Extraordinary

by Miriam Spitzer Franklin

  I’d watched Mom do her yoga and meditation DVDs enough times to know that the first thing I had to do was breathe in and out. Slowly.

  “Concentrate on your breath,” the man with the soothing voice on the screen always said.

  So I did, and surprise, surprise, I fell fast asleep. A twisted ankle can zap the energy right out of you.

  When I woke up the next morning, I suddenly felt a lot better. I never believed it when Mom said, “Things will look brighter in the morning,” but this time she was right. I glanced over at my calendar, where I’d circled December 2 with a sparkly glittery pen. Anna’s surgery was only a day away, and I wasn’t about to let a little setback like a twisted ankle get in the way of becoming extraordinary.

  Mom, of course, had to drive me to school. When I showed up with crutches, everyone gathered around, waiting to hear what happened. So I tried to make it exciting. “I guess I got a little too much speed on my skates,” I told the other kids. “I was going super-fast.” Then I let Madison and some of the other girls try out my crutches. Zach made a few jokes, which I totally ignored.

  That afternoon, I went straight up to my room, hoping to get a little ahead on my reading since skating practice wasn’t taking up my time for now. When I made my way downstairs later that afternoon, a delicious smell greeted me. I took a good whiff and knew right away what was cooking—Mom’s special lasagna.

  I peeked in the oven at the cheese bubbling over the casserole dish. “Mmmm, yum. When are we eating?”

  “Sorry, hon,” Mom said. “The lasagna’s for the Liddells. They’ll be busy over the next few weeks so I made something they could keep in the freezer and heat up when needed.” Mom took out the casserole dish and turned off the oven.

  I leaned my crutches against the table and dropped into a chair.

  “We’ll bring it over tonight so we can visit with Anna before her surgery,” Mom said.

  “Andy will like the lasagna. It’s his favorite food.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Mom said as she scrubbed a pot in the sink. “I’m sure Andy will be glad to see you, too.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” Mom dropped the sponge into the sink and turned to face me.

  I shrugged, not wanting to tell her about the fight we had or about the way Andy had been working on Zeraclop City with Daniel. “He’s hardly talked to me this week, that’s all.”

  “Poor Andy,” Mom said, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’s worried about Anna’s surgery this Friday. He just has to deal with things his own way. I hope you’ll be very understanding over the next couple of weeks. That’s what he needs more than anything right now.”

  “I’m trying to, Mom. But he hasn’t been very nice to me lately.”

  “Honey, I’m sure this has nothing to do with you. Maybe he’s trying to tell you that he has a lot on his mind.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “Because of the surgery? I thought he’d be happy about it, that Anna’ll stop having seizures all the time. She won’t even have to wear the helmet anymore.”

  “Pansy . . .” Mom dried her hands on a towel and sat down next to me. “The Liddells have had a very difficult decision to make. They want to stop Anna’s seizures, yet they know this surgery is a huge risk. Do you understand what I mean by a huge risk?”

  I shook my head. “You mean it might not work? Could it make the seizures worse?”

  “It’s more than that.” Mom paused and drew her lips together like she was trying to make a decision. “Your father and I wondered if we should tell you. But you’re almost eleven, old enough to hear the truth. I’m sure Andy knows, which may explain the way he’s been acting lately.” Mom placed a hand under my chin. She turned my head so that I was looking into her eyes. “Anna could die,” she said softly.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Brain surgery carries a huge risk. Some people don’t make it through the procedure. Some make it but then die of infection weeks later.”

  “No!” I pulled myself to my feet and shook my head. Large black letters etched across my mind. Anna could die. The room was closing in on me. “Anna is not going to die. The surgery’s going to make her better!”

  “We’re all hoping for the best. The Liddells have talked to the best specialists, and they have high hopes. Anna is a strong girl, a fighter, and they really believe this surgery can stop or at least minimize the seizures.”

  I stood there, not knowing what to think. I swallowed back sobs. Feeling shaky and unsteady on my feet, I picked up my crutches and turned to go back up the stairs.

