“This song is, like, my anthem,” Stella says. “It’s all about questioning authority. Not believing blindly just because someone with power tells you something’s true. That’s all high school is. Doing things blindly. Following the rules. Wearing their stupid uniforms and cheering at their stupid games, as if that’s the shit that’s really important.” Maybe I’m supposed to be offended. Maybe I’m supposed to be pissed at Stella for implying I’m one of the high school sheep for being a cheerleader. But I’m too grateful to be mad at her.
“I love it,” I say.
“I knew you would. I knew it. That singer was in a band with Carrie Brownstein. You know Carrie Brownstein? From Portlandia? Oh my god, I am so in love with her. Sorry, Cole, but she’s my free ticket. We each get a free ticket, right? Like, the one person we’re allowed to sleep with and we’ll be forgiven?”
“Mine’s my eighth-grade history teacher,” Cole says. “She had this really sexy lisp that I couldn’t get enough of. I loved it when we covered the Civil Rights era because she had to say ‘Mississippi’ all the time.”
“That’s weird,” Stella says. “But whatever.” The next song she describes as a love song, but it’s got none of the sentimental cheese you hear on the radio. It’s about the hard parts of love, the ambiguities, the complicated stuff people don’t usually sing about.
“These are real women playing real instruments making real music they wrote themselves,” Stella says. “They don’t all have perfect voices; you can hear them straining sometimes, but that’s what makes them real. That’s what makes it beautiful.”
I can feel the car going up a hill. Stella gets quiet for the next few songs, speaking only to tell me who the artist is and a little history. As I listen to a gorgeous song that’s nothing but an acoustic guitar, cello, and haunting voice, she says, “This one is from 1992. We weren’t even born yet. Can you believe it? Everything cool has happened already.”
“Maybe something even cooler is going to happen any minute now,” Cole says.
“I doubt it,” Stella says.
“What about your band?”
“That’s very sweet of you, but it’s kind of hard to rock when you haven’t practiced in two months.”
The van continues to go up, and I’m guessing we’re somewhere in the Oakland or Berkeley hills. I feel my chair strain against the bungee cords, but I’ve never felt safer. It’s disorienting not being able to see anything, but I kind of like it. It’s like all that exists is the music and Stella’s and Cole’s voices and the feeling I’m being taken somewhere good.
Stella sings her heart out, but after a while she has to stop because she’s out of breath. “The altitude’s getting to me,” she says, but I remember that we are sick. We are not as invincible as these songs make us feel.
The van slows down. “We’re here,” Cole says, and does some kind of complicated parking maneuver.
Part of me wants to stay where I am, in the dark. The world in the back of the van is small and manageable; it’s just me in this tiny space, with nothing and no one else to worry about. I don’t even have to worry about me. I can let go because Stella’s calling the shots. I can just let her lead. I don’t have to care about how everyone’s feeling. I can finally relax.
When the back doors open, I am on the edge of the world. All I can see are the lights of Oakland over a thousand feet below me, the Bay Bridge and the San Francisco skyline, even the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. The moon is full and reflecting off the bay. Everything is clean and sparkling, the streets pulsing like arteries. From this height, everything down there seems to be working efficiently, as if the city is a healthy, flawless body. We can’t see any of the dirt or crime or poverty. We can’t see any of the disease. Up here, on the outside, everything is perfect.
With Cole’s help, Stella hoists herself into the van and leans her back against my wheelchair. Cole follows and snuggles against her. We sit in silence for a while, looking out over the city, and I think I could sit here forever.
I hear some movement and look down. Stella is rolling a joint. I watch, mesmerized, as her thin, graceful fingers work. I’ve never seen anyone roll a joint. I’ve been around weed a few times, smelled it, seen it being smoked at parties, but it was never something I was all that interested in trying.
“I’ve never smoked before,” I tell her.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“What if we get caught?”
“This is Oakland. People smoke weed walking down the street.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Cole says. “I’m not since I’m driving.”
“No,” I say. “I want to.” For some reason, it suddenly seems like something I have to do. Like I have to prove to myself, to Stella, that I am someone who can be wild. I can break out of a hospital. I can get strapped into the back of a van and not care where I’m taken. I can smoke pot at the edge of the earth, inches away from death.
“I don’t think I’ve ever broken a law before,” I say.
“But you’re not even breaking a law,” Stella says. “That’s the best part. It’s not even illegal. You have cancer and this is a prescription.”
“Dr. Jacobs gave you a medical marijuana prescription?” I can’t believe it. Not Dr. Jacobs who took away my morphine. “Don’t you have to be eighteen to get it yourself? Your parents actually go to the pot club to pick it up?”
“I didn’t say it was my prescription.”
“That doesn’t sound very legal.”
“Yeah, well, I have bigger things to worry about than a misdemeanor pot charge. It’s all about perspective, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess, what’s the point of following all the rules if you’re just going to die in a few weeks?”
“Exactly!” Stella says. “Plus it really does help with the nausea. I couldn’t keep anything down without it. It really is medicine. All those medical marijuana activists aren’t just a bunch of potheads.”
