45. Zoey
45
Zoey
M y gaze shifts down to my phone, reading over Hope’s text for the millionth time, not knowing how to respond.
Hope: Earth to the living dead? Are you still alive? Where have you been? I’m starting to worry about you. People are talking, wondering why you’re not here, and trust me, it’s not pretty!
It’s been over a week since I last showed my face at school, and so far, I’ve been a terrible friend to Hope. I haven’t said a word about my diagnosis or given any kind of explanation about why I haven’t been at school. Not to mention the week and a half before my diagnosis where I was nothing but a ghost wandering the school. She’s messaged me a few times during the week, checking if I was going to turn up, and I haven’t responded to a single one. I don’t know what to say, but my silence makes me feel like a shitty person.
It’s Friday afternoon, and I’ve been locked up in this clinical prison for two and a half days. Apart from when I’m actually having my chemo, it’s not been so bad. I’ve been tired and sick and sleeping on and off.
Dr. Sanchez has assured me it’s all effects of the drugs, but I wish there were some way to really know. I shouldn’t expect a miracle after only one round.
Hazel has been here since the second she got out of school. My four walls are dull and boring, but she’s made it her life’s mission to make my room welcoming. She’s brought things from home and is busy setting them up around my room, and I have to admit, her little touches are really helping. It feels less like a prison and more like a home away from home.
It would be better if I had a friend to message when things got bad. Someone who would understand and not push me when I needed time to breathe. Of course, I have Noah and my family, but having a friend would be different.
Bringing Hope into all this though . . . We’re still new friends, and this is a lot to ask of her. She didn’t sign up to be the sick girl’s friend. All she wants is to get through senior year without being someone’s chew toy. But on the other hand, even after I told her everything that went down during junior year, she stood by me, not caring if that made her an outcast as well.
She was a good friend to me when I needed it most, so what kind of person would I be if I cut and ran when it got hard? I owe her an explanation, and then I suppose from there, she can be the one to decide if she’s down for this. It’s not like I’m asking her to be here twenty-four-seven or to be my support system. I just need a friend who’ll make me smile when this gets hard.
Already knowing my answer, I quickly hash out a response and hit send before I give myself a chance to change my mind.
Zoey: Can you meet me this afternoon? I’ll tell you everything.
Hope: Well that was vague…
Hope: But I suppose so. Your place?
Zoey: No, actually. The cancer treatment center.
I send her a link with the address, and the second I hit send, my hands start to shake.
Hope: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???? Why am I meeting you in a cancer treatment center? Has this got something to do with when you had cancer as a kid? Cause like…fuuuuuuuck!
Zoey: Will you come?
Hope: Yeah. Be there in an hour.
The next hour passes in a blur of emotions: fear, nervousness, anxiety, and the overwhelming need to constantly pee. Why is it that whenever I’m nervous, I suddenly need to pee all the time? It’s ridiculous.
Nurse Kelly makes her way around my room, oohing and ahhing with Hazel over the way she’s decorating my room before going over my vitals and making sure I’m doing okay. “How are you feeling this afternoon?” she asks, jotting something down on my chart.
“Just tired,” I tell her, no difference from the other million times she’s asked over the past few days.
“That’s to be expected,” she tells me. “Try and get lots of rest though. You’re scheduled for your next dose on Monday morning.”
I groan. I knew it was coming, yet knowing I have to go through all of that again makes my stomach churn. But I’m not going to lie, spending those last few hours immersed in Noah’s old phone and my laptop really helped. It’s all I’ve done over the past few days. Mom had to force me to open a textbook or two just to keep me on top of my schoolwork, but the second I’m done, I’m back to my laptop, writing down every little thing I remember, documenting our story—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
“Where’s that broody boyfriend of yours this afternoon?” she questions as Hazel smothers a laugh at Kelly’s perfect description of Noah. “He’s usually scaring off the nurses by now, isn’t he?”
I laugh as I adjust myself in bed, lowering the screen of my laptop, not liking when others can see what I’m working on. “Usually,” I tell her. “But he has a big game tonight. He needs to be there, but I’m sure he’ll force his way through the doors after visiting hours tonight or early in the morning.”
“You know what?” Kelly says as she prepares to draw more blood. “I’ve been doing this job for a while, and I’ve never quite met a family member or partner quite as persistent as your Noah. It’s impressive and kinda terrifying at the same time.”