  “The Liddells need us right now,” Mom called after me. “Be a good friend to Andy. He needs you now, more than ever.”

  I swiped at a tear and continued up the steps. Anna is strong! I wanted to shout at my mother. She’ll make it through this surgery, and she’ll be herself again. Just you wait and see!

  ***

  Later that evening, we stood outside the Liddells’ house with the still-warm lasagna. Andy opened the door and reached for the foil-wrapped dish as if he was expecting it.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Smith,” he said, placing the dish on the counter without even a glance in my direction. “Mom’s in Anna’s room. She just finished shaving Anna’s head. She’s bald as a bowling ball!”

  Was he trying to make a joke? Andy’s words echoed in the room.

  I followed him down the familiar hall. I stopped in Anna’s doorway, unable to go inside. Andy hadn’t been joking. Anna was bald! Without her beautiful copper hair, Anna looked pale and skinny as she lay against her pillows. She looked just like one of those cancer patients on TV.

  “Hi, Anna.” My voice came out in a whisper.

  “I think she lost ten pounds, all in hair,” Mrs. Liddell said. I guess she was trying to make a joke, too. Maybe they were all trying hard to act like what was going on wasn’t big-time serious. But it wasn’t working.

  I couldn’t even make my lips curve up in a little smile. I pulled a small box out of my jacket pocket. “I brought you a present, Anna,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I looked over at Andy. His eyes dropped to the box in my hands. I looked up at Mrs. Liddell. “Do you want me to open it for her?”

  “Please.”

  Everyone stood silently as I tore off the wrapping paper. Right before we left the house, I thought of something I wanted to give Anna before she went into surgery. I took off the lid and pulled out the cooking badge I’d earned by baking those oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

  After Anna got better, she could earn her own badges. But, for now, I wanted her to have it, to let her know I’d changed.

  “It’s for your vest,” I said to Anna.

  I heard someone suck in a breath. Was it Mrs. Liddell? Or had it been Andy?

  “That’s so sweet of you, Pansy,” Mrs. Liddell said as Anna took the badge from me and closed her fingers around it tightly. Mom reached over and squeezed my hand.

  Anna looked up at me and smiled. Her eyes sparkled. She made a long sound, and I laughed. Everyone probably thought it was strange that I was laughing when Anna was lying in front of me with her head shaved, getting ready to go to the hospital for a surgery where they cut her brain open.

  But when Anna smiled, it really made me happy inside. Anna knew what I had done for her. I was sure of it.

  Still looking into my eyes, Anna made another long cheerful sound.

  “She’s saying ‘thank you,’” Mrs. Liddell said, her eyes shining. “You’re a good friend, Pansy.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Anna deserves it. She’s the best friend anyone could have.”

  ***

  “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” I told my parents when we got home from the Liddells’. I’d finally figured out a way to make things right between Andy and me again. “I want to spend the day at the hospital, with Andy.”

  My parents exchanged looks. Then Mom said, “I know Andy would love to have some compa
ny, but—”

  “I need to be there for Anna, too.”

  “Anna already knows how much you care about her,” Mom said. “And she’ll be in surgery the whole time. As soon as she can have visitors, I’ll bring you to the hospital.”

  I shook my head. A loyal friend would be there during the whole thing. I knew she was counting on me.

  “I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

  Silence. My parents questioned each other with their eyes.

  “I’m sure it’ll be an excused absence,” I said.

  “Your mom and I are going to work tomorrow.” My dad took off his glasses and lay them on the table next to him, then rubbed his eyes. “We can’t stay with you at the hospital, and Anna’s parents will have enough to worry about without having to watch an extra child.”

  I groaned. “Dad, they’re not going to have to watch me. I’m not a baby, you know.” It would be perfect. Andy would take one look at me, and we’d both forget all about our stupid fight. I’d bring tons of stuff to keep us busy—comic books and my Games on the Go set.

  My mom was shaking her head. “Pansy, I know how much you want to be there for your friends, but I’m not going to let you spend the day at the hospital.”