“Just most of them,” Cole says.
“Are you nauseous right now?” I ask.
“No, this time it’s purely recreational.” Stella lights the joint and a sweet, herby smell fills the air. I watch her take a couple small puffs and hold it in. She passes it to me and says, “Don’t suck too hard.”
“That’s what he said,” I say, and that makes them crack up. I take a little drag like she did, feel the smoke burn down my throat. I start coughing.
“You okay?” Cole says.
“I’m fine,” I say, and hand the joint back to Stella. We pass it back and forth a few more times, and just as I think I’ve gotten the hang of it, Stella decides I’ve had enough. “I don’t think I feel anything,” I say.
“Just wait,” she tells me.
I look out at the view and imagine I live up here permanently, that this is as close as I’ll ever be to the city below. For the rest of my life, I will only see beautiful. I will never have to go down there again, never have to sit through another round of chemo or radiation, never have to get another surgery, never have to get another piece of metal drilled into my bone, never have to wake up in that hospital bed, never have to eat that hospital food, never have to see my mother cry, never have to hear another doctor try to explain how I am dying. I will keep floating up, farther away from the city, farther away from the pain. I will never go down.
“I think I’m high,” I say. My voice sounds weird, lower than normal. Like a grown-up.
“Woo-hoo!” Stella cheers into the night. “Evie’s high! Congratulations, Evie!”
“I don’t want to talk about dying,” I say.
“Who said anything about dying?”
“If we were in a movie about kids with cancer, this is the part where we’d talk about dying. We’d get all philosophical and some sad music would play and we’d have some sort of breakthrough and come to terms with something and it would be really cathartic. Then one of us would die.”
“Fuck that shi
t,” Stella says.
“Yeah,” Cole says. “Fuckity-fuck that shit.”
“FUCK! THAT! SHIT!” Stella screams. “Come on, Evie. Say it with us.”
Together we scream, “FUCK THAT SHIT!”
“Come on, Cheerleader,” Stella commands. “Put your back into it.”
We scream it over and over, faster and faster, until it’s a kind of chant, until we don’t even know what we’re saying anymore, just that we’re saying it loud, together, and on top of the world.
“Fuck you!” someone yells outside, and we all laugh hysterically. Cole pokes his head out the back of the van.
“Some dude is parked down the road,” he says. “Probably trying to put the moves on a girl and we’re totally ruining the moment.”
“Good thing for the girl we’re here,” Stella says, but we calm down.
“I wish the world looked like this all the time,” I say.
“It can,” Stella says. “It can be whatever you want it to. You get to decide how you live in the time you have left.”
“Are you getting sentimental on me? Where’s Stella? What’d you do with my friend Stella?”
“Sometimes she gets a little sappy when she’s stoned,” Cole says, and kisses her softly on the ear.
“I’m serious,” Stella says.
It is too much for me to think about, so I watch the night sparkle.
“Are you going to live big?” Stella says with a softer voice than I’ve ever heard from her.
“What do you mean?”
“Promise me, Evie,” she says. “Promise me you’ll live big.”
“I promise,” I say, even though I have no idea what that means in the little time I have left. I reach out my hand and Stella takes it in hers. We sit like that for a long time, holding hands, looking out over the world made beautiful by our distance from it.
When we get back to the hospital, the news vans are gone, but a couple of police cars are still in front. “Do you think those are for us?” I say as Cole turns the corner to drop us off out of sight. “We’re going to get in so much trouble.”
“What can they do to us?” Stella says. “Withhold our pain meds? Refuse to empty your pee bag? It’s not like they can ground us. We already can’t do anything.”
Cole helps me out of the van and gives me a long hug. “I’m so glad I met you,” he says softly. “Stella loves you so much.” His voice cracks and he turns away, but not before I notice the tears in his eyes. And then I remember, in the midst of feeling more alive than I’ve felt in months, that I am going to die. My life is almost over, even though I feel like something huge was just born.
“Oh, we can’t forget Evie’s mix,” Stella says, and moves toward the van. She stumbles and Cole catches her just in time.
“I’m okay,” she says with a laugh. “That weed was strong, huh?”
“Hold on to Evie’s chair,” Cole says. “I’ll get the CD.”
I look up at Stella and see something like fear in her eyes. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but she puts a finger in front of her lips and says, “Shh.”
“I’m going to walk with you,” Cole says as he hands me the mix.
“No,” says Stella. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“It’s not a choice.”
“Fine,” she says. “But only halfway. Just until we turn the corner.”
Cole pushes my chair as Stella leans on him for support. Even though it’s barely two blocks, we have to stop twice so Stella can catch her breath. The relaxed and friendly Cole I spent the evening with has transformed into someone serious and strong, someone Stella trusts to hold her up. Just like that, the magic of the evening disappears. Minutes ago we were weightless, but now we are so heavy we can barely move.
“Okay,” Stella says when we reach the corner. “You have to go now.” Cole holds her for a long time as they whisper their love, and I am suddenly so cold, I am freezing, and the only thing in the world that can warm me up is Will’s arms around me.
