“How are you doing, Elizabeth?” Her voice was just as I remembered—loud and raspy.
“Great, Heather. Just great. You know, well, as you can see, I’m out to dinner. I had the turkey melt. It was delish. I recommend it.” The words poured out of me like water from a broken faucet. “How were the chicken nuggets? I used to get them from the kids’ menu, too. When I was actually a kid.”
She flushed. Score one for me!
She recovered fast. “Everyone at school,” she said, narrowing her eyes just the tiniest bit, “will be so happy I saw you.”
“Oh,” I said. “Say hi for me.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Jean crawled out and apologized. She had breadcrumbs stuck to her knee. “Sorry, Elizabeth, I couldn’t find it.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
Heather stuck out her hand to Jean. “I’m Heather. And you are?”
Usually when I looked at Jean I saw how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. I saw how gentle and kind she was every time she talked to me, how she often put a reassuring hand on my arm. But in that moment I saw her through Heather’s eyes. She looked like a giraffe. She was tall and awkward and gaunt even though she’d gained weight.
“This is Jean,” I said haltingly.
Jean smiled. She had no idea.
“Hi, Jean!” Heather said brightly.
“Hi.” Jean zipped up her jacket.
Please make this end, I thought. Right now.
“Would you guys like me to take your picture?” Heather held up her phone.
Oh no. Oh no no no no no no.
Jean shook her head. “No, I don—”
“No!” I put my hand up. “I don’t think we—”
“Say cheese!” Heather snapped a photo.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Before she’d even gotten to the door, the phone screen illuminated her face. “I’ll tell everyone I saw you!” Heather called back to me.
That was exactly what I was afraid of.
39
When I knocked on Mary’s office door before breakfast the next morning, she probably thought I wanted to chat about the menu change. She told me I’d handled the “challenging night” very well, which was nice of her, but I wanted to talk about something else. “I ran into someone at dinner last night.”
Mary leaned over her desk. “Yes, Nurse Jill mentioned that you saw a friend from school there.”
“She is not a friend,” I said, my voice flat. “She is the opposite of a friend. More like a nightmare. It was Heather, the girl from school I’ve told you about before.”
Mary remained calm. “I can imagine that running into someone from home could be upsetting in a situation like this.” She obviously had no idea how bad this was.
“She pulled out her phone and took our picture. When she left she was typing like crazy fast, probably sending that picture to everyone at school.”
“I wonder if seeing her is bringing up feelings for you about transitioning home?”
Why did Mary ask such obvious questions? “Well, yes. Of course it does. I can’t go home.”
“So, Elizabeth, let’s talk about Heather for a minute. I’m curious: What would you do if you saw her right now?”
“I’d avoid her.”
“Okay,” Mary said. “You could also lean on your friends a little to help you. You have good friends, and you can use them, you know.”
“Friends? What friends? My friends have completely blown me off. Katrina is the only one who has called or visited.”
Mary put on what I thought of as her sad face. She would scrunch her eyebrows together, pinch her lips tight, tilt her head, and nod. “You know, sometimes people don’t know how to react to a certain situation. There could be many reasons your friends haven’t called.”
“Like what?”
“Well, sometimes they might be scared. It is incredibly hard to watch someone you care about suffer. Other times I’ve had patients for whom something like this touches on their own fears for themselves. I’ve also seen friends and family members who, if they haven’t had experience with the illness, have trouble understanding it and therefore avoid it. And other times, they are just busy, or are dealing with issues in their own lives.”
“Do you think that’s why Priya and Shay have ignored me?”
“I don’t know, Elizabeth. Maybe you’ll have to ask them. We can work on how to do that as we get you ready for your discharge.”
My discharge. Using that word made me think of bodily fluid, and at that moment, going home sounded just about as appealing.
40
Mary was right. I still had friends—correction—a friend. Katrina. She could help me.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello?” I said.
“Hey, stranger!” Katrina’s voice jumped through the line.
“K! I am so glad you picked up the phone.” It was ten in the morning. I must have caught her at study hall. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just studying.”
Ha! I knew it!
Before I could say another word, Katrina jumped in. “Mr. Roberts quit!” Mr. Roberts was our AP US History teacher. “He’s going to be a fly fisherman in Georgia.”
“Seriously? A fly fisherman? What is that?”
“I have no idea. Apparently he met some lady online and he’s going to move to Atlanta with her.”
“Yikes. Really?” I tried to muster up the expected enthusiasm.
“I know, right? Who would want to be with him?”
The idea was nauseating. Picturing Mr. Roberts kissing a woman was even more alarming than the fact that he taught with his hand down the back of his pants like his butt was a pocket.
“So who is his sub?”
“Oh my God, Elizabeth, he’s twenty-two. One of the girls in class asked him. All the girls flirt with him. He’s shockingly hot. His name is Mr. Shaw, but he told us to call him Tom. We watched The Simpsons in class the other day.”
“Wow.” I tried to sound appropriately excited. I wished I cared more. I couldn’t believe all this school stuff would be important to me again, too.
“I know!” Katrina said, and then she paused.
“Anything else happening?”
Another long pause. Too long.
“Katrina, tell me.” I steeled myself.
She hesitated again. “It’s not good, Elizabeth. I don’t want to upset you. Are you sure you want me to tell you?”
“I think I might already know. Does any of this have to do with Finch’s?”
“Maybe.” Katrina didn’t say anything else.
“I ran into Heather there and she took a picture of this other girl and me. I assume she’s done something horrible with it.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It’s pretty harsh. God, I hate her.”
“I do, too. Did she show it to you?”
“She posted it online.”
“What site did she post it on?”
“All of them, Elizabeth.”
“Oh.” I needed to sit.
If it was everywhere, anyone could see it. Anyone.
I couldn’t go home tomorrow.
As I hung up the phone, Tristan and Simone walked into the foyer. Simone walked right past me, shooting me a sympathetic look. Obviously she knew.
Tristan stood nearby, kicking at a speck on the floor and looking everywhere except at me. “Hey, Tristan,” I said, hoping my voice sounded normal. “Thank you for the mix.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, still avoiding my eyes.