She pulled at her sleeves and shifted from side to side, looking everywhere except at me. “I know I’m not easy. Most girls wouldn’t have given me the time of day, but you did. Thank you.”
“Margot, anybody would be lucky to have you as a friend. Anybody.”
She blushed. “Yeah, well, take care of yourself, okay?”
“Can we have coffee when you get out?”
She nodded doubtfully. “Sure.”
“Margot, listen to me. I will call you. You’re so smart. You’re nice and funny. And sarcastic.”
“You mean bitchy,” she said.
Standing there, looking at her face, which wasn’t as pasty as before, and her eyes, which to me were so full of life and smarts, I felt this huge rush of appreciation. “No, I don’t. Well, okay, maybe a little. But in the best way.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and chuckled. “Okay, if you say so.”
“I do. And we are going to meet for coffee.” I put my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away. “I’ll miss you, Margot.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
I waited for a last sarcastic comment, or a joke, or something witty. But all she said was, “Have a safe trip home,” and closed my door on her way out. I missed her already.
Less than a minute passed before Jean and Willa came in, bringing along the smell of cinnamon. Must be muffins for afternoon snack, I thought, remembering the first day, when the same smell scared the crap out of me. Mary had been right. The chef made delicious muffins.
Muffins I will no longer be required to eat.
The thought caught me by surprise. I wasn’t supposed to have thoughts like that now. A lick of fear crept up in me.
Jean and Willa took turns hugging me. We all stood in a circle by my door. I guess no one wanted to sit on the old plastic mattress cover. I didn’t blame them.
Then Jean said, “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m going home too. On Monday. Three days from now.”
Monday. My first day back at school. “Wow! That’s great!” I hugged her. “Are you excited?”
“So excited,” she said.
Next to me, Willa bit at her nails. My heart hurt for her. “Willa, you’ll go home soon too. I know it. Just eat, okay? Eat and you’ll be out of here faster than you think.”
She nodded. I hoped she heard me. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll try.”
“You can do it if you want to,” I said. I felt terrible leaving Willa behind. But I couldn’t heal her. She needed to do that herself.
Jean nodded. “I agree, Willa. You’ll be okay, you’ll see.”
Through the window I could see my parents’ Honda parked in the lot. “My parents are here,” I said. “Walk me to the door?”
They both nodded. As we left I took one last look at my room, burning the beige curtains and walls and rug into my brain. Goodbye, room.
As we walked, Jean talked. “Elizabeth, I want you to remember. You are strong. Like, massively strong. When you go back to school, do it with pride and don’t let anybody give you a hard time. You should hold your head up because you’re amazing. I’ll miss you.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice wobbling.
We were almost to the nurses’ station when Willa spoke. I could see my parents in the foyer, waiting. “I am going to miss you so much. I hope that you and Tristan get married and have babies.”
“Ack! No!” I made a fake-horrified face and hugged her little body as hard as I could. “Get better, Willa,” I whispered. “You deserve it.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
“Hi, honey!” Dad and Mom waved from the foyer.
“I’ve got to go,” I said. Don’t you dare cry! I told myself.
“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.” I turned to my friends. “I’ll miss you,” I said one more time. Then I turned toward my parents.
Dad took my bags and Mom squeezed me, hard. “I am so happy you are—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish.
“Elizabeth! Wait!” Lexi hustled into the foyer, her face flushed. She panted a little and I wondered if she’d broken the rules and run.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
My parents nodded. “We’ll be right here,” they said.
Lexi tugged me back to the main hallway. “I’m sorry I let you down.” She spoke fast and her voice was hushed, as if she were telling a secret with a time limit. “I have to tell you something. First, you were—are—a great friend. Second, you are so strong and brave and you are going to do great out there. Remember when I was leaving and you asked me if I thought that we’d have a day when we didn’t think about food? Well, I know we will. We’ll just eat it and forget it, just like we talked about. I didn’t want you to leave without knowing that I believe in you and that I’m going to miss you.” And then, more quietly, “I already miss you.”
I took a deep breath and tried not to get all teary. “I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer to you when you came back,” I said.
“I’m sorry I lied to you in my postcards.” And then she squeezed me once, fast and hard, and disappeared down the hallway. I closed my eyes and tried to burn in my memory just how warm and safe it felt with my friends sending me so much love and light and hope. And I felt a little stressed, too, because now I had a huge responsibility. For the first time, I understood why Lexi had lied on her postcards.
Standing there in the foyer, I wanted time to stop, just for a second. I wanted to remember everything—the way Jean’s hand seemed to float when she brushed her bangs out of her face, the order of the earrings in Willa’s ear (Winnie-the-Pooh, Tigger, and then Ariel at the top), the cut of Lexi’s jaw. Even the way Allie’s blond ponytail bobbed like the cheerleader she was, and the way Coral’s ladybug barrette was always clipped in her hair in the same exact spot above her right ear.
On the chalkboard on the wall under the stairs, someone had written, Welcome to Julia and Robin, arriving today. Then, under that, the daily quote: You must do the things you think you cannot do. —E. Roosevelt.
After a final glance around, I walked out through the same doors I’d entered forty days earlier. Sleet fell from a slate-gray sky. The wind blew clammy and cold right through my wool coat, and I wanted nothing more than to go back inside, where it was safe and dry.
In the movie version of my life, I’d always imagined myself bursting through the front doors on a summer day, the sun on my proud face. I’d march down the steps, one victorious fist up like Judd Nelson when he walked across the football field at the end of The Breakfast Club. Oh, and I’d be supermodel thin. And tall, too.
In real life, Dad hit the wheelchair button and the door crept slowly open and I trudged out so loaded down with my suitcase and backpack that I could barely walk. It wasn’t until I was outside, standing on the slippery stone steps, that it hit me that I was actually leaving, and it took all I had not to turn around and run back inside. And I didn’t feel triumphant as I picked my way down the steps. I was freaking terrified. An entire WORLD full of meals and restaurants and grocery stores lay in wait, and I didn’t know how I’d manage any of them.