The words tumble out, one after another, and I look around to see four entirely sympathetic faces staring at me. Even though my heart pounds angrily, my chest suddenly feels a little lighter.
“Okay, so going through the court system wouldn’t work,” Seth says. “But, like Landon said, it sounds like a lot of this comes down to money. So if you could figure out some way to keep paying for her life support...”
“What are you suggesting, exactly?” I ask. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot the past few weeks, but it still seems impossible. Dad said Camille’s life support costs forty thousand a month. It’s not like I could just pull that sort of money out of thin air.
But if I could... Then my parents would have no good reason not to keep her on life support. If I could somehow figure out a way to pay her hospital bills, it might just be enough to convince them to give Camille more time.
Seth leans back in his chair, like he needs space to process his thoughts. Then he slowly says, “I remember hearing about this online campaign about a year ago. It was for a local kid who had cancer. His doctors said it was terminal, but there was some experimental treatment his parents wanted to try, so they set up a crowdfunding campaign to pay for it.”
“Crowdfunding?” I repeat hesitantly. “Isn’t that supposed to be for starting businesses?”
“It can be,” Hannah says, looking up from her plate. “But now some people are using it for charity. We did a unit on it in my Accounting class.”
“How does it work?” I ask.
Hannah bites her lip, and I can tell she’s hesitant to share details, like she’s afraid it might give me false hope. But then she says, “Basically, you sign up online with a crowdfunding service, and it lets you set up a free webpage describing what you’re collecting donations for. Then you pick a goal of how much money you want to raise, and you have a couple weeks to try to get people to donate and reach the goal. If you don’t meet the goal, no one gets any money. But if you do, the crowdfunding service keeps like five percent of the money, but you get all the rest.”
“But how do you find people to donate?” I ask. “I mean, even if every person who knows my sister donated, it still wouldn’t be enough.”
Seth shakes his head. “You’re missing the point of crowdfunding—the main donations are supposed to come from the ‘crowd’ on the internet, not family and friends. If you give people a convincing enough reason to donate, they’ll pay to help out a stranger. That boy with cancer had his story picked up by the media, and something like seven hundred people donated to his campaign. They raised enough for the treatments in just three weeks.”
The table goes quiet as we all consider this. I finally break the silence, hesitantly asking, “So did those treatments work for the kid?”
“He didn’t survive,” Seth admits. “But he had five months longer to live. And if you think your sister might wake up, maybe that’s all she needs. Just a little more time to rest and heal.”
“A crowdfunding campaign,” I murmur. “It could work.”
As soon as the words slip out, I realize they’re true. Not only would the money pay for the life support, but if hundreds of people were donating to help Camille, it’d send a pretty strong message to my parents. Dad’s biggest weakness has always been public criticism. And if he had hundreds of people telling him he’s wrong to pull the plug on Camille? It’d probably be enough to convince him to keep her on life support for a couple more months and give her a better chance to wake up. And if Dad changes his mind, Mom’s bound to go along with it. These days, she does anything he tells her to.
Of course, there’s a major problem with the plan. In order for a crowdfunding campaign to work, I’d have to share details about Camille. Real ones. Not just a made up story with vague details, because if anyone suspected my story was fake, no one would donate.
“A crowdfunding campaign is actually not a bad idea,” Landon says slowly. He nods a couple times and then adds, “Actually, I think it’s a really good idea.”
“We could totally do it,” Maddie blurts out. “I could handle all the technological parts, you know, setting up the webpages and stuff. And Brie’s taking that Accounting class, too, so she’s also learned a bunch about this. So when she gets back, she and Hannah can both work with Lea to figure out all the details, like the mission statement and donation goal and things.”
“Plus, pretty much everyone at Harting is on social media,” Hannah adds. “So we could all help spread the word.”
“You’re forgetting something,” Seth says. “No one’s asked Lea if she actually wants to do this.”
He leans back toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into his chest. His voice is still soft, but with my head resting against him, it sounds booming.
“I know you said you think your parents aren’t doing the right thing,” he says to me. “But no one’s going to judge you if you change your mind. I imagine just sitting around waiting to see if your sister will ever wake up is torture. If you’re ready to let go, no one would ever judge you for that.”
I glance up at him and find that his expression looks protective and almost a little fierce. He’s telling the truth—I know that much for sure. Whatever decision I make, whether I say yes or no to this idea of a crowdfunding campaign, he’ll stand by me.
But not for long after that. If I do this, it means revealing who I really am. And that can only result in losing him and everyone I’ve grown close to at Harting. No more circle of friends to support me. No more teachers to watch over me. No more makeshift family.
No more Seth.
“My parents might be right,” I admit. “There’s a good chance she’ll never wake up.”
Seth nods slowly, but he keeps his word. There’s no judgment in his expression. I swallow hard and close my eyes, leaning into him and taking in as much of his warmth as I can get.
