Craig stood with his hands in his back pockets. “So, we’re assuming it’s bad. Cancer, then?”
I nodded.
Quinn made a choky gasp, kneeled by my bedside and grabbed my right hand, cupping it between both of hers. “We’re going to be by your side and do whatever we can,” Quinn said.
“Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do,” I mumbled.
Hana sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on my leg. “I’m so sorry, Ellie.”
Craig blew out a puff of air. “I’m sorry, too, sis. What’s the kick-cancer’s-ass plan?”
“Tell us everything,” Quinn said.
“There’s no plan, yet.” I somehow managed to ramble off all the horrible words and outcomes Dr. Nichols gave us this morning. “I have to weigh the choices between my life and my leg, so…I’m not real eager to talk about it.”
Quinn’s porcelain white skin went a shade paler, her softly arched eyebrows knitted, and her little heart lips nearly disappeared into her mouth.
Hana’s voice turned to gravel as she said, “Oh, Ellie,” and her beautiful brown eyes dimmed with heartbreak.
“That is the roughs.” Craig kicked off his shoes and came around the other side of the bed and scooted in until he was next to me, hugging me. Hana and Quinn climbed in, too, until we were in not so much of a sandwich hug, but a pile-of-mashed-potatoes-and-gravy hug.
Every part of me was embraced, making my treacherous body momentarily safe. And in that glimmer of a moment, even with cancer, even with the future so bleak, I had something powerful, something to be grateful for, something not everyone gets in a lifetime, hugging me close.
After barely sleeping all night, the next morning I welcomed the distraction of school. At least I was out of our apartment, but I mostly zoned-out in my classes and tried to avoid everyone’s questions about my leg. My last period was my free one, and I crutched backstage for some peace. It was dark, with only enough light from the auditorium seeping in to catch the outline of the furniture and Harold’s bowl on a table next to the couch. Quinn had taken him last Friday after the second Mash-Up and promised to look after him, but I’d hated abandoning him. It was weird to think how my tumor was five times as long as Harold’s entire body.
I sat on the couch. “Hey, Harold, I don’t want to get your fins in a tizzy, but I have cancer.” This new word in my life was so much worse than tumor, but it was easier to tell a fish, because fish can’t cry. “For real, the actual capital C-word. So, you know what that means? I’m going to be, like, a gigantic bummer to hang out with. Fair warning, lil’ guy.” I inched closer. “You hungry?”
Turning on the small lamp by his bowl, I gasped. “No! Oh, Harold, no.”
He was floating, lifeless.
“My poor, sweet fish friend.” I put my hand on the bowl and sobbed. Goldfish don’t live long, but he’d been our mascot since before I joined Spontaneous Combustion. He was my good-luck fish, my confidante. And I’d become the grim reaper, darkness following me and causing pain to everyone around me. “I’m so sorry I dragged you around. It was too stressful for your little body.”
The tears dripped into his bowl as I said a prayer. “Dear Harold, thank you for being such a cheerful, bright spot in our lives. You were a good listener, a faithful companion, and the best mascot an improv group could ask for. You helped us have more funny scenes than sucky ones.” I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve. “I’m…I’m not sure what awaits a goldfish after…after death…if anything. But may there be something for you, and may it be a magical temperate lake full of other fishy friends. Know your life brought joy to others.” My voice faltered, but I squeaked out the last words. “Rest in peace, lil’ guy.”
Turning off the lamp, the silence of the blackness, the aloneness, hit me. I have cancer and I killed Harold. Curling up into a ball on the old couch, I stared at the wood floor with its chipped paint, scuffmarks, and a random shellac of gum, wishing I could seep between the floorboards and disappear.
I have absolutely no control over anything.
That’s what I loved about the stage—it was the one place where I had the power to create anything. Real life was the hard part. Onstage I could be someone else, live in a pretend world for a while. I could make goldfish rise from the dead. I could fall in love…and it wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Holding my hand to my lips, I thought of Jason in the grove of trees outside of Porter. If only I could return to live in that moment forever. How was I going to tell him? What guy would want to be with a cancer-ridden girl he just met? Especially a guy who just lost his mom to the stupid disease a year ago?