  I protested. I begged. I whined. Finally, I started to cry. How was I going to get through a whole day of school while Anna was at the hospital, lying on an operating table as they cut open her brain?

  Mom put her arm around me and told me everything was going to be okay. But that’s not what she had said a few hours ago. Suddenly, I felt exhausted, like every bit of energy had drained right out of me. I wiped my eyes and forced my feet to move up the steps. When I got to my room, I collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep without even changing into my pajamas.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Zero Days, December 2

  Friday, December 2, dragged on and on. I tried to act like it was a normal day. I smiled at my friends and let my classmates swing around on my crutches. I sat up tall in my seat and tried my best to pay attention during class. But whenever I glanced over at Andy’s empty desk next to me, my mind wandered. What was Andy doing all day at the hospital? Was he sad that I wasn’t there with him?

  I pictured Mr. and Mrs. Liddell sipping from those Styrofoam cups of coffee. Maybe they’d let Andy have a soda as a special treat, even though it was only ten in the morning and they never had soda at their house. I could imagine neighbors and friends stopping by to sit with them. Even Mom had said she would stop by at lunchtime and see how things were going.

  Andy probably had a pile of books with him. Definitely his Zeraclop notebook. Maybe his parents would let him explore the hospital, ride up and down in the elevators, and visit the gift shop.

  As long as my school day was feeling, I knew Andy’s wait in the hospital must be feeling even longer.

  ***

  “Where’s Andy today?” Emma asked at lunchtime. “Don’t you usually walk to school together?”

  “Usually,” I said. “But we haven’t walked together this week.”

  “Walking to school on crutches would take a really long time, I bet,” Hannah said. “How long do you have to stay on them, anyway?”

  “Until my ankle heals,” I said, happy that I didn’t have to explain the real reason Andy and I hadn’t been walking together. “The doctor said it could take a few days . . . or even a few weeks.”

  Madison’s eyes widened. “A few weeks? Oh, Pansy, you just have to get better by the skating party!”

  “I will,” I said, pretending like I believed what I said.

  The afternoon crawled by even slower than the morning. I kept staring at the hands of the clock, trying to make them move forward with my mind. Finally, the last bell rang, and we lined up for dismissal.

  I leaned on my crutches as I waited for Mom to pick me up. It was three thirty. Anna’s surgery should’ve been over by then—unless something had gone wrong.

  I clenched my teeth and felt the muscles all over my body tense up. Hurry up, Mom . . . can’t you be on time on a day like this?

  I almost dropped my crutches and ran for the car when I spotted Mom’s dark blue Honda.

  “How is Anna?” I asked as soon as I opened the door. “Is the operation over? Is she okay? When can I see her?”

  “Hold on a minute,” Mom said with a laugh, and that’s when the knot in my stomach began to unwind. I placed my crutches on the floor in the backseat and climbed in. Mom smiled back at me. “Anna’s doing great! Get buckled in and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  My muscles loosened, and I exhaled a gush of air, as though I’d been holding my breath all day. “When did the surgery finish? What did the doctor say? Have you seen her yet?”

  “It was a long surgery and only finished an hour ago. I stopped by the hospital at lunchtime—”

  “How’s Andy doing? Did you talk to him?”

  “Andy’s okay. I’m sure he would have loved to have your company—”

  “You should have let me go, Mom! It’s not like I learned anything today. All I could think about was Anna.”

  “I know, honey.” Mom glanced up at me in the rearview mirror. “But your dad and I had to make a decision, and we thought it was best for you to go to school. Anyway, the good news is that the surgery went well. Anna should be in the recovery room for the next few hours.”

  “So, we can visit her today?”

  Mom shook her head. “Definitely not today. Andy hasn’t even been in to see her yet. She’s under heavy anesthesia. It’ll be a while before she wakes up.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  “She’ll be in intensive care for a while—”

  “Anna is strong,” I said. “I bet she’ll be out of intensive care and out of the hospital sooner than anyone thinks.”