“But just because they’re probably right doesn’t mean they’re doing the right thing,” I say. “I really think she might still wake up. And as long as there’s even the tiniest chance of saving her, I’m taking it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
We spend two hours sitting in the diner planning the campaign for Camille. Tanya brings out brownies and milkshakes for us, even though we didn’t order them, and we pick at the dessert as we map out our plan of action.
It all takes shape with surprising ease. I’m still slightly dazed by the idea of a crowdfunding campaign—it’s so simple, but could be so effective. I should have thought of it before, but there’s no time to rebuke myself. I’m too busy trying to keep up with all the ideas flying around the table, some of them good, some of them bad, all of them aimed at getting the public to donate toward keeping my sister alive.
Maddie’s geekiness proves to be invaluable. She knows social media websites inside and out, and after listening to her for just a few minutes, I pull out my phone and start taking notes. Hannah and Landon also have some good insight, although Seth’s strangely quiet as we work out the details.
A couple of times, he excuses himself from the table and heads back to the kitchen, saying he wants to catch up with Tanya. He manages to hide it pretty well, and I can tell he’s beating himself up for feeling it, but his envy is still clear to me.
I understand it, even though I don’t want to. Running this sort of campaign is a way to fight for my sister, even if we all know it’s a long shot.
Seth never got to fight. All his family got was a phone call in the middle of the night from a police station far across the country. Parker was simply dead, and Seth never had the chance to change his brother’s fate.
It’s a relief whenever Seth leaves the table, because it means I don’t have to worry about him asking me questions. I keep avoiding personal details about Camille, which is easy enough to do when the others ask—they just assume I’m too emotional to talk much about her, I guess. But whenever Seth asks a question about my sister, my responding lie makes me feel ten
times guiltier.
Seth returns to the table after disappearing in the back for a while, and I lean into him as he sits next to me. Looking around, I’m surprised to find we’re the last ones in the diner.
“Tanya needs to close up for the night,” he tells us. “We should get going.”
Everyone gives a tired agreement, and we all start packing up our stuff and throwing coats and scarves on. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, leaving the others to finish the last remnants of their desserts. I don’t even have to go, but I do need some space. My head just keeps spinning, and my heart keeps pounding, and my lungs feel tight with a sickening mixture of despair and guilt and hope.
I’m nearly out of sight when I glance back at the table. Seth keeps rubbing at his forearm, like he’s not sure what to do with his arms while I’m not in them. Hannah reaches down and adjusts Koda’s vest, making sure it’s tightened and ready for Seth to use when we leave. Meanwhile, Landon poaches a french-fry off Hannah’s plate and sneaks it to Koda, who eagerly laps it up. Seth rolls his eyes as he hears Koda munching on the treat, and Maddie playfully swats at her boyfriend for sneaking it, but they all end up smiling.
The sweetness of the scene makes a sudden wave of sadness wash over me. I’m going to miss being a part of this.
“Pretty neat, isn’t it?”
Tanya’s voice comes from behind me, making me flinch. I look over my shoulder and find her coming out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on a paper towel. She crumples it up and tosses it in the garbage can beside the door, then offers me a smile.
“Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No problem.” I run a hand through my hair, wishing I could brush aside my dark thoughts just as easily. “Um, what’s neat?”
Tanya nods toward my table of friends. “That. You know, the whole tribal system thing you guys have got going at Harting. You’re all competing against each other for the best grade, but you manage to do it without ripping each others’ throats out.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. Just seems kind of like a phenomenon to me. No offense, but smart kids are usually too dumb to figure out how to help each other.”
Her expression suddenly turns serious, her lips pursing into a sharp line. “You take good care of Seth, okay? He deserves the best. You seem like a pretty cool chick, but if you hurt him, I’ll make sure there’s hell to pay. And unlike you kids, I have no qualms about ripping out throats. Got it?”
I wish I could laugh. I wish I could brush off her threat, smile at how protective she is of Seth, and claim I’d never hurt him in a million years. But I can’t do any of those things, so I just say, “The last thing I’d ever want is for Seth to get hurt.”
Which is kind of true, but not quite. Seth getting hurt ranks high on my list of things I’d never want to happen. But my sister dying will always take the number one spot.
My answer seems to satisfy Tanya, and she smiles and claps me lightly on the shoulder. “Good, because you make him happy. So yeah. Thanks for that.”
I can’t answer right away, because I think if I open my mouth, I’ll end up crying. But I swallow back the lump in my throat and manage to choke out, “I’m glad I’ve been able to make him feel a little better.”
Tanya tilts her head. “Are you okay? You look like you’re not feeling so hot.”
I nod to the bathroom. “I just really have to go.”
She blushes and sidesteps, giving me space to head into the bathroom. “Oh, sorry. Go ahead.” Tanya starts walking back toward the kitchen and says over her shoulder, “I’ll see you around. Hope you enjoyed the meal.”
I barely have time to say “thank you” before she disappears around the corner. I let out a long breath, and I’m about to slip into the bathroom when I remember that I still have my camera in my purse. I glance back at the table—everyone’s still in the same position, except for Koda, who’s finished her treat and is now leaning against Seth’s leg.
