Zac and Mia

  I hop around on the spot, trying to keep my balance. When I see him front-on it wipes the smile from me. He’s not the same Zac. The moon spills over his pale face, and I see he’s more vulnerable than ever. I miss him.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Go home.’

  ‘I literally can’t, now.’

  ‘Fuck. I don’t need this.’

  ‘I’m not here to annoy you.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  Without the fox, all his attention is on me. It’s terrifying.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Why did you come? Who called you?’

  ‘No one. I wanted a bath. And a pear.’

  ‘The fox can smell it.’

  ‘Pears?’

  ‘Death,’ he says. ‘Can’t you?’

  ‘Zac—’

  ‘I smell it.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I should be dead.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t.’

  ‘If I was a rabbit or a chicken, I’d be dead already. If I was a sheep, I’d be shot.’

  ‘You’re not a sheep, Zac.’

  ‘If I was a kid in Africa, I’d be long dead.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ I say, though he might be right.

  ‘I should be dead many times over.’

  ‘You’re not in Africa,’ I remind him quietly. ‘You’re Zac Meier, living in Australia. Your marrow sucks but you can fix it.’

  ‘You’re an expert now?’

  I lose my balance a bit, so I hop to a nearby branch and grab on.

  ‘No, but I know you can get more chemo or another bone marrow transplant. As many as you need. Or you can try stem cord treatment. The results are promising.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘And there are drug trials all the time. New discoveries in Europe and America. There are plenty of options—’

  ‘They’re not options, Mia, they’re time-fillers.’

  ‘Then fill—time!’ My voice rips at the dark. I’m so angry at him. I’m so angry for him. Suddenly I’m so seized with rage I could hurl it at him and knock him off that fence. ‘Fill time until they fix you!’

  ‘Everyone dies, Mia.’

  ‘But not everyone has a choice. That woman who fell in the vat of tomato sauce didn’t. She fell in, and even in her last seconds, I bet she fought.’

  ‘She would’ve died anyway.’

  ‘Cam would’ve fought, if he had a choice.’ Zac winces at the name so I go on. ‘If someone had offered Cam two options—to have a heart attack in his car or another round of treatment—he would’ve picked treatment, just in case, because who knew, it might just have worked and given him forty more years to surf and play pool and—’

  ‘Cam only had ten per cent.’

  ‘Fuck, if I had a ten-per-cent chance of winning the Lotto, I’d put everything I had on it. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’m not a gambler.’

  I know this already. If he was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Zac’s looked at the cards in his hand and tossed them in. I can’t argue with that. Zac’s decisions are formulated by logic and maths, while mine are just whipped up by emotion and impulse and I want, I want.

  I know I feel too much. I know I get carried away. But I want, I want Zac to live. To want to live. I need him to live because I don’t want to be in this world without him.

  Emotion wins and, damn it, I cry. I close my eyes and hold tight to the branch as my grief spills free.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

  I hear my hacking sobs. Hear his contempt.

  ‘Can’t a guy sit on a fence without a fucking lecture? This isn’t about you, Mia.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We’re all going to die sooner or later.’

  ‘Then later, choose later! If Cam had a choice—’

  ‘Cam’s in Indonesia by now.’

  ‘He’s not! He’s—’

  ‘What? In heaven? Playing pool with Elvis?’

  I close my eyes and squeeze the branch like it’s everything. My hands cramp and my arms shake, and it comes to me now what courage is. Courage is standing still even though you want to run. Courage is planting yourself and turning towards the thing that scares you, whether it’s your leg or your friends or the guy who could break your heart again. It’s opening your eyes and staring that fear down.

  I open my eyes. The night isn’t as dark as it was.

  ‘He’s here,’ I say. ‘Cam’s here.’

  I see the glassy bark of banksias and the glisten of ghost gums. I see those sharp shining dots above Zac’s head, reminding me of the glow-in-the dark star that kept watch over me.

  ‘He’s everywhere,’ I say. And I know it’s true.

  ‘Cam died on a Sunday. Do you know how many other people died that day?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Thirty-nine in Western Australia. Four hundred and three across the country.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Across the world, around one hundred and sixty thousand people died that day. One hundred and eleven each minute.’

  ‘You don’t—’

  ‘In the history of the world, how many people do you think have died?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I don’t know either but it would be a whole shitload of burials and burnings and floating down the Ganges. So if every single person in the history of the world is currently hovering in the air around us, how the hell do we even breathe?’

  It’s not easy, I think, forcing myself to inhale, each breath reminding me I’m not alone. Cam’s here. My grandma and grandpa are here. The ghosts of everyone who matters are with me, and in me. In my hands, the branch quivers with infinite pasts.