“He can be such a drama queen sometimes,” Stella says as Cole walks away, but I can hear the sorrow behind her weak attempt at humor.
We turn the corner and are immediately assaulted by the blinking of police lights. Nurse Moskowitz is talking to a police officer. Her head snaps in our direction.
“Oh crap,” Stella says. “Here comes Nurse Ratched.”
“Where have you two been?” Moskowitz bellows as she comes storming toward us.
She grabs Stella’s arm and I think she’s going to start lecturing like she always does, the same tired old sermon she gives Stella every time she breaks the rules. But instead, she puts her fingers around Stella’s wrist and takes her pulse. Her movements are almost gentle, which is not a word anyone would ever use to describe Nurse Moskowitz.
“Is all this fuss for us?” Stella says. “You shouldn’t have.”
“In my eighteen years here, I have never, ever had a cancer patient leave the hospital AMA. Never. Do you realize we had to put the whole hospital on lockdown? Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused?”
“A lot?” says Stella.
Moskowitz glares at us as she speaks into her walkie-talkie: “They’re back. Send Burns down immediately with a wheelchair and some blankets. Call their parents and let them know we found them.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Stella says, and starts coughing so hard that Moskowitz has to hold her in a bear hug to keep her from falling down.
“Evie,” Moskowitz snaps, and it makes me jump in my chair. She has never raised her voice at me. I am not the one who gets in trouble. “Didn’t you stop to think how risky it is to Stella’s health to leave the hospital like this? She needs round-the-clock care. What if something had happened? How would you feel then?”
I don’t understand how this became my fault, but I say I’m sorry anyway. I look to Stella for some clue, but her eyes are glazed over and dim, like she used up every last ounce of strength she had in her for the trip, and now that it’s over she’s only a shell.
“We just went for a walk,” I say as a policeman approaches.
“For two hours?” Moskowitz says. She puts her hand on Stella’s forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”
What’s happening? What happened? Why is Stella so sick all of a sudden?
“We had cars patrolling the neighborhood,” the police officer says, eyeing us skeptically. “It’s surprising we didn’t see you.”
“It’s not our fault you couldn’t find us,” Stella says from somewhere behind her fever.
I’m shocked she’d talk to a police officer like that, but he just ignores her. “I don’t think we’re needed here anymore, are we, Nurse? Unless you want to press charges.”
“What?” says Nurse Moskowitz, preoccupied with checking Stella’s vitals. “Jesus, no. Thank you, Officer. And sorry for wasting your time.”
“Girls,” he says. “Think a little before you do something next time, okay? I don’t think you have the same freedom to be as stupid as other people.”
I brace myself for Stella to say something horrible but it doesn’t come. She’s lost inside herself, somewhere infected and hot.
“Where is that goddamned wheelchair?” Moskowitz curses, and that’s when I start crying. Even she is scared. Moskowitz is never scared.
“Stella?” I say.
The sliding doors open and Mr. Burns, the medical assistant, finally arrives with Stella’s wheelchair. He and Nurse Moskowitz help her into it and cover us both with blankets. As they push us to the elevators, Moskowitz continues to berate us. “I can’t believe you got Caleb mixed up in this with you. You know that poor boy would do anything you asked him.”
We get into the elevator and she presses the button for the fifth floor. “And Evie, that you of all people would do this. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“Don’t blame Evie,” Stella mumbles through her haze.
“Especially with Stella being neutropenic,” M
oskowitz continues. “She has virtually no immune system right now. Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for her to leave the hospital?”
My heart drops. “What? Stella, you didn’t tell me that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I have leukemia,” she says flatly. “‘No Immune System’ is my middle name.”
It’s my fault. Stella did this for me. She caught something while we were out and it’s all because of me.
“Mr. Burns,” Nurse Moskowitz says when we get to the fifth floor, “please help Evie back to her room and ask Nurse Jill to help get her back in bed. I’ll take care of Stella.”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, and starts pushing me away. I turn my head to watch Stella as Moskowitz wheels her in the other direction toward her room. She looks smaller than I’ve ever seen her, empty somehow. She raises her head and for a split second the light comes back in her eyes. She winks at me and I mouth I’m sorry, but she shakes her head. So I mouth Thank you instead, and she nods, satisfied.
I turn the corner into my room and Stella disappears from view. My hand tightens around the CD she made me, perfect and solid in my lap.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
eight.
“I BROUGHT YOU A BAGEL,” KASEY SAYS AS SHE LOWERS herself into the chair next to my bed. She places the paper-wrapped bagel on my bedside table, and the smell of garlic and herb cream cheese makes me nauseous. Not because I’m sick. Not because of my body. Because of the pale, tired light barely making it through the window. Because Kasey’s skin is still somehow tan.
“Thanks,” I say.
“God, I can’t believe what you guys did last night,” she says. “Your parents told me all about it on the way here. They were so worried about you.”
“I feel really bad about that,” I say, and I mean it. After everything they’ve gone through. After everything they’ve already suffered because of me.
“It was really stupid, Evie.”