the sunroom?” Mom suggested, corralling them into the expansive addition Sage’s parents had added last summer. “And you’re welcome to stay for bagels. I’m just running out to get some.” She shut the glass door behind her.
Kayla stood beside one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring intently at the forest that was Sage’s backyard. The rest of the team crammed onto the long cream-colored sofa against the wall. Sage grimaced at the jar of sunflowers centered on the side table next to it. When she didn’t sit, Ella got up and led her to the delicate floral loveseat, the one no one ever actually used, and sat beside her.
“What’s going on?” Sage asked again. She spoke to Kayla’s back, but it was Ella who answered. Her plastered smile faded.
“We wanted to let you know,” she said, and looked toward the others, who nodded encouragingly from the sofa, “that we’re here for you.” She glanced at Kayla, who had finally turned to face the group. “Whatever happens with those extra tests. Even”—she scooted closer to Sage—“if it’s the worst.”
Sage fought back a sense of dizziness. Kayla wouldn’t have said anything, not when Sage had specifically asked her not to. The girls on the sofa suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Kayla?” Her voice was more a scrape than a sound. “What did you tell them?”
Kayla’s chin lifted. “I told them you had more tests,” she said. “That’s what you told me.” They locked eyes for a moment, and Sage saw it as clear as bold type across her face: Kayla knew there were no more tests. Why had she ever tried to fool someone who knew her so well?
Kayla’s stubbornness gave a bit. “People need to know,” she said softly.
“Stop.” Sage stood up. “Stop talking.”
“There are rumors, Sage, everywhere,” said Kayla. “You must be deaf not to hear them.”
Why did she sound so sad? Sage couldn’t stand it. Kayla took a small step forward, and it was there, in every move of her friend’s body. Her whole presence reeked of it—pity.
Sage’s stomach spasmed, like she might hurl. She’d told Kayla not to pity her. She’d told her.
Kayla took another step. “They deserve to know what’s going on,” she said, glancing at the rest of the team. “We all do.”
Kayla was close enough to punch. Sage envisioned it, her fist connecting with jawbone. Every muscle in Sage’s body strained against the movement, her hands clenched by her side. She would regain control of herself. Of the situation. Her mind fought wildly for a response.
“Sage,” Nina said. “Do you have a heart condition?”
Every eye in the room flew to Nina, then back to Sage. Ella covered her face with her hands.
Sage dragged her eyes to Kayla. “I trusted you.”
“She didn’t tell us,” Nina said, and Sage forced her gaze away from Kayla’s crumpled face. “This guy I know,” Nina continued, “from my old school. He can’t play sports anymore. Like, at all. He passed out during football practice.” She didn’t add “like you,” but it was there, in all of her teammates’ faces.
As Sage tried to think what to say, a stray leaf, still vibrant green, floated down outside the window. It wasn’t fair, Sage t
hought. Why had that particular leaf dropped so early, its life cut so much shorter than the others? What had it done to deserve that?
“Sage?” Ella stood up beside her. “Look, you take as much time as you need. We’ll go, okay?” The others began to stand, too. “We didn’t mean to make you feel worse, really—”
“I can’t play,” Sage said. “You’re right.” Everyone in the room froze. “I can’t ever play again.”
Sage understood their shock. No matter how strongly you suspected something, it couldn’t completely seem real until you knew it for sure. But she would be strong for them, like always. “My heart is too thick, apparently. Bad genes.” She dug her nails into her closed palm, pretending she was discussing someone else as she looked right at Kayla. “If my heart rate gets too high, there’s a chance…”
“You could die,” Nina said, and Hannah gasped. “Same thing with my friend.”
Sage felt her nerve unraveling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
There was a flurry of sound as her teammates said things they probably thought were helpful:
Let us know what we can do.
I’m so sorry.
Is there anything you need?
You’ll always be part of our team.
You can still coach, right?
Sage focused on the trees outside, thick with leaves still in their proper places.
“You’ll call us, right, if you need anything?” Hannah asked. “If there’s something we can do?”
Sage blinked, coming back to what was happening around her. Her friends were leaving. Of course they were. It wasn’t like her body language was asking them to stay. Still, she couldn’t help remembering Len’s response to the same news. How she hadn’t flitted around nervously, like Sage’s devastation might be catching. How she’d stayed. “Sure,” Sage whispered.
Ella gave her a hug. “It sucks,” she said into Sage’s ear. “How life isn’t fair.” Sage’s throat threatened to close; she swallowed to make sure she still could.
“And you’re being absolutely heroic about it,”—Ella’s voice lowered so it was barely audible—“especially with Kayla’s offer and all.”
Sage jerked back, and Ella’s face went panicky. “She did tell you, right? She told us all last night, so I assumed—”
“Of course she told me,” Sage lied.
Ella relaxed. “I mean, I’m sure you’re happy for her, but I know UNC was one of your top choices.”
Sage’s eyes zeroed in on a dark knot in the hardwood floor, her head giving the barest nod. She didn’t even try to speak.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Sage,” said Ella. “If anyone can get through this, it’s you.”
Sage listened to Ella’s footsteps, to the front door opening and closing. Someone tapped her arm. Kayla stood in front of her. “I’m sorry,” Kayla said. “I told them to give you space, but—”
“You got the offer,” Sage cut in.
“Oh.” Kayla stuck her hands deep in the pocket of her hoodie. “That.”
“That,” Sage repeated, letting her anger flare. Because if she was angry, then she wouldn’t cry. And she would not cry.
“You told everyone but me?” Sage accused.
“I thought… look, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Sage couldn’t keep the disgust from her voice. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” she spat. “How long were you gonna keep it a secret?”
Kayla’s face hardened. “You’re one to talk about keeping secrets. Why did you tell me you had more tests?”