  ‘What if you and Cam could somehow swap places for a day? If tomorrow, you could be the ashes, and Cam could be you, an eighteen-year-old guy with dodgy marrow. I know it’s unscientific,’ I say, getting in first, ‘and we’re not in Disneyland, but just shut up and let me talk. What if Cam could wake up tomorrow and have a whole day?’

  ‘As me?’

  ‘As you, Zac Meier. What do you reckon Cam would do?’

  Zac hooks his feet around the wire. He doesn’t answer right away.

  ‘Twenty-four hours in your body. What do you think?’

  Zac’s eyes are climbing the bark of the tree. Up and up, tracing the highest branch, then up above that. I don’t know if he’s listening or not, but I go on.

  ‘He wouldn’t muck around with a fucking calculator, I tell you that. He’d take your one day, and he’d do everything he could. He’d fish and surf and eat cheddar cheese shish kebabs. He’d laugh and do handstands, and he’d probably even kiss me. He’d do everything he felt like doing because you only get one life, Zac. One chance. And anyone who gives that up too easy—’

  ‘It’s not easy—’

  ‘Is giving in, and giving in is a stupid way to die. Stupider than falling into a vat, or watering a fake Christmas tree with its lights on.’

  ‘Mia, shut up.’ Zac is coming towards me.

  ‘And Cam would never pick a stupid way to die. He’d rather die trying than—’

  Zac kisses me. I hate him. I love him.

  Then he slides a hand over my mouth.

  ‘Shut up and make a wish.’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Shooting star. If you weren’t crapping on so much you would’ve seen it. Make a wish.’

  Mouth clamped tight, tears flood me. One wish? Are you kidding? It’s a no-brainer. And it’s got nothing to do with my leg.

  I say it in my head but I think he hears it, because he takes his hand away. Up close, I see the fear in him. If I could exchange places, I would.

  He says, ‘I don’t want to be stuck in that room again—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I can’t get Mum’s hopes up.’

  ‘She’s tough?
??’

  ‘What if it doesn’t work? What then?’

  ‘Then you try again.’

  ‘How many times? How many trips?’

  ‘I don’t know.’’

  ‘I just want to be normal.’

  ‘You are. You’re still Zac. Sick or not. You’re a nine out of ten.’

  ‘A nine?’

  ‘Yeah. I’d give you a ten but you smell pretty bad. How long have you been in those pyjamas?’

  ‘I’m not afraid to die,’ he says.

  I squeeze both his hands. ‘I know. But if you were, that’d be okay too.’

  ‘I’m not scared, I’m more … pissed off. You’re supposed to do something in the world, like have kids or grow a forest. I haven’t done anything like that. What’s the point of me, other than leaving behind a messed-up family?’

  ‘They want you to try again.’

  ‘They’re not tough enough.’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Shit, he’s got me. I wipe my face quickly, then show him a flexed bicep, made strong by months on crutches. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That is pretty tough.’

  I balance myself against Zac’s shoulders. I see how tired he is. I see how easy it would be to slip away. But I’m not going to let him, not after everything he’s done for me. Maybe I’m just being selfish for wanting him around. Is that so wrong?

  ‘I’m like The Hulk,’ I tell him.

  ‘You turn green?’

  ‘I’m tough,’ I promise. ‘Are you tough enough to piggyback me to Bec’s house?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You can’t expect me to hop all that way.’

  Zac swears and shakes his head. His eyes are grey. He’s tired of me—tired of everything—but I grip him tight.

  He says, ‘Do I have a choice?’

  I shake my head back at him.

  Zac turns and squats low for me. I hook my arms around his neck and make another wish.

  EPILOGUE

  ZAC

  From this side of the wall, I hear the newbie arrive. Nina goes through the instructions in her cheerful, air-hostess way, as if this flight will go smoothly.

  It won’t.

  There’ll be turbulence. Unexpected stopovers. Bad food. Loss of oxygen and moments of sheer panic.

  But if the newbie’s lucky, he won’t endure it alone.

  It sounds like a man in his fifties. I hear his questions. Later, there’s the rattle of toiletries in the bedside drawer. He showers. Flicks through the TV channels.

  I want to tell him not to order the chicken schnitzel on a Tuesday. That Seinfeld is the only show to watch while nauseous.

  Mum is in the pink chair beside me with a magazine. ‘What’s a nine-letter word for a precious stone?’

  ‘Turquoise,’ Mia shouts, as if it’s a competition. Which it kind of is.

  They’re supposed to take it in turns, these two, like fly-in, fly-out workers. Mum’s here for one week, then Mia the next. They don’t have to—I’m eighteen, for god’s sake.

