Zoe glanced over her shoulder now and looked directly at her mom, in a wheelchair in the first of six rows of people. She looked so thin, so unbearably ill, but she’d insisted on coming. Kate sat beside her. Zoe held it together pretty well, until she noticed they were holding hands, squeezing so tight that the bones of their knuckles protruded like tiny mountains.
“I spent some time looking at the grading criteria before I wrote this speech,” Zoe continued, turning back. “There were five points to be graded on, and five marks for each. The first criterion was … originality. As far as I know I’m the first person to do her presentation with her back to the audience, so I’d say I have those points in the bag. The second was participation.” Zoe looked theatrically around. “Unless my speechwriter pops out, I’m thinking I got those points covered too. The third was eye contact, which I guess I’ve failed … Then again, if you consider criterion one, originality, I suspect you might find some points for me too. The fourth was content, which I’ll admit, there isn’t much of. But a good speech shouldn’t be measured in terms of content, but more in terms of reaction to content. And I’m going to go out on a limb and say that, judging by your silence, punctuated by interspersed laughter, I have your attention.”
Another round of laughs.
“The fifth criterion was conclusion or opinion, which you are probably wondering about. Why on earth is Zoe committing this public social suicide? She could have done this speech in front of a group of five, why oh why would she choose to do it in front of the entire class? Which brings me to my powerful, five-point-worthy conclusion. We’re all scared. Maybe we’re scared of stuff that is truly, legitimately scary like skydiving, or maybe we’re scared of what other people think of us. Maybe we’re scared for someone else. Maybe we’re scared of something that might never happen, or something that is going to happen next week. It’s scary being scared. But what’s scarier than being scared is being alone.”
Zoe paused to let that sink in.
“Cheesy, maybe, but it’s true. I used to think that, when I was scared, I needed to be alone. But that was the opposite of what I needed. The answer to fear is people. Which is why you’re all here. The truth is, I’ll never be normal. I’ll never be able to stand in front of a group and ad-lib a speech. I’ll probably never walk down the street without worrying if people are looking at me, I probably won’t be able to talk to a boy without sweating and shaking. But I’ll try to do these things anyway. So I won’t be by myself anymore. So I’ll be out in the world … with you.”
Zoe turned around. Two dozen pairs of eyes looked in her direction, which made her weak to her knees. But she looked back anyway. At her mom. At Kate. And finally, to the right of the faces, to where Mrs. Patterson stood.
“If that isn’t worth five points, Mrs. P., I don’t know what is.”
80
ONE MONTH LATER …
It was late. Zoe lay on her side, looking at her mom. Kenny the cat lay on the other side of her mom, pressed against her, almost as if he knew it was time. In spite of her mom’s relentless positivity, Zoe knew it was time too. Her mom had been mostly asleep these last few days.
Kate had taken a leave of absence from work and was caring for her around the clock. There were lots of visitors. Paul came by regularly. Even Dulcie had visited. Zoe had transitioned pretty well to life at Kate’s. On the nights that Jake and Scarlett were there, she didn’t say much, but she usually managed to at least eat something. It was easier when Harry was there. He made enough conversation for both of them. A few times, Kate’s dad came over for dinner. He was a kind of awkward old guy, which Zoe found oddly comforting. It made her feel like she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t socially gifted.
But despite the number of people who’d been around, Zoe and Kate were the main team. When Zoe wasn’t at school, they’d developed something of a routine. Kate would administer the medicine while Zoe took her temperature or readjusted her pillows. Until a few days ago, her mom had been making inappropriate jokes (“When I was diagnosed with a tumor I was horrified, but then it really started to grow on me”), but today she’d barely spoken. She was on a lot of morphine—more every day. Soon, Kate said, she wouldn’t talk at all.
“Hey Mom?”
Alice’s eyes fluttered, then opened a little. Zoe shuffled closer. “Do you want to go to Comfytown?” she asked. She started pulling the blankets up and arranging the cushions, but her mom shook her head.
“We don’t need Comfytown anymore, Mouse.”
Zoe left the blankets where they were. Slowly she looked around. Her mom was right. They lived in a big house, surrounded by wonderful people. They didn’t need blankets and pillows to feel safe.
“You’ll be happy with Kate.” Her voice rose at the end, making it a question.
“I will,” Zoe said. “I promise I will.”
Her mom nodded. Her eyes were closed, but somehow, a tear slid out. “I need to sleep now, baby.”
Zoe slid up farther until her body was pressed alongside her mother. Several hours later, when her breathing became labored, Zoe held her tighter and whispered, “I’m here.” More than anything, she wanted her mom to know that she wasn’t alone. She had the feeling her mom wanted her to know the exact same thing.
In the morning, Zoe didn’t think she’d ever manage to untangle herself from her mother’s arms, but somehow, she did. It might have been the fact that she was stronger now, because of the past few months. It might have been because she knew it was what her mother wanted. But Zoe suspected it was mostly the fact that there was another set of arms waiting for her, right down the hall.