Chapter 1 #3
The bus ride to Mayo Clinic took thirty minutes if you didn’t have to wait long for a transfer. It was only a seven-minute trip if you had a car and a license, but even though I was nearly twenty years old, I couldn’t drive.
When I was an outpatient at the hospital, Mom took me to every one of my treatments. Now that I was done, I only had to go in for checkups, but she diligently chauffeured me to those appointments as well. If I wanted to visit any of my friends who were still sick, however? I was on my own.
In all honesty, I couldn’t fault Mom for that. She hated spending a single second more than necessary at the place that had consumed nearly five years of our lives. But just because I was free from the demoralizing orbit of the pediatric ward didn’t mean some of the people I cared about were.
On occasion, I could sweet-talk Drew or Dad into giving me a lift, but they’d both left for the day by the time I ate, threw off the fog of sleepiness, and showered. For a single heartbeat, I considered texting Trixy, but then thought better of it and pulled up the bus schedule.
It was quarter to ten when I finally reached Mayo Eugenio Litta Children’s Hospital—the pediatric “hospital within a hospital”—signed in at the visitors’ desk, and knocked on the door to Willow’s room.
She glanced up from reading one of the Scandal Society novels.
The series revolved around the lives of the wealthy teenagers attending St. Augustine Academy, a boarding school in Vermont for the children of senators, CEOs, and tycoons.
Willow was so obsessed with the story that she used her Make-A-Wish to meet the lead actress of the movie adaption.
“Oh my God, Cara!” she exclaimed, flinging the worn paperback aside. “It’s been way too long.”
I winced, knowing she was right. When was the last time I’d visited? Maybe two months ago?
This didn’t seem to bother Willow though.
“What are you doing lurking in the doorway? Get your cute butt over here,” she demanded, waving me inside. “I have so much to catch you up on.”
Allowing myself a small smile, I dropped into the armchair next to her bed. “How’s it going, Fizzy?”
“Seriously?” She shot me a scowl. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who wanted a nickname. What was it you said? ‘Terms of endearment symbolize the bond of friendship’?” I teased.
Despite her obvious dislike of my choice, I’d put careful thought into Willow’s nickname.
Her personality was comparable to shaking up a bottle of soda, then twisting off the cap.
Fizzy fit her to a T. People thought I was bubbly and outgoing?
That was because they’d never met Willow Sana Bagheri.
We’d become friends years earlier when she was diagnosed with leukemia.
Willow crossed her arms. “That’s because I thought you’d call me something cool like Shirzan or Hot Sauce or… I don’t know, the Oracle?” she complained, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout.
I threw back my head and laughed. “Okay, but I don’t know what the first one means and the Oracle sounds dorky, so from this day forth, you will forever be known as Tabasco.”
“Ugh, why am I even friends with you?” she grumbled. “You’re the absolute worst.”
“Because I’m the only one who can keep up with your marathon-style ramblings?”
“Fair point. I tried giving Trixy this week’s download, and her eyes glazed over about halfway through.”
My heart clenched. “Trixy was here?”
She nodded. “Stopped by yesterday. Did you hear she finally got the special gear changer thingy for her motorcycle?”
“The Kliktronic,” I answered, because I’d heard Trixy talk about the electric shifter she needed a million times before.
Beatrice Moore, Trixy for short, was the most badass person I knew.
Her father was a former professional motocross racer, so she started riding dirt bikes at the tender age of five.
Here I was, still unable to operate a motorized vehicle, while Trixy was killing it on two wheels before most kids learned to read.
And when it became clear that Trixy was going to lose her left leg from the knee down, she immediately started researching how an amputee could ride since she would no longer be able to change gears with her foot.
Like I said, badass.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Willow said, snapping her fingers and pointing at me. “Kliktronic. What a weird name. Sounds like some super advanced alien technology or a new subgenre of EDM.”
“Has anyone ever told you that your brain works in weird, mysterious ways?”
“No,” she replied, grinning from ear to ear, “but I’ll take that as a compliment. Are you ready?”
I blinked at the sudden topic change. “For what?”
“A pediatric ward update, courtesy of yours truly.”
“Right. Hit me.”
And with that, Willow launched into two months’ worth of gossip, not once stopping to take a breath. She told me about the fiasco that was this year’s Secret Santa, who was hooking up with who, and how Laney Bricks tried to organize a ventriloquist club for reasons still unknown.