I closed my eyes and clutched a couch pillow to me, wanting to rip it apart.
I’m sorry, Harold.
I woke up on the couch backstage to Craig shaking my arm and Hana saying, “Wake up before the couch-bugs bite.”
“We’re driving to Craig’s house for Las Palomas del Disco rehearsal,” Quinn said, doing a poorly exaggerated Spanish accent.
I sat up, groggy and not wanting to deal with their…cheery capableness. “I’m not doing that. Harold’s dead. And it’s my fault.”
“What? No,” Quinn said and rushed to his bowl, turning on the lamp to see his tiny orange body floating. “I promise I kept his water clean and fed him. Just this morning he was fine—maybe moving around slower than usual, but alive.”
“He looks peaceful,” Hana said. “It was his time. That goldfish lived longer than any goldfish should have. I was starting to wonder if he was supernatural.”
“Hana’s right. It’s not your fault.” Quinn hugged me.
Craig sat next to me and patted my good leg. “Harold was a mascot of the performing arts, Ellie. I think he’d want you to go to rehearsal so you can continue to bring joy to the masses through improv and disco.”
“Don’t make fun.” I shoved him. “Plus, I can’t dance, ya heard?” I kicked my leg up.
“We have an idea to solve that, and I’m ordering a ton of pizza on Barb’s card,” Craig said. “The alternative is hanging out with your sad mom at home and researching your sad options.”
“Well, when you put it like that.” I begrudgingly followed them out to their cars, not sure which was worse: that I had cancer…or that I’d eventually see Jason and somehow have to tell him that I had cancer. I mean, obviously one of them was fundamentally worse. But I seriously doubted my capacity for the other.
No way he’s gonna wanna stick around for the horror show that is my new life.
Chapter Fourteen
As we waited for Owen and Jason to show up at Craig’s, we stuck our glitter-paper stars on the pant legs of our jumpsuits. I held up one of the shiny gold costumes. “These look amazing, Quinn. I can’t believe you made these so fast.”
“Thanks. Dad and Gary helped me with the sewing. We brought them over to the theater they’re working at and got to use the costume shop there. It was actually fun. I mean, who knew I’d end up liking designing and sewing costumes with my dads?”
I fidgeted with the necklace Hana and Quinn had given me, thinking about all the plans I probably wouldn’t be able to be a part of. I realized I missed my turn in the conversation when Quinn spoke again.
“So, how are you going to tell Jason?”
“Yeah,” Craig said from his spot at the coffee table with his laptop. “Didn’t his mom die of cancer last year?”
I gave him my ice-glare. “Yes, I’m aware of that, which is why I’m not going to tell him.”
“What?” Quinn shrieked.
Hana raised her eyebrows.
“Dude, you have to tell him,” Craig said. “Doesn’t he know you got your diagnosis yesterday?”
“I left it vague when I was getting it, so I bought myself time.” I accidentally bent one of the star points I was working on and ruined it forever. Like everything. It made me so mad I crumpled the whole thing and threw it against the wall.
No one mentioned my paper-star violence.
“Dude, you have to tell him, or that will for sure blow up on you.” Craig pointed at me and then blew it up like Luke had done at the show. I didn’t appreciate the pointing/exploding hand thing.
“I don’t want to.”
Craig, Hana, and Quinn said in near-unison, “You have to.”
“No, I don’t.”
Everyone else: “Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
We repeated that fun little exchange until the doorbell rang.
Owen and Jason came inside, and with one look at him, everything else—the worries, the reality—drifted away. I stood up to greet them.
Jason’s gray T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. Those are really perfect jeans. How could I just have been given a leg/life sentence and still also feel like this?
His face lit up, and I couldn’t help but smile. I bit my lip trying to keep my grin from getting too big. He crossed the room toward me, my heart seeming to kick up a beat with each step.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I said.
