Mustaches for Maddie

by Chad Morris

  On some of the cards I wrote an extra line or two. On Yasmin’s I wrote, Thanks for walking home with me and making me laugh, and helping me defeat the Dragoporkisaur. And thanks for coming to play Poison Dragon Death Claw with me. You’re the best.

  And on Lexi’s I wrote, Thanks for crossing the Sahara with me. Thanks for distracting the basketball boys. And thanks for giving me cards. They made me feel so good I thought I should give all my friends one. I’m copying your great idea. I’m really glad we became friends.

  “Thanks, Maddie,” Lexi said after she read her card. She hugged me super tight. I hugged her back super tight. She was smiling more lately. Maybe I had kind of helped her out, but I knew that she had helped me.

  I glanced back and saw Cassie walking with Hannah behind us. She had been watching very closely as I had delivered my cards. I was pretty sure she wanted one. She didn’t like being left out of anything. But I hadn’t made one for her. I was still really mad that she’d lied to me at the swim party.

  The bell had rung. I had just finished my last recess before the surgery, and my little group of friends still played the game I’d made up. Yasmin and Lexi were there, plus Sailor. She had heard what Cassie did and started playing with us. Oh, and there were a few more fifth graders, too. It was really fun. The last round, the runners had to pick flavors of ice cream. I picked potato flavored.

  Just kidding. I like potatoes, but potato ice cream would be disgusting. I picked cookie dough.

  As we walked toward the school, Yasmin gave me a hug. And Sailor.

  I slowed as we got closer to our room, hoping that Cassie and Hannah would separate a little. Finally, after we walked through the doorway, they started in two different directions toward their desks.

  “Hey, Hannah,” I said, reaching out my hand with the card in it. “I made this for you.”

  Hannah looked down at the card, then back at me. “No, thank you. Not after your big lie.”

  What was she talking about?

  “Okay, students. Recess is over,” Mrs. Baer said. “Back to your seats.”

  I moved to my seat, but I was still trying to figure out what Hannah had said. I hadn’t lied about anything.

  Mrs. Baer taught us about geography, specifically tundras. That made me cold. But the fact that I still had another card besides Hannah’s that I had to deliver made me nervous enough to warm me up. I wondered if this was going to be my last day of school. Ever.

  I hoped not, but I wasn’t going to do any homework.

  “And today you only have twenty minutes to practice your plays,” Mrs. Baer said, “because I’ll need a few minutes before the bell.”

  I got up and moved to the corner of the room where Devin and I always practiced. I reached out with the same curly red mustache. Devin took it, slapped it on his face, and spouted off a few lines. He was trying a little too hard, but I laughed anyway.

  When it was time for my lines, I didn’t bother. “Keep it,” I said.

  “What?”

  I pointed at his mustache.

  “Oh. Thanks,” he said then cleared his throat. “I mean, deepest gratitude to you, good Juliet.”

  I think I may have blushed. “You’re most welcome, Romeo.”

  “Seriously, thanks,” he said.

  “Sure. If Cassie takes over as Juliet, wear it just to freak her out a little, okay?”

  “Definitely,” he said.

  “Shall we continue?” I asked and slapped on my own mustache.

  He nodded and we jumped in. It seemed like the time passed really fast. I think we were getting better. With our lines memorized, we could focus on where we moved and making everything as funny and cheesy as possible.

  I really wanted to do this scene for everyone—especially the anti-death scene Devin and I had made up. Nobody was going to die on my watch. Not Romeo. And, I hoped, not Juliet.

  “Alright,” Mrs. Baer said. “Time to come back to your seats.”

  It was now or never. I held out a card to Devin.

  “Two gifts?” he asked.

  I nodded, and he said thanks again. “Remember,” he said. “We agreed there wouldn’t be any dying.” He said it like he had practiced it, but at the end, his voice went a little different.

  I nodded and tried to smile.