Sage didn’t have a good answer, which pissed her off even more. “You have no idea—”
“You’re right!” Kayla said. “You barely talk to me anymore, and I know you’re going through a lot and you’re messed up about it, but I’m trying to help you!”
Sage’s jaw dropped. “I’m messed up?” How could Kayla, her supposed best friend, say that when Sage had done nothing but hold herself together since learning about her heart?
“That’s not what I meant,” Kayla said, tears dampening her lashes. Kayla, who never cried, whose heart worked perfectly, and who had just earned a full volleyball scholarship to a Division 1 program. Whose life was going to be everything she ever imagined it would be.
Sage’s anger surged higher. Poor Kayla, who couldn’t understand why maybe Sage didn’t feel like confiding every tiny thing to her at the moment. Poor Kayla, whose biggest dreams were gonna come true.
Kayla wiped her eyes. “All I’ve ever been trying to do is help you.”
“Well, you’re doing a shit-tacular job of it!” Sage had to get out of here. Away from Kayla, away from everyone. “Ian!” She tore up the steps. “Ian!”
Her brother stuck his head outside his door. “You okay?”
“Kayla needs a ride home. Tell Mom and Dad I went to the outlets for some shoes or something. Say, I don’t know, one of my favorite sandals broke.”
His forehead crinkled. “Why can’t you—”
“Look, just do this for me, okay? Please.”
Before her diagnosis, Ian would have put up a major argument. He would have told her about the countless better things he had to do than drive her friend home. Instead, he studied her for a moment and frowned, but nodded.
“Ian’ll take you home,” Sage told Kayla, bounding down the steps past her.
“Where are you going?” Kayla called after her, but Sage had already slammed the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
LEN
LEN KNEW IMMEDIATELY THAT SOMETHING WAS WRONG.
“You wanna come in?” she asked Sage, who had shown up at her doorstep. Len was still in her pajamas.
“I need to go on a drive,” Sage said. “Anywhere.” She shifted her weight, her hands fidgeting a hair tie around her wrist. “Can you come?”
“Um, maybe. Let me check.” She couldn’t believe Sage still wanted to hang out with her after yesterday, but she didn’t question it.
Ten minutes later, Len was dressed in her usual outfit and Sage’s car was speeding along the highway. Len checked the battery life on her camera for the fifth time.
Sage took a hard turn and something tumbled along the back floor, catching Len’s eye. A vibrant orange shoe lay on the floor. One of Sage’s volleyball shoes. It must have rolled out from under the seat.
Len turned down the radio, which Sage had blaring with an all-women punk band that was a little hard for Len’s tastes. “Where should we go?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sage said, passing a silver minivan with an I used to be cool bumper sticker on the back window. “I just want to drive.”
Len watched the speedometer tick up. They were going fifteen miles over the speed limit. Eighteen. Twenty. Len laid the camera on her lap. “You gonna tell me what happened?”
“Huh?”
“You’re upset. You gonna tell me why?”
The car slowed suddenly, as if Sage had only just realized she’d been speeding. “My team came to my house today.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “They know about my heart condition. That it’s permanent.”
Len pulled at the tip of her gloved pinky. “You hadn’t told them yet?”
Sage shot a look at her, before refocusing on the road.
“All I mean is, they had to find out sometime, right?”
“It wasn’t how I wanted to tell them,” Sage said. “And Kayla—” Her eyes went dark, and Len recognized her expression, the look of shutting out memories. “It doesn’t matter,” Sage said.
Len pushed her luck. “Sounds like it matters.”
Sage cursed. Then again. She nodded at the blue sign listing food options at the next exit and put on her turn signal. “I’m gonna grab some coffee. You want anything?”
“No thanks.” Len watched Sage from the corner of her eye. For the first time, she didn’t see Sage as a tragic superstar. Yeah, she was spectacular at volleyball, but she was also a regular person, anxious about something that had
happened with her friends.
Len switched her camera on, then off again. She’d grown accustomed to doubting herself, mistrusting almost every single thought. But she couldn’t squash the certainty rooting in her bones: Sage Zendasky, epitome of strength and success, might actually not be okay. She might even need some kind of professional help.
As Sage pulled into the McDonald’s drive-through line, Len realized she’d never heard Sage talk about anything other than volleyball. That didn’t seem completely healthy.
“So,” Len said, “what’s your senior project about?”
Sage’s mouth became a hard line. “Talk about a random question.”
Len shrugged.
Sage rolled down her window. “Yeah, I’ll take a small coffee. Just cream, thanks. Nope, that’s it.” She inched the car forward. Len waited. Finally, Sage said, “I’m doing it on physical therapy and sports medicine. I have a mentorship set up with Coach for the spring.” She shrugged. “It’s an easy way to fulfill that requirement.”
The way she said it made Len ask, “But is it want you want to do?”
Sage let out a short, barking laugh. “I want to be a pro volleyball player. But that’s not happening, is it?” The woman at the window traded a coffee cup for Sage’s change.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Sage said, as she pulled back onto the road. “I don’t need pity.”
“I’m not pitying you,” Len said, though she totally was. She faced the windshield, worrying the strap of her camera. “You think maybe you will go into physical therapy now?”
Sage took a deep swig of coffee and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “My whole life,” she said, “I’ve always known I was going to do something I loved. Something that made me excited to get up every single day.” Coffee sloshed over the cup’s edge and she cursed, sucking brown liquid from her hand. “I don’t exactly see physical therapy giving me that.” Her voice tightened.
“Maybe the mentorship will help,” Len offered. “It might be better than you think.”
“Maybe.” Sage pulled up to a red light, and her whole manner changed. “I tried to call you last night, but I couldn’t get through.”
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