  But sometimes their visits overlap. Mia arrives early and Mum’s not so good at leaving.

  ‘Go say hi to the newbie,’ I tell Mum, and she puts down her pen.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I could use a tea …’

  When Nina comes to check on my IV lines, she ends up looking over Mia’s shoulder, reading whatever chapter she’s up to. In the hours I’m sleeping, Mia makes notes from her Introduction to Nursing textbook. After getting into uni through special entry, she knows there’ll be a tough ride ahead. Nina helps her sometimes, forgetting me altogether.

  Tomorrow I’ll be made new. I don’t know who I’ll be this time—a baby born in Bundaberg? Belgium? Brazil?—or even if the marrow will take graft and prosper. I’ll need to get all my vaccinations done again. Around the world, over 400,000 babies will be born tomorrow. Roughly five every second. There’ll be all kinds of babies starting life from scratch, and then there’ll be me.

  At night, we watch the landing of Curiosity. From NASA’s spacecraft, a robot vehicle the size of a small SUV is finally wheeling its way across the surface of Mars. Around Earth, scientists are cheering. Already they’re analysing data and recording the numbers of molecules, gases, humidity, minerals. They’re probing, scraping, looking for life.

  It gives me hope, in a way. If a robot can navigate its way 560 million kilometres through our solar system, then scientists can find a cure for something as boring as my white blood cells. They’re closing in.

  I don’t turn on the iPad at night because Mia’s beside me, sleeping in the pink chair. Every time I feel I’m slipping off the edge of the Earth, she catches me. She has good hands. Her leg is good too, even better than the fibreglass one she’d showed me that night. Her new one has a flex-foot and a silicone outer that looks like real flesh. She can run now, if she chooses to. Jump and dance if she wants. She can drive with it too.

  Because why would I waste a Make-A-Wish grant on a trip to Disneyland? There are some wishes that money can buy, and then there’s this: Mia without pain, walking in symmetry with a top-of-the-range, custom-made leg.

  What wouldn’t I do to keep the smile on her face? To hear that laugh, to have her fight with me, not against me. When we’re together, there’s no falling off, falling out, or falling down. I know there are no guarantees, but right now there’s Mia, ten out of ten, more beautiful and surprising than ever.

  And I am the luckiest.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to acknowledge the students I’ve had the privilege of working with on ward 3B over the past eight years. This novel is fiction, but it is inspired by you: your humour, courage, love and beauty. A special mention to Tayla Hancock, whose belief in this story was with me at the beginning, and helped carry it through to the end. Thank you to her mother, Ros, for encouraging me to persevere.

  I am grateful to friends who generously read early drafts: Ryan O’Neill (short story marvel and master of metaphor), Ruth Morgan (authority in youth, romance and reason), Meg McKinlay (children’s author and advocate for rhythm and melody) and Mum (tireless cheerleader). Suzanne Momber provided much enthusiasm and medical expertise, and kindly allowed me to exercise ‘creative licence’ when I needed to.

  I’d like to thank Wendy Binks and her family for welcoming me into their homes and letting me loose in their petting farm, the Pentland Animal Farm, in Denmark. The experience was wonderful, and fed directly into the novel. Also, thank you to my teen neighbours, Jean and Will Morgan, for engaging in passionate debates about singers, video games, and vocab—you guys are hilarious, and priceless. Thanks to Ross and Wendy Morgan, who have witnessed the highs and lows of writing this novel. As always, you’ve been a rock.

  Part of this novel was written in Adelaide in 2011, during a May Gibbs Creative Residential Fellowship. I appreciate the opportunity and heartfelt support given by the May Gibbs Literature Trust, and members of the Adelaide writing community.

  Of course, this novel wouldn’t be here without the incomparable Text. I am hugely grateful for the commitment and passion of the entire Text team. Special thanks go to Emily Booth, Chong, Imogen Stubbs, and my talented editors, Ali Arnold and Davina Bell. Thank you for believing in this book, and in me.

  About the Author

  A.J. BETTS is a high school English teacher from Australia and spent eight years working in a hospital setting. Her previous novels include ShutterSpeed and Wavelength. She lives in Perth. WWW.AJBETTS.COM.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Credits

  COVER IMAGE: SORENDLS/GETTY IMAGES

  COVER DESIGN: LISA BETTENCOURT

  Copyright

  Zac & Mia

  Copyright © 2013 by A. J. Betts.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been grant
ed the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPUB Edition FEBRUARY 2014 ISBN 9781443432672

  Published by Harper Trophy CanadaTM, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

  Originally published in Australia by The Text Publishing Co Australia: 2013

  First published in Canada by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd in this original trade paperback edition: 2014

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously.

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