He brushed back a piece of my hair. “You okay? Any news on when you’ll get your diag—”
I kissed him. Duel-purpose kiss: hush up the diagnosis convo, and also, kissing. I didn’t care if my friends got a front row seat to the smooch show.
“Settle down you two,” Craig said. “This is serious rehearsal time.”
“Evil stepbrother!” I shouted as we broke our kiss. Jason smiled, his hand lingering on my jawline and my heart beating faster at the same time it was breaking from the weight of my news. Get it over with. Tell him. Just get it over with now.
Una Paloma Blanca played and Owen clapped his hands and said, “Five, six, seven, eight!” in a joking voice. “No really, what moves did we decide on? I can’t remember. Did I ever mention I can’t dance?”
“Some truths are self-evident,” Jason said.
“Shut it,” Owen said.
The five of them showed me the moves they came up with at the last rehearsal I’d missed.
It was a disco disaster. But the shimmies, the glitter, the commitment! There’s a saying in improv: if you’re going to fail, fail big. “Nailed it,” I said, forcing a laugh, hopefully hiding the crushing feeling that I was so separate from them at this moment.
“Okay,” Hana, said to me. “Two options for you. We can either do a lot of lifts, carrying you over our heads while you flap your arms like that one dancer in the video who pretends to be the dove, or we could put you on a rolling stool that we’d surround with…wait for it…are you excited to know what?”
She waited for my reply. I shrugged.
“A bird’s nest. We’ll dress you up as the white dove.”
“Pretending to play the flute,” Quinn said.
“You mentioned you were quite skilled at pretend-playing the flute,” Jason added.
“Either way, we’d dress you up as the dove, whether we lift you around the room or spin you around in your stool nest.” Hana said this like my participation had been decided.
They’d all discussed it and thought about it—about me—and I loved it at the same time I hated it. The special cancer girl in a bird’s nest? This had to be a new low. Plus, would I even be going to the contest? Or would I be having my leg amputated? They were all trying to make me feel included and distracted. But none of this mattered.
Holy crap, I felt weepy-pukey.
“Yeah, maybe. I’ll think about it. Thanks,” I managed to get out as I realized I’d accidentally bent another paper star. I smoothed it out and pasted it to the jumpsuit anyway.
The pizza finally arrived and we got to take a break from rehearsal. Everybody talked and laughed, and I tried my best to keep up and put on a good show.
When we finished eating, Owen lifted up his shirt, patted his stomach, and said, “Ugh, so full. But my belly really wants that last slice.” He squished his midsection together until his belly button looked like a mouth, which he engaged in conversation. “Hey, Belly, are you hungry?” It turned out Belly was, and demanded to be fed directly. Owen, the belly ventriloquist, said in a deep voice, “Feed me, Owen. Feed me.” Dutifully, Owen took the pizza slice and shoved it into his “belly-mouth.”
It was all so gross and funny that I laughed, for real.
We all did, until Owen finally took the pizza out of his belly button.
“Ow, my stomach hurts from laughing,” Quinn said, clutching her sides.
Owen was so unlike the boys Quinn usually crushed on. He was goofy, kind, and I’d never seen a guy make her laugh so hard. I wondered if they’d last. I wondered where any of these new friendships would be next year.
“So, Owen,” I said, “is franchising the Pizza Belly Workout in your future, or do you have something else planned after graduation?”
He leaned back, tipping his chair onto two legs. “The usual summer of chasing rich people’s balls.” He waited a beat for us to groan. We obliged. “Caddying, that is. Then to college to study physics,” Owen answered.
“Physics?” Quinn’s face crinkled up.
“It’s official. I’m one hundred percent surrounded by nerds.” Craig sighed.
“Again, I ask: physics?” Perched on the edge of her chair, wearing a plunging wrap dress, Quinn looked beautiful. “I figured you would go into comedy, or follow your dad in his business.”
“Somehow Owen’s dad suckered us into going to summer physics camp years ago—” Jason said.
“Physics camp?” Quinn cried.
“I know,” Owen said. “I know, but it was awesome, and Jason and I have been secret geeks ever since.”