Hazel laughs. “You should have been there when my dad tried to tell him he couldn’t have a sleepover the day after he found out her leukemia was back. It was crazy. I think Dad even shook a little.”
I bury my face in my hands, hiding the wicked smirk across my face. I shouldn’t be so fond of that particular moment, but seeing the way Noah goes above and beyond for me will always make me melt. Even if it means turning that temper of his on my father.
“I can only imagine,” Kelly says just as a knock sounds at the door.
My head whips around to find Hope hovering in my doorway, her arms filled to the brim with grocery bags. She takes one look at me then takes in the needle currently sticking out of my arm, the machines, and the room filled with flowers and get-well- soon cards made by the other kids on the ward who wanted to make me feel welcome.
I expect her to yell at me, scream or cry, but she just gapes and holds up the grocery bags. “I bought snacks.”
Hope stumbles into my room, dumping the bags on the end of the bed before climbing right up and crossing her legs so we sit face to face. Then before she says a word, she starts unpacking the snacks and hands me a full tub of ice cream and a spoon before her eyes go wide. She pulls it back again. “Wait. Are you allowed this?”
“Yes,” I laugh, snatching the ice cream right back. “But don’t be surprised if I throw it right back up.”
“Ugh, gross,” she mutters under her breath.
Kelly gives me a warm smile, and I roll my eyes. She was only just saying this morning that she noticed I hadn’t had any visitors apart from my family and Noah, and Aunt Maya, of course. She didn’t specifically say that she thought I should open up and allow people in, but her message was loud and clear. I’m starting to realize that Kelly is the type of person who’s more than happy to shove her nose into someone else’s business, but only for the right reasons, and I’m finding that she’s really starting to grow on me.
“I hope you brought a second tub,” Kelly tells Hope. “The drugs Zoey has been on are very potent, so no sharing. Be sure to use the guest bathrooms located out in the foyer and wash your hands regularly. Chemotherapy is no joke. You both need to be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hope says with a nod, though I’m sure she would have already received this warning from the nurses at the reception desk.
With that, Kelly excuses herself, and I’m left with Hope’s saddened gaze on mine. “Chemotherapy, huh?” she asks, her shoulders slumped forward as Hazel putts around the room, straightening the photo frames while pretending she’s not listening. “Does that mean you relapsed? Your leukemia is back?”
“Yeah, we found out last Wednesday and everything just moved really quickly from there,” I tell her. “Sorry I didn’t say anything. I was still processing, and then I was here to start treatment before I knew it.”
“Shit,” she mutters, her bottom lip jutting out. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to give you a hug.”
“Of course you can,” I tell her. “But an intense make-out session is strictly out of the question.”
Hope laughs and scrambles across my bed, throwing her arms around me while being as careful as possible, more than aware of all the machines. I scoot over, and she settles in beside me, dragging the bag of snacks onto her lap and showing me all the yummy goodness that I haven’t had an appetite for in nearly three whole days.
“Sucks to be Noah,” she mutters darkly, a smirk on her lips. “I bet he didn’t take that well.”
“Not even a little bit,” I say, remembering the look on his face when he realized he wasn’t allowed to kiss me until after I was released from the treatment center in five weeks.
“So, what does this mean?” Hope asks, almost using the snacks as a distraction to keep her tears at bay. “You stay here for a little while, have chemotherapy, and then you’ll be better?”
“That’s the general idea,” I tell her. “Only the chemo—considering it works of course—will be delivered in three stages, and between each stage, I should be able to have somewhat of a normal life. I’ll go to school when I can, and then hopefully, I’ll be cleared and can forget about all of this.”
“How long will that take?”
I shrug my shoulders. “That’s not exactly the easiest question to answer,” I admit. “It all depends on how my body reacts to the chemo.”
“Assuming everything goes according to plan?”
“Two, maybe three years until I’m completely in the clear.”
Hope gasps, her eyes going wide. “Shit! That long? Holy crap. You’re going to be like . . . twenty before this is gone.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, more than aware of just how long I’m going to be living with this.
Hope is quiet for a little while, deep in thought. “Does . . . does it hurt?”