Not even close to being finished, she explained how she managed to convinced Adam to ask Dylan on a date.
Because ever since she found out who Stella was dating, Willow referred to herself as the hospital’s resident cupid.
Her reasoning? Willow was the one who introduced me to the Heartbreakers’ music, and if I hadn’t become a fan, would Stella have met Oliver?
It was more than a stretch, but that was Willow for you.
She took her job as matchmaker very seriously.
Poor Adam, the shyest patient on the floor, probably agreed to Willow’s idea just so she would stop harassing him.
And on and on it went.
She rambled for so long that even my eyes started to glaze over. It wasn’t until she mentioned my least favorite therapist that I snapped out of my daze.
“Dr. Wallace is at it again with another one of his coping exercises. He wants us to ‘express our thoughts and feelings through the written word’ or some bull like that. And Donavan, the annoying suck-up that he is, suggested we host a poetry slam. Can you believe it? I mean, just because he’s an attention whore doesn’t mean we all want to bare our souls onstage.
Of course, Wallace got a hard-on for the idea, so now we all have to write a poem to share in front of everyone on Friday. How unfair is that?”
“Bordering on criminal,” I said, biting back a laugh.
“I haven’t started writing mine yet, but you better believe it’s going to ‘express my thoughts and feelings’ on how this assignment is a steaming pile of crap.”
“Speaking of which, how is Donavan?” I asked before Willow could change subjects.
Even though her attitude suggested otherwise, Donavan was Willow’s boyfriend.
They’d started dating after he was admitted to the hospital for his cystic fibrosis, and I always thought they made a strange couple.
Since they were both so headstrong and outspoken, the two were always screaming bloody murder at each other or professing their undying love.
For them, there was no such thing as a happy medium.
Willow’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “I’m not speaking to him right now.”
“Because of the poetry slam?” I asked with a snicker.
“No, because he’s too busy playing a stupid new video game called Dread Blunt something or other to pay any attention to me.”
“Dread Blunt?” I repeated slowly. That couldn’t possibly be right. “Like, ‘Oh no! That’s some really terrifying weed?’ Because that sounds like a hilarious title for a poem. Maybe you should write about the negative side effects of marijuana.”
“Or maybe I should write about the side effects of having a jerk for a friend,” she shot back.
“Aww, you want to write poetry about me?” I pressed a hand to my heart. “No one’s ever done that for me before. I’m beyond flattered.”
“You and Donavan can both shove it up your—
“Willow?” a stern voice asked.
We both glanced up to see a sharp-featured woman in unicorn scrubs frowning at us from the doorway. I sat up straight and offered the woman a cheery smile that always won nurses over.
“Hi, Natalie,” Willow replied politely. “What’s up?”
“Dr. Mitchell will be by in fifteen minutes to go over the lab results of this morning’s blood work. Are your parents coming in today?”
Glancing at her phone, Willow nodded. “They should be here any minute now.”
“Okay, good.” Natalie spared me a brief glance, her expression devoid of any emotion, before focusing back on Willow. “Your visitor will have to come back another time.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll head out as soon as they get here. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Of course.” As she swept out of the room, Natalie called over her shoulder, “Good luck with your poem.”
Willow visibly flinched, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
After years spent as an outpatient and multiple months as an inpatient, I thought I’d met everyone who worked at the hospital, even the janitors. But I’d never seen Natalie before. Despite the mythical creatures on her scrubs, her overall vibe screamed drill sergeant.
“Who the heck was that?”
“New nurse,” Willow whispered, almost like she was afraid Natalie would hear her even though she was already gone. “She’s great at her job but can be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud.”
“New? Did someone leave?”
“Yeah, Jillian.”
“Jillian is gone?” She was, hands down, my favorite nurse.
“Yeah, she and her boyfriend eloped and moved out to Seattle, like, three months ago. Didn’t I tell you that?”
I shook my head, too stunned to speak. Jillian had a way of making patients smile, even on their worst days.
She was such a quintessential part of my experience here, it was impossible to picture her existing anywhere else.
I’d always thought of her as a permanent fixture at the hospital and had imagined that if I ever came back, she’d be waiting for me. What a stupid, naive assumption.
My life was at a standstill, but that didn’t mean everyone else’s was.