I quickly pull out my camera, adjust the settings, and snap a few photos. Then I walk inside the bathroom and close the door, giving myself some privacy to look over the pictures.
Frustration hits me when I see that all the pictures on my small display screen are blurry. But then I realize there’s nothing wrong with my camera—it’s tears that are causing the blurriness. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my sleeve. Hopefully, when I leave Harting, I’ll go back to not being able to cry, because the tears are one thing about being here that I wouldn’t miss at all.
I look back at the photo on my camera’s screen. The soft light of the diner highlights the sweetness of the image, and the fireplace gives it a neat back-lit look. Seth is the focus of the picture, bordered on all sides by people who truly care about him. Even as his biological family is crumbling, this little makeshift family is surrounding him with a kind of warmth even the fire in the background can’t match.
In the photo, Seth is reclining in his chair and scratching Koda behind the ear, while Hannah pets the dog’s back. Maddie’s talking with her hands as she explains something that’s making Seth smile. Landon is reaching over the table, and as I zoom in on his figure, I can see him sneaking Seth’s phone away from where it’s resting by his plate. I have no doubt Landon will play innocent when Seth freaks out about losing it, just like I have no doubt Maddie will admonish Landon for the stupid prank and wrestle the phone away from her boyfriend, and they’ll all end up laughing.
I finally have the last photo I need for Parker’s project, the one that shows the twelfth and final step of the Hero’s Journey. It’s supposed to be the step where the hero happily returns home with his final reward from his journey, and this picture sums it up perfectly.
Seth has been through hell, but this is what he’s managed to bring out of it—a slightly unconventional family made up of friends who each love him in their own ways.
As I stare at the picture, I realize just how entirely stupid I was for ever coming to Harting. I wanted to figure out how to fix my family, but I can’t fix what I don’t have. And what I have back in San Diego isn’t a family. I have people I love back there, even if I hate them at the same time. I have people who I have a history with, who’ve cared for me in the past, who I’ve helped care for.
But a family? No, I can’t call them that anymore. Families stick together, and we are the definition of something that has fallen apart.
Now all that’s left is to save as many of the shattered pieces as possible.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When I get back from the diner, I start packing. I soon have two suitcases filled, and my chest squeezes painfully at the thought of leaving Harting.
I’ll leave as soon as I tell Seth who I am—it wouldn’t be fair to make him endure my presence once he knows. So I’ll break it to him in two days, maybe three—that will give me enough time to book a flight, let Dad know I’m planning to come home, finish Parker’s project, and give Maddie a chance to set up all the website stuff for the crowdfunding campaign. She’s promised to have the account created within a day or two, and she said she’d send me all the log-in info as soon as it’s ready.
I feel kind of bad using Maddie for this, but I’m clueless about techy stuff, and I know she’ll do a better job than I ever could at setting up the necessary webpages. And I owe it to Camille to make sure everything’s at top quality. As soon as all the online stuff is set up, I can take over without needing help. It’ll be a lot of work, but then again, I’m going to have a lot of time to myself when I get back to San Diego.
There’s a light knock on my door around two in the morning, interrupting the staring contest I’m having with my ceiling as I lay in bed. I wince as the knock comes again, this time a little more insistent.
I glance toward my closet, making sure the closed door is safely hiding my packed suitcases. Then I quietly call out, “Come in.”
The door cracks open, and I blink a few times, sure that I’m seeing things wrong. But nope. It’s Seth, looking sheep
ish as he stands there with Koda at his side and his usual mug of tea in his hand.
“Get in here,” I hiss in a whisper. “Ms. Thorne is going to kill you if she knows you’re here at night.”
He scrambles inside, and as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, he says, “I have good news.”
Of course. All I have for him is horrible news, and he picks now to tell me something good. It’s just my luck.
I raise an eyebrow. “Good enough to cross the campus in the middle of the night when it’s barely thirty degrees outside?”
“Well, it’s not like I was going to ask you to come to me.”
“You could have texted. Or called. Seriously, Seth, that was stupid. It’s about to start storming, and you could have gotten trapped out there.”
I’m not really sure why I’m being snippy with him. Maybe it’s just easier to keep him at a distance with anger than admit what I’m actually feeling, which is... I don’t even know at this point. Losing a boyfriend isn’t supposed to come with this much relief. What we have together has never been right, and I’ll be able to breathe easier without lying to his face constantly.
But even if my lungs will function better, I’m pretty sure my heart is going to shut down.
Seth flinches back at my harsh tone, and I rub my hand over my face, wishing I could just scrub the image of his pain from my mind.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I tried calling, but you weren’t picking up. And you weren’t answering my texts either, so yeah, I was kind of worried. I figured I’d come over and make sure you were okay.”
I glance over at my desk, where I have my cell phone turned off. I hadn’t wanted to deal with anyone calling, but I’d forgotten to turn it back on after a while. I let out a long sigh and shake my head.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” I say. “I’m just...I’m in a weird mood, okay?”
This is What Goodbye Looks Like Page 25