I glance down, not able to handle the emotions burning through her blue gaze, and I don’t miss the way Hazel freezes across the room, waiting for my response. “No,” I whisper. “It doesn’t hurt. It just makes me really tired, like I’m lethargic all the time with no energy. Sometimes I get really dizzy to the point I pass out. But if I keep hydrated and make sure I’m eating enough, I can avoid that.”
“And the chemo?” she asks. “Is it as bad as they say it is in the movies?”
I nod while offering a small smile, not wanting her to be sad for me. “I’m having quite an intense round of chemo,” I explain. “My leukemia is . . . It’s bad. It’s advanced so we’re going hard on the chemo just to be on the safe side.”
Hope lets out a heavy breath and leans back against my pillow. “I’m sorry, Zo,” she murmurs. “I wish there was something I could do to make this easier.”
“Being the bringer of the snacks is more than enough,” I tell her. “I already have everyone fussing over me, so just being yourself would help.”
“You mean like, coming to you with all the drama from school. Because girl, you’ve been missing out this week. The shit has hit the fan.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my tone lowering as I gape at her. “What happened?”
“Tarni and Shannan are what happened,” she says, a smirk on her lips as her eyes sparkle with silent laughter.
“Noooooo,” I breathe. “Spill.”
“Well,” she starts. “Without you there to take up all of their attention, Tarni’s been trying to claw her way to the top and Shannan caught wind of it. They’ve been at each other’s throats all week. It’s the funniest thing. It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion.”
Digging my spoon into the half-melted ice cream, I shovel it into my mouth, groaning as the sweet chocolate chip hits my tongue. “That’s insane.”
“Right,” she says, before glancing at me, her lips scrunching with curiosity. “Speaking of school. I’m assuming you want this kept on the down-low?”
“Yeah, I don’t need their fake pity,” I say. “Mom spoke to Principal Daniels, and he shared it with my teachers so they will email me the work I’ve been missing, not that I’ve really been able to get it done. But as for the students . . . I don’t know. I feel like Shannan is petty enough to tell people that I’m faking it just to get attention, and I don’t want to have to deal with that right now.”
“You’ve got my word,” Hope says, making a show of zipping her lips and throwing away the key.
“Thank you,” I tell her with a small smile. “Now, quit holding back on me. I want to know exactly what Tarni and Shannan have been doing to each other.”
Hope laughs as a wicked grin stretches across her lips. “Girl, you’re not even going to believe me.” And with that, she dishes on all the dirt until we’re both laughing so hard it hurts.
She sits with me until the night staff comes in with my dinner, and she’s just about to gather her things when Noah FaceTimes me, only my brows furrow, checking the time. He’s supposed to be walking out to the field for tonight’s game. What the hell is he doing?
Quickly accepting the call, a beaming smile cuts across my face, finding Noah staring back at me from the sidelines of one of the biggest fields I’ve ever seen. “Hey Zozo,” he says, that deep purr in his tone making me miss him more.
“Aren’t you supposed to be warming up?”
“Baby, you know I can’t play without your eyes on me,” he says, earning a few elbows to the ribs from his teammates and a gag from Hazel.
I laugh and turn the camera around, letting him see Hazel and Hope in the room before turning the camera back to me. “I told her,” I tell him, knowing he’d want to know.
“I’m proud of you, Zo,” he says. “Now tell me you’re going to sit in your bed like a good girl and watch me kick these guys’ asses.”
I grin right back at him as he sets the phone up on a tripod at the edge of the field, moving it as far back as possible so that I can see the whole field all at once. “Nothing would make me happier,” I tell him. “But I swear, you better make it a good one. Otherwise, I’m telling Kelly that you’ve been sneaking back in after visiting hours.”
He gapes at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“Then give me a good game, and we won’t have to find out.”
Coach Sanderson hollers at the boys, and Noah cringes, glancing back at his team. “Shit, Zo. I have to go,” he tells me. “Don’t even think about going anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I tell him. “Go whoop their asses.”
“Love you, Zozo.”
“Love you, too.”
And with that, he’s gone, taking off at a jog to meet with his team as Hope appears beside me, scooching onto my bed, her gaze locked on my phone. “I’ve never seen a football game before,” she admits.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask just as Kelly strides in, her gaze falling to the screen as well, her eyes widening with interest—my only warning that my room is about to turn into the best party this treatment center has ever seen. “Then get comfortable. You’re about to witness something incredible.”