She opened the door of the stall and headed for the sink, stepping gingerly to see if movement would bring back the dreaded light-headed feeling. But nothing happened. She wet a paper towel and pressed its coolness against her cheeks.
Just then, the door opened, and a girl from English, the one who never spoke, Jodi or Josie, walked in. She stopped for a second when she saw Gabby, and then her brows drew together.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Gabby looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink and saw that her normally tan cheeks were pasty and her eyes were bloodshot. She looked awful—no wonder the girl was concerned.
“Fine, thanks,” Gabby said, not even trying to smile. What bad luck to have someone discover her like this! The girl was just being nice, but Gabby couldn’t afford to have anyone wonder about her health, not after what had happened at her old school. She pressed the towel against her cheeks again, hoping to bring some color back into them, but the towel, which was thin, began shredding.
“Do you want to use this?” the girl asked shyly, pulling a folded square of cloth out of her pocket. “I live with my grandparents, and my grandma always makes me carry a handkerchief in the winter.”
It was sweet, but Gabby really wished the girl would just leave her alone. “No, thanks,” she said.
The girl stuffed the handkerchief back in her pocket and went into a stall.
Gabby pinched her cheeks a few times, which stung, but helped her face look less washed out, then headed into the hall as the warning bell rang. There was no fluttering, nothing to worry about. That was what she told herself as she hurried to the cafeteria.
But her chest and stomach still felt as if something had coiled, snakelike, around them and was squeezing tight. Because she knew what the flickering might mean. And if it was coming back, if her epilepsy was going to reemerge, then her whole life would come crashing down, just like it had the last time.
And Gabby knew she couldn’t survive going through that again.
An ambulance siren was howling as Oscar trudged up to the big automatic doors that opened to let him into the hospital. An icy snow fell in wet clumps, and it had soaked through Oscar’s wool hat. He pulled it off and stuffed it into his pocket once he was inside the hospital. The smell that greeted him, of lemon cleaner and freshly washed sheets, was starting to be familiar.
The peds ward was the usual bustle of smiling nurses and doctors. There were some new Christmas decorations, including rainbow-colored lights strung down the hall and curled around the desk at the nurse’s station. They were obviously meant to be cheery, but the sight of them made Oscar grimace. He was so ready for this stupid holiday to be over so the cold war in his home would thaw, at least a bit, the way it always did after Christmas had passed.
“Hi, Oscar,” Ed said cheerfully. Today he was dressed as a reindeer.
“Hey,” Jade said. She was wearing a Santa suit and she smiled at Oscar.
Oscar did his best to grin back, but it was hard when they looked so silly. Didn’t high school students care about not looking absurd? And didn’t they have better things to do with their time?
The two of them headed out, and Oscar sank down on the sofa with a sigh. He wasn’t sure if Josie was in the costume closet or just running late, but either way, he planned to treasure every second she wasn’t harassing him.
The seconds ended all too soon as Josie flew in a moment later. When she saw Oscar, her face hardened. “You’re not coming with me today unless you dress up and sing,” she said. “Or help me with a skit. You have to do something.”
Oscar was about to protest when Clementine, who had come in with Josie, jumped into his lap with a delighted bark.
“Clementine wants me to take her around,” Oscar said. That was all the work he was up to today. Clementine butted her wet head against his hand, then looked up at him, her mouth open in a way that made it look like she was smiling. Oscar couldn’t help smiling back as he began scratching behind the dog’s ears, the way he remembered she enjoyed. Clementine panted happily.
Josie was trying to look skeptical, but clearly the sight of Clementine melted even her Grinch-like heart. “Okay, but this is the last time,” she said. “And I mean it.”
Oscar was about to disagree when Clementine rolled over, obviously wanting a belly rub. Oscar obliged, petting her cream colored stomach with its thick, downy fur. Clementine wriggled with delight.