“Yeah,” Jason added, “Except the part about it being a secret. I still like physics, and it would be the smarter choice for a college major, but I want to give film a chance.” Jason shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. I imagined him thinking of his mom every time he looked up like that.
“Why film?” I wanted to ask more questions, wanted him alone, to myself, to learn everything about him. But what’s the point now?
“My favorite things are art, music and…” He looked at me in a way that made me hope he was thinking “and you.” “And improv. I like the idea of combining all of that in film. Have you heard of The Neutrino Project? They do improvised shows where an audience is in the theater and the group is out on the streets with cameras, and live video feeds to the theater. So cool.” He shrugged again. “Something like that, but maybe longer, less ephemeral.”
Did he just talk about an improv form I didn’t know even existed and then end on the word ephemeral? Swoon.
“And you, Quinn?” Owen asked.
“I’m not ready for college yet. I want to travel everywhere I can, first.” She spread her arms out wide.
They all talked about their top school choices, college goals, plans for the end of high school. I was thankful no one asked me. I was the tumorous elephant in the room, and no one dared question my future. Looking around at Jason and my circle of friends, I realized how much I would miss this. Miss them. It was all so fleeting…so ephemeral.
Standing up, I tucked two empty pizza boxes between my arms and crutches and took them into the kitchen to a chorus of protests. After folding them into the recycling bin, I turned around to see Jason standing close. He set the plates he’d brought in on the counter.
“That was a valiant and unnecessary effort.” His smile showed off his irresistible one-sided dimple. He did his hand-brushing-back-his-hair thing, like he was trying to make me faint off my crutches. “Why’d you leave just then?”
It took me a second to pull my focus from his handsome face and realize I must have left the conversation at an odd time. “Oh, you know, sometimes I like to ruin things I’m enjoying by getting a jump on missing them already.” I hoped he would think I meant because it was our last year of high school and everything would change for everyone.
But his face shifted from teasing to serious, and he said, “Ellie, did you get
your diagnosis or something? You seem different, sadder.”
Craaap. “I just did. Yesterday. I’m still digesting it. I wanted to tell you in person, but not with everyone around. Well, honestly, I didn’t want to tell you at all.” I laughed, sniffed, blinked fast. The tears were coming—no, no, no.
Una Paloma Blanca started up again in the living room. Seriously the wrong soundtrack for this moment.
“Tell me,” he whispered so sweetly.
I held myself steady and forced the tears back. “Yes, it’s…it’s cancer.” His face became a riot of micro-expressions, but I persisted. “A rare bone cancer. I totally understand if you—”
The front door opened and Barb hollered, “What is going on here?”
Chapter Fifteen
Jason and I bolted into the living room to see Barb looking like an enraged clown with her orange hair, purple power-suit, and reddening face. Dad stood right behind her carrying giant suitcases and wearing his concerned frown.
I stopped too abruptly, my swinging leg creating momentum but my crutches creating drag. Jason caught me before I face-planted.
I could see how the house must look through our parents’ eyes. Blaring music. The rest of the pizza mess still covering the dining table. Piles of gold jumpsuits, fifty glitter-paper stars, and bottles of fabric glue strewn across the entire dining room and living room area. The couches, coffee table, and end tables overflowing with our bags, books, and snack remnants.
Barb’s nostrils flared. “Craig Jordan Kowalski, I thought I could trust you. There’s no excuse for trashing my house and having parties without permission.”
He stood up to his full height. “What are you even talking about? This isn’t a party. We’re working on a project. Also, you didn’t ask my opinion when you decided to abandon me in this house and barely come back, did you?”
Barb recoiled, then recovered. “No excuses. This is unacceptable. Unacceptable!”
“In case you haven’t noticed, there are some intense things that have been going on in our lives, mostly—um, wait, let me think—oh yeah: Ellie having cancer. And what have you two been doing for her? Nothing. Lounging by the ocean while she fears for her life.” Craig’s voice cracked. “We’re all just here, hanging out, trying to get through this together.”
A Messy, Beautiful Life Page 10