  “Please go back to your seats,” Mrs. Baer repeated. A minute later, she continued, “There are only about five minutes before the bell rings, and we have something very special to do.” And then Mrs. Baer looked right at me. “Maddie, will you please come up to the front of the classroom?”

  “Um. Sure.” Sixty eyes looked at me as I walked to the front of the room. What was going on?

  “Anyone want to say anything to Maddie?” Mrs. Baer asked. And lots of kids said a lot of things.

  “Good luck tomorrow.”

  “I hope everything goes great for you.”

  “You’re really brave.”

  “I hope you get lots of ice cream and Jell-O at the hospital.”

  Mrs. Baer thanked the class and then put her hand on my shoulder. “We have something to give you.” She nodded at Lexi and Yasmin, and they went behind Mrs. Baer’s desk. They came out again with a huge gift basket. I mean, like you could fit at least two basketballs in there.

  “This is from our whole class,” Lexi said.

  “We all brought whatever we wanted to give you,” Yasmin said.

  I think my face was confused because my mouth wanted to smile, but my eyes wanted to cry. I blinked hard and tried to focus on the smiling. The basket was full of stuff. Some of it was all wrapped up. Some of it wasn’t. I could see crafts, pajamas, fuzzy blankets, a stuffed penguin, nail polish, sparkly slippers, and soda pop–flavored ChapStick.

  Maybe Mrs. Baer was right when she had said that I should tell my class because I had a lot of friends.

  “Thank you very much,” I said, and the tears came even though I didn’t want them to. Then Mrs. Baer’s eyes thought it might be a good idea to cry too, even though her mouth was smiling. So did Lexi’s and Yasmin’s. I thought maybe Devin’s eyes did, too, but it was probably just a weird glint in his eye.

  I liked the stuff, but I liked the people more. And I could wrap myself in a fuzzy blanket and remember them. Or I could use some soda pop–flavored ChapStick and think of them.

  I looked out at the rest of the class but noticed some of them weren’t teary. That was okay, but they looked upset or confused. There were even a few scowls.

  Cassie raised her hand, and Mrs. Baer called on her. “I heard that Maddie made this whole thing up and that she doesn’t really have a tumor and she doesn’t really need surgery. She just wants attention.”

  What? Was that the lie Hannah thought I told? Why would I ever make up something like this? I shook my head.

  “Cassie, that’s not appropriate,” Mrs. Baer said. “Maddie definitely didn’t make this up. This is a very real challenge she is facing.” She opened her mouth to say more, but the bell rang, and all the students got up and left. Mrs. Baer repeated that I hadn’t made it up as they exited.

  I stood there with a giant basket full of gifts, wondering if my class regretted giving it to me. Thanks to Cassie, some of them thought I’d made the whole thing up.

  “What’s in there?” Ethan asked, coming to sit by me. He never sat so close to me, especially not in the van on the way home from school. He had seen my basket. My mom had been at school to pick me up so I didn’t have to walk everything home. She’d known about the basket and told them the kind of stuff I liked.

  “Can I see?” Emery chimed in, moving next to me on the other side.

  “Can I have some of it?” Ethan asked, grabbing the plush penguin off the top. I tried to protect my things, but the basket was hard to guard from every side. And since Christopher went to junior high, he wasn’t in the van to help m
e keep back the twins.

  “Ooooh, this ChapStick smells like soda.” He started to open up the ChapStick and paused to smell it.

  “Gross! Don’t put that on your lips,” I nearly screamed. My twin brothers have germs that can’t be found any place else on earth. I had to be careful. I didn’t want my stuff to get all grossified.

  “How many stuffed animals did you get? One. Two. Three—”

  “Please don’t touch those,” I said, knowing my brothers wouldn’t listen or follow what I said. “I’ll count them later.”

  “This blanket is really soft.” Ethan rubbed it against his cheek.

  And then Ethan said something I never expected. “I wish I had a brain tumor.”