Josie hung her puffy coat on the rack, set down her backpack, and disappeared into the costume closet. She reappeared a few minutes later in a bright green elf costume, complete with black boots that had curled toes and a big green elf hat with a bell at the tip. It was all Oscar could do not to snicker. No one was ever going to catch him in something like that, no matter how much Josie threatened.
“First, we’ll see if Melanie wants a song,” Josie said, leading the way out. As always, everyone said hi as she passed.
Oscar remembered Melanie had been too sick to see them the last time he was there, and he hoped if she was up for a visit that she wasn’t contagious.
“Melanie has leukemia,” Josie added. “So she has good days and bad.”
“That’s really awful,” Oscar mumbled. He couldn’t imagine having an illness that could actually kill you, and the thought made him shiver, despite the heat pumping full blast through the ward.
“Josie, can you come sing to us?” It was Henry, who had come out of room 207 and was grabbing Josie’s hand to pull her inside.
“How’s your sister?” Josie asked, allowing Henry to lead her.
“Tired like always,” Henry said.
“Well, hopefully a song will cheer her up.”
But a woman who looked like she hadn’t slept or eaten in days came out as they approached the door. “Thanks for coming by, Josie, but Melanie’s not up to visitors today.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Josie said, her voice stripped of its usual cheer.
“Sing to me,” Henry pleaded.
His mother took his hand. “Not now, Henry,” she said impatiently. “Josie needs to be with the other sick kids. We’ll see her another time.”
“When?” Henry whined as his mom dragged him back into the room.
“Hi, Josie and Oscar.” Nurse Joe was pushing an empty wheelchair, probably on his way to pick up a patient for a test. “How’s it going?”
“Good, and I’m glad we ran into you,” Josie said. “I was hoping you and your friends would do your awesome “Night Before Christmas” skit for this year’s Christmas Festival.”
Oscar took a step back in case anyone had ideas about asking him to participate.
Nurse Joe beamed. “I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me,” he said. “We’d love to—count us in.”
“Excellent,” Josie said. “Now I just need to find eight more acts.”
“You can do it,” Nurse Joe said, tucking a stray dreadlock back under his candy cane–printed scrub cap.
“I hope so,” Josie said. She was twisting the cuff of her costume, and her forehead was creased. “It seems like everyone is going away for Christmas this year. I don’t have that many more people I can ask.”
“Some of the cafeteria workers must be around for the holidays,” Nurse Joe said. “Otherwise we’d all starve. Remember that awesome big band number they did last year? You should ask them to do it again.”
“Right,” Josie said. She was looking at a spot on the floor and her voice was muffled, which surprised Oscar. If she cared so much about the show, she should be happy to hear Nurse Joe’s suggestions. Not that Oscar planned on pointing that out or anything.
“And those nurses up in infectious disease know how to have fun,” Nurse Joe said, starting to push the wheelchair down the hall. “You should ask them, too.”
“Good idea,” Josie said. She appeared to be trying to smile, but the way the corners of her mouth were stretched, it looked more like she was in pain. Maybe she had a stomachache or something.
“Clementine, come say hi!” a voice called out behind them.
Oscar and Josie turned to see Alison perched up on a pair of crutches, her leg wrapped, reaching a hand out to Clementine.
Oscar led the little dog over, and Alison nearly fell off her crutches in her eagerness to snuggle Clementine close.
“Careful there,” Alison’s dad said, grabbing her arm before she fell. He looked at Oscar with a smile. “It’s so great you guys do this. Instead of worrying about her first physical therapy appointment, Alison’s just been talking nonstop about playing with a dog.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Oscar said, feeling awkward since he didn’t do anything besides lead Clementine around.
“Dad, she’s not just a dog. Her name is Clementine,” Alison said.
“I stand corrected,” her dad said with a grin.
Alison hugged Clementine one last time and then stood up. “Can I see her after I’m done with my appointment?” she asked.
“For sure,” Josie said.
Alison and her dad headed down the hall.
“Josie, Freddy’s back.” A doctor carrying a clipboard had stopped in front of them. She was wearing scrubs printed with holly and a Rudolph pin that had a glowing red nose. “He was asking for you. He’s in room 214.”