  “Pansy, it’s going to take time,” Mom said, launching into a detailed medical explanation of Anna’s recovery. But I wasn’t listening. I knew it! I believed in Anna, just like she believed in me, and she made it through the surgery without a problem! Over the next few days, Anna would start to heal. I was sure of it, just like I knew that when Anna found out how I’d changed, she’d forgive me. And this time she’d be the one to put on her own necklace, and she’d know exactly what it meant.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  December 7

  I didn’t get to visit Anna over the weekend. Mom said we had to wait until Anna was stronger—that there was always the risk of infection after major surgery, that Anna was in good hands, and that we had to be patient.

  Finally, on Wednesday after school, I heard the words I’d been waiting for.

  “Mrs. Liddell says Anna’s vital signs have stabilized,” Mom told me when I got home that afternoon. “Would you like to visit her this evening?”

  “You bet!” I shouted. “Hooray!”

  I got to work right away making a card for Anna. I wrote GET WELL, ANNA! in silver glitter glue on the front. Inside, I pasted pictures of Anna’s favorite things: a swimming pool, a rainbow, tennis shoes, someone pumping her legs on a swing set, a basket full of puppies, a plateful of cookies . . .

  Wait a second. Why hadn’t I thought of it before?

  “I’ve got the perfect present for Anna,” I said to Mom. “Oreos.”

  “Hmm.” Mom looked up from her laptop and frowned. “Anna doesn’t have much of an appetite, according to Mrs. Liddell. She still has a feeding tube in to make sure she gets enough nutrients.”

  “But she’s eating hospital food, too, right?”

  “They’re working very hard to get her to eat three meals a day. Most of what she’s eating is soft, like yogurt and cottage cheese.”

  “She’ll eat the cookies,” I said. Anna used to eat them every day after lunch. “Oreos are her favorite cookie.”

  “Even so, how about some balloons, instead?”

  “We can bring balloons along with the Oreos.”

  Mom smiled. “Whatever you want.”

  After dinner, we stopp
ed at the store for the cookies and a big pink balloon that read GET WELL SOON! I bubbled over with excitement the whole ride to the hospital.

  But when we entered the hospital lobby, the knot in my stomach returned. As we stepped into the elevator, I looked away from the wrinkled woman in a wheelchair, a bag of IV fluids hooked to her arm with needles. I tried to ignore the nurses who rushed past us in the hallway with scary-looking carts, and I plugged my ears to drown out the weeping coming from inside one of the rooms we passed. I breathed through my mouth so I wouldn’t have to take in the horrible smell of chemicals mixed with sickness.

  I hobbled past my parents, crutch-free, and knocked on the door to Room 1103—Anna’s room.

  Mrs. Liddell opened the door and smiled when she saw me.

  “Hi, Pansy!” She poked her head out and waved at my parents. “I was just feeding Anna dinner. Come on in.”

  Andy sat in a chair next to the bed. He flicked off the TV with a remote, looked at me, and waved. But he didn’t wave the way you would at a really good friend who you were glad to see. It was more like a greeting for a stranger, someone you barely knew.

  I waved back, then turned my attention to Anna, who was lying on the bed.

  I knew something was wrong right away. Anna was so still and quiet that I would have thought she was asleep. But she was awake, staring at the TV, which wasn’t even on.

  “Hi, Anna.” I tried to make my voice sound cheerful, but it came out forced and strained. Not my voice at all. I tried a smile, but my lips only trembled as I leaned over to give her a hug.

  Anna didn’t hug back. She didn’t make a happy sound like she usually did when she saw me. She didn’t smile. She didn’t even look into my eyes.

  She just lay there, her head drooping down, her eyes looking lifeless. She didn’t seem to care if I was there or not.

  I swallowed. I tried to keep my voice steady as I tied the balloon to the end of the bed. “I brought you a balloon, Anna,” I said. Then I placed the box of Oreos on top of her blanket. “And cookies.” I tore open the wrapper. “Look, Anna. Oreos—they’re your favorite!”