  I froze.

  Why?

  Why would he ever say that?

  He must not be thinking right at all.

  “You do not want a brain tumor,” Mom said, and she was using her “listen to me now” voice.

  “Yes, I do,” Ethan said back.

  “Maybe you want a bunch of neat presents,” Mom said over her shoulder while turning the van into our neighborhood, “but you don’t want all of the hard things Maddie has had to go through and will continue to go through. Count your blessings that you are healthy, and see if there is a way you can help Maddie.”

  “Nobody ever gives me presents like this,” he said.

  We pulled into our driveway. We don’t live that far away from the school.

  “Yes, they do,” I said. “On your birthday and on Christmas and sometimes—”

  “Not on a Monday!” he yelled and stormed out of the van and into the house.

  Mom took a deep breath and turned to follow him.

  “Mom,” I said before she left. “He has my soda pop ChapStick in his hand.”

  Mom nodded. “I’ll get it back.” Then she looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

  She must have seen it on my face. Moms can see lots of stuff on their kids’ faces, like a bit of chocolate or a paint smudge from art class, but also when something’s wrong.

  “Um . . . a girl at school told everyone I made up everything about my tumor to get attention.”

  “Really?” Mom said. She asked a few more questions to be sure I wasn’t overreacting. Then she exhaled slow and long. “That’s not nice at all. Why do you think she did that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. And I didn’t.

  “I don’t know either,” Mom said. “But if I had to guess, I’d say that there is a good chance she is feeling a little like your brother. Maybe she’s jealous of all your attention but doesn’t realize all the hard things that come with it.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Do you want me to call her parents or your teacher?” Mom asked.

  “No,” I said. That would make things worse. I told her it would be okay and took the basket into my room.

  I started to read through the cards my classmates had written for me. Even the kids who didn’t know me that well, like Enzo and Jade, wrote nice things. I wondered if they still meant them after what Cassie said.

  Devin’s card got my attention. Like a typical boy, he didn’t write much:

  Dear Maddie,

  I hope everything goes really well in the surgery. You’re awesome. Thanks for being a great Juliet and bringing mustaches. I like you.

  I read it again. He didn’t mean he liked me, liked me, did he? He liked Lexi. I thought back through every time I saw him blush. Was he blushing because of Lexi or could it be because of . . . ?

  No.

  Maybe.

  Why would he like the short girl who can’t run as fast as everyone else and holds her arm weird?

  Even if he did like me, he probably didn’t like me anymore.

  I thought about that note a lot.

  Then I read Lexi’s. She had given me a little stuffed rabbit with something special. Yep, a pink mustache glued on under the rabbit’s nose. Definitely funnier with a mustache.

  Maddie,

  I don’t know if you know it, but you’ve been my best friend. Thanks so much for talking to me and playing with me. I thought this rabbit was super cute, and I hope you love him. But I also thought he would need a mustache to be good enough for you. I hope he makes you smile whenever you see him.

  I hoped Lexi didn’t believe Cassie. It was hard enough to go through surgery without thinking I might have lost some friends, too.

  Then I read Cassie’s note. I didn’t think she would have written one. After all, I hadn’t given her a card.

  Maddie,

  When I first met you, you were very sweet and nice. But then you changed. You started being mean. You stole my part in the play. You ruined my party. You just want all the attention. That’s probably why you’re talking about the tumor the whole time. I bet you made it all up.

  After I read it, I wished she hadn’t written it. I wondered if Cassie hoped I would die.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I’m supposed to be sleeping, but I can’t. I tried, but it didn’t work. I ended up staring at the glowing green stars on my ceiling for a long time. Thanks, Dad, for helping me put them up after Yasmin gave them to me in my basket. I don’t know why they are green, though. Somebody at the glow-in-the-dark factory should have probably spent more time actually outside looking at stars.