“I’ll go see him right now,” Josie said. “How is he?”
The doctor frowned. “In a fair amount of pain.”
Josie’s face clouded, but she nodded and then headed down the hall.
“Should I come, too?” Oscar asked. Someone in a lot of pain sounded kind of tricky, and he hoped Josie would tell him to wait outside.
“Yeah, Freddy likes Clementine,” Josie said. Her voice was flat, which sounded all wrong. “He has sickle-cell anemia, by the way.”
Oscar wasn’t sure what to say since he had no idea what that was.
Josie glanced at him. “It’s this disease where your red blood cells are the wrong shape and sometimes they clog up and it really hurts when that happens.”
“Can they fix it?” Oscar asked.
A nurse pushing a toddler on a stretcher passed by. The toddler was clutching a stuffed pink rabbit and looked scared, though the nurse was speaking to him in a low, comforting voice.
“Well, the pain will go away eventually, but it can take a while,” Josie said. “And it comes back again and again because there’s no cure for the disease.”
Now Oscar wasn’t sure what to say because that seemed really awful and unfair. Just like Melanie’s leukemia and seeing a scared toddler were awful and unfair. None of these kids had done anything wrong, and yet all this bad stuff was happening to them. And for the first time Oscar could see why someone might want to dress up and dance and put on silly skits for the patients in the hospital. Not that it took the bad stuff away, but maybe it made them forget, just for a little while, that they were sick.
Still, there was no way he was going to do it.
They reached room 214 and headed inside. “Freddy, Josie’s here,” Freddy’s dad said. He was sitting on a chair next to the bed, still in a suit from a day at work. A day that had been interrupted by his son’s pain. “And she brought Clementine and a friend to see you.” His cheer seemed forced, and Oscar saw that his eyes were bloodshot.
Oscar looked at the boy on the bed, who couldn’t have been more than four or five. He was on his side, his knees pulled close to his chest, his brown skin ashen. But he opened his eyes and gave something close to a smile when he saw Josie and her dog. Oscar walked right up to the bed so Freddy could pet Clementine.
“Hey, Freddy,” Josie said, brushing the tips of her fingers gently on Freddy’s cheek. He seemed to relax the tiniest bit under her touch. Then he reached out a hand to Clementine, who put her paws up on the bed and nuzzled his palm.
Oscar was pretty sure Clementine shouldn’t jump all the way up on the bed, not when Freddy was hurting so much, and somehow Clementine must have known that. She stayed where she was, where Freddy could rest his hand on her head.
“Is ‘Jingle Bells’ still your favorite?” Josie asked Freddy, who nodded, then winced slightly as if even that small movement hurt.
But Josie launched into a merry version of the song, complete with a dance that involved a lot of high stepping with her elf shoes. As Freddy watched, his eyes never leaving Josie, Oscar could see the stiffness seeping out of him, his body sinking into the mattress instead of resting taut on top of it. Freddy’s dad seemed to notice because he smiled and began to clap along with the song.
Josie sang two more carols and then they said good-bye so Freddy could rest. As they walked out, Oscar glanced back at Freddy and noticed his face was just a little softer.
But when Josie spun to face Oscar out in the hall a moment later, her face was the opposite, all sharp edges and narrowed eyes. “That was it,” she informed Oscar. “You’re done watching me and taking my dog around.” She yanked Clementine’s leash from him as if to drive the point home. “You can dress up and perform with me or stay in the lounge or whatever. But you’re not following me around anymore, not unless you start to pull your weight.”
With that, she stalked toward the volunteer room, the bell on her hat ringing violently with every step.
Oscar followed. She could say it as much as she wanted, but he was never going to dress up and perform. And nothing was going to change that. Nothing.
Josie shoved open the door of the volunteer room, then stomped inside. She felt absurd in her elf costume with its dumb bell clinking, and she hated Oscar for it. Because usually there was nothing she loved more than dressing up as an elf and jingling gaily with each step she took. But Oscar’s smug glances and hidden snickers had robbed her dress-up and songs of their joy. Which was why she was done with him.
Plus, she had better things to do than escort a burden like Oscar around the hospital: She had to make the Festival happen. And right now it wasn’t looking good. Of course, it was great that Ed and Jade and the nurses were signed up. But Josie had already asked most of the other peds volunteers from last year’s Festival, and none of them could do it. They would be either away or busy with family coming to town. There was one more person Josie could ask—Charlie had gotten a group of his friends to sing an a cappella medley of carols last year. But aside from him, the other volunteers from last year’s Festival worked in different departments so Josie didn’t know any of them. And the thought of approaching them made her feel like a swarm of butterflies was trapped in her chest and flapping around furiously.
She pulled off her hat and tossed it on the sofa as Oscar came in. And then she heard the clicking of high heels as Ms. D’Amato walked in behind him. Josie hoped she had some good news about the Festival, but Ms. D’Amato’s face was tight and her eyes were darting around the room.
“Have either of you seen Henry?” she asked, without her usual smile or greeting.
Josie’s hands clenched into fists at her sides as she thought of Melanie, of how she’d faded from a vibrant redheaded girl to a thin gray shadow. “Is Melanie—?”
“Yes, she’s fine,” Ms. D’Amato said. “It’s Henry. He’s missing.”
The momentary relief Josie had felt about Melanie fizzled out. Henry was only five, much too young to be wandering around the hospital on his own.
“For how long?” Josie asked, struggling to pull off her elf boots and put on her sneakers so she could help search.
“His parents thought he was in the bathroom,” Ms. D’Amato said, pressing her hand to her forehead for a moment. “Melanie was getting a blood draw, so they were distracted, and he must have just slipped out. But that was almost half an hour ago, and no one can seem to track him down.”
“I’ll help,” Josie said.
“That would be great,” Ms. D’Amato said. “Oscar, can you tag along with Josie and be an extra set of eyes?”
Josie bit back the no that rose up in her throat and just hoped that Oscar would refuse. But instead he nodded. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” Ms. D’Amato said, holding the door for them.
After telling Clementine to stay, Josie walked into the hall and headed toward the pediatric lounge with Oscar right behind her. As soon as Ms. D’Amato was out of sight, Josie stopped. “You can just go around by yourself,” she told Oscar. She didn’t need him wasting her time, not when there was a real emergency.
“I don’t know my way around,” Oscar said.
“That’s not my fault,” Josie said, irritated. “You’ve been following me around for days.”
“Just on this one hall,” Oscar pointed out.
Josie threw up her arms. “Well, then walk on this one hall,” she snapped.
“I’m not going to—”
“Kids, please quiet down.” Dr. Scott was standing in front of Freddy’s room talking to his dad. At least, she had been talking to his dad. Now she was glaring at Josie and Oscar, who were practically yelling right there on the ward.
“Sorry,” Josie whispered, tears pricking her eyes. She had never gotten in trouble in the hospital before. This was all Oscar’s fault, and he didn’t even look the tiniest bit sorry. In fact, he looked like he couldn’t care less.
But then he leaned forward, bending down closer to Josie. Oscar was tall, a lot taller than her, but skinny, and he smelled like sneakers and wet wool. “You can’t just rush around looking where people have already looked,” he said. “You need to try to figure out where you’d want to go if you were in Henry’s shoes.”
Josie hated to admit it, but that actually made sense.
“That’s how they always find missing people on TV,” Oscar added.
Josie rolled her eyes. It figured that was Oscar’s source of inspiration. But still, it was a good idea. “I think Henry feels left out,” Josie said, remembering Henry begging them to perform for him and not just Melanie. “And maybe angry at his parents.”
“No, not like that,” Oscar said impatiently. “It’s like if he loves candy, you go to the candy machine.”
“That’s stupid,” Josie said. Why did Oscar have to be so endlessly maddening? “And all kids like candy, so that’s not exactly a revelation.”
Clementine for Christmas Page 5