  I’m nervous and hungry. Why do I have to go without food before surgery? Boo. I have to go in for brain surgery and skip breakfast tomorrow? I just can’t catch a break.

  I worry about a lot of stuff. What am I going to be like this time tomorrow? Is my tumor going to be gone? Will my brain be all messed up? Will I be able to see well? Will my arm and leg work right? Will I look different?

  I especially worry that I might not get another breakfast.

  Ever.

  Boo.

  Super boo.

  I would really miss pancakes. And hash browns. Definitely hash browns.

  And lots more.

  I would miss all my friends. If I don’t make it, please tell them all that I love them. And give them lots of hugs from me.

  Lots and lots. Especially Lexi and Yasmin.

  I’ll miss Mrs. Baer, too. Please tell her thanks. Thanks for the basket. And thanks for caring more than any teacher ever.

  And tell my brothers I love them. I really do. Even the twins. Give them hugs, and a few kisses right on their faces. I know they don’t like that. But I do love them.

  And I love you!! Thanks for everything. Thanks for teaching me to imagine. Thanks for helping me with the doctors. Thanks for telling me everything’s okay. Thanks for giving me mustaches because they make me laugh. I put one of them on the bottom of this letter to make you smile if I don’t make it.

  If I do make it, I might tear up this letter before you ever get to read it.

  I do super love you. I will miss you so bad.

  So bad.

  Dad, I hope your book goes really well. I hope I can be there to see it on the shelf in the bookstore. I woke up one night when you were praying for me. That made my heart stronger. Thanks.

  Mom, I know you pray for me, too. I say my own prayers, and I said a good long one tonight. I prayed to be back with you when all of this is over.

  I love you forever,

  My parents woke me really early. Like four forty-five early. Seriously, no one should ever be up at that time, especially when they haven’t slept very well before that. Today was the day I had to face the monster. I had to look into those burning eyes and hopefully survive. We grabbed our bags and drove the two hours to the children’s hospital. I fell asleep twice.

  It all felt like a dream. Was this really happening? We checked in, and a nurse led us back to a room and handed me hospital pajamas with rocket ships on them. They gave me yellow socks. They weren’t fuzzy, but at least they we
re a good color.

  Oh, and my hospital pajamas had pants so I didn’t have to worry about my underwear showing. That was a relief.

  “Hello, Maddie,” the nurse said. He smiled a lot and had cars on his hospital clothes. They weren’t as cool as rocket ships. He checked a lot of stuff, like my temperature and whatever that thing that puffed up on my arm measures. Oh yeah, blood pressure. Then he looked at his watch. “Okay, time to go.” He reached into the hall and pulled a wheelchair into the room. “You might not have expected this, but you get a ride to the surgery room.”

  Ride in a wheelchair? Okay. That was kind of fun.

  He pushed my chair, and Mom and Dad walked next to me. They were trying to talk all normal, telling me to remember all of this so I could write it down later and asking me what I wanted to do when I was all better.

  Then the nurse said something I didn’t realize. “At the end of this hall, you’re going to have to tell your mom and dad good-bye, and I’ll take you the rest of the way to the surgery room.”

  What? I was going into surgery alone?

  I always thought I’d be able to go all the way in with my mom and dad. My fingernails dug deeper into my hand.

  “We can’t go in with her?” Dad asked. Apparently they didn’t know about this either.

  “No, I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “Everything has been sterilized, so you’ll have to say good-bye right up there, where the hallway has a red stripe.”

  My mom grabbed my good hand.

  I wanted that stripe to stay far away, like the other side of the world away. Banished to another dimension away. But it didn’t. I squeezed my mom’s hand.

  I hated that stripe. It came up really fast. The nurse stopped my wheelchair.

  “You’re going to be just fine,” Mom said, crouching down right in front of me. She gave me an awesome hug, and it was like I could feel her love from her heart and arms and everything.

  “We’ll be praying for you,” Dad said. He gave me a good hug, too. “You’ve got this.”