The Secret Journal of Brett Colton

  “I’m so sorry . . .” I’m sick of sorrys.

  I can be honest with you, Kitty. I don’t want to face everything again. I don’t know if I can. When everything first happened, I’d thought it was going to be tough to face death and dying, but believe me, Kitty, it’s equally as hard to try to face life and the living when you know you’re dying. And now, after kidding myself into thinking I was basically cured, I have to face everything all over again. The worst part is that I don’t think I have the strength to do this again.

  Only Mom, Dad, Sam, and Alex know I’m sick again. I’ve made them swear not to tell anyone. It’s bad enough that my family’s Christmas is ruined—I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s.

  Kelly would be disappointed. I haven’t prayed since I found out I was out of remission . . .

  ~

  I’d fallen asleep with the Beatles album playing on the turntable, and when my dreams began, I dreamed of Brett. This time, when he turned around to pleadingly hold out the book he’d been hugging tightly to his chest as he had before, I tried to answer him.

  The journal—your journal—

  But instead of getting the relieved, happy smile I’d been expecting to see, he sadly shook his head, and again, he held the book out to me.

  I have your book, Brett—I do—

  Brett only shook his head again, his eyes asking me to please understand.

  But I didn’t. And the more he tried, the more frustrated I became, until I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, and like he always did, he quickly disappeared. I woke up just as quickly with wet eyes to the sound of the needle on the record player’s arm softly whirring against the middle of the spinning record.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  No matter how much time passed, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Angela’s comments that all I was to Jason was a tutor and someone to preach his religion to. Not a real friend at all. Nothing more than a tutor. Ever. And then the Shakespeare festival happened—and Jason was looking at me so differently than he had before. Almost as if he might . . . But that was crazy, so I pushed that half-formed thought far into the back of my mind. And those flowers—obligation flowers. That’s all they could be, even though the bouquet was huge and had roses in it. Roses! And they were red, too. Not white or yellow.

  I had to give myself a mental shake for that thought. It was unlikely that Jason had the slightest inkling of the meaning of a red rose versus the other colors. But still—it had been really sweet of him to send the flowers. And infuriating. And confusing. And I was sure I was making far too big a deal over everything than I should.

  I didn’t know what to expect from Jason. Although the next two sessions of tutoring at his home were thankfully Angela-free, filled with a warmer, lighter form of teasing than usual, nothing else seemed to have changed. I’d been stewing over all of this on Thursday while Jason read his paper for our next English assignment on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “The Birthmark” out loud, only half-realizing that although I’d been watching Jason’s mouth move, I hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  “So, Kathy—what do you think of my paper so far?”

  “Well . . . I think—let’s see. It’s a good, solid three pages—that’s good. And, well . . .” Jason frowned in confusion at my idiotic babbling as I snatched his paper from him and scanned it as fast as my eyes could go, trying to grab something I could respond to. For once, having Emily rush over to us and jump on the couch to snuggle against Jason was a welcome interruption.

  “Are you guys done yet?”

  Jason laughed before glancing at her badly skinned knees peeking out from underneath the edges of her cut-off jeans. Knees that looked like they’d been skinned and then bled and scabbed over only to be skinned again many times in a row, the last time likely being as recently as that very afternoon. Jason’s forehead darkened into furrows. “Emily—look at those knees! Did you hurt yourself again today? On your bike, I’ll bet!”

  Emily shrugged and grinned, obviously enjoying Jason’s worry and attention too much to be upset over her battle scars from her bouts with her bike. “Yeah—I crashed coming down the driveway. I turned too fast to miss a car coming up the road—”

  I jumped along with Emily when Jason exploded. “Em! What are you doing, riding in the middle of the street again? How many times do I have to tell you to ride on the sidewalk!”

  “You’re not supposed to ride a bike on the sidewalk!” Emily protested.

  “Who says?” Jason demanded.

  “Everybody!” Emily folded her arms to stare darkly back at Jason.

  “Well, I don’t care what ‘everybody’ says! You’re such a crazy speed racer, you need to stick to the sidewalks!” Jason gave Emily a little shake as he continued to stare her down. “You’ve got to watch where you’re going or you’re going to get yourself killed!”

  “No, I won’t—I won’t!” Emily could be just as determined as Jason.

  “I wish it would snow so you couldn’t ride anymore. A good storm’s the only thing that’s going to keep you off the streets!”

  Before Emily could retort or protest again, I broke in to add my two cents. “Your knees look like they really hurt, Emily. Do you need to put some medicine and Band-Aids on them?”

  Emily turned to me with a big smile. Too big of a smile. “They’d get better faster if you stayed to have dinner with us!”

  Imp. That’s exactly what she was. A cute little imp, but still an imp. With both Emily and Jason working on me, I knew I had lost before I’d begun. A quick call home, and I was stuck. Dad wouldn’t tell me no. All he had to say was, “You mean we don’t have to feed you tonight? Great! I’ll take your mother out to dinner instead”—and before you could say “Mormon funeral potatoes,” I was seated around the West family dinner table with Jason, his parents, Emily, and Adam, Jason’s recently returned missionary brother. Except for Adam’s mission stories and the required interrogation of me by the family, the usual small talk in any household around a dinner table ensued. My mom would’ve been impressed at my ability to recall manners by remembering to tell Mrs. West how amazing her homemade stew was in between all of the semi-interesting mission stories being delivered to all by Adam.

  I had to admit it—I was impressed with Jason’s family. Truly. As I watched and listened to everyone, it was hard to believe they were real. No one had a rude or sarcastic comment for anyone. Sure, there was teasing and ribbing, but nothing malicious. Nothing was said that would cause anyone to need to storm from the table and stomp down the hall to slam a bedroom door shut.

  I wondered if it was all for my non-Mormon benefit, but after spending so much time with Jason and after seeing how easily his family’s conversation flowed back and forth to each other, I had to let go of the idea that it was all a big act being put on just for me. I’d never been in a Mormon household before, so I had no idea whether or not Jason’s family was typical. All I knew was that I couldn’t deny Jason’s family simply had something—something that my family didn’t. And whatever that missing piece was, I was wishing my family had it, too.

  ~

  December 24

  Dear Kitty,

  I can’t believe tomorrow’s Christmas. Already. I wish I could’ve written more lately, but I’ve felt so tired and sick. Pretty weak, too. I’m just glad Dr. Grenville agreed to let me come home for today and tomorrow before heading back to the hospital for a few more days. It’ll be a while before they’ll let me come back home again, so I’ve got to really hold onto these two days.

  You wanted me to swing you around like I used to, and like Alex does to you now, but just lifting you onto my bed made my arms ache and my body feel tired. You seemed to understand, though, so this morning we lay in bed and read Christmas stories. I held you for a long time. I don’t want to forget how it feels to hold you.

  It’s been snowing every day. I wish I could get out and see the Christmas lights. No one’s mentioned doing that yet. I hope the family doesn’t miss
out on everything because of me.

  After lunch, I watched from my bedroom window while Alex and Sam helped you make a snowman. You looked so cute in your red snowsuit that I wanted to jump out of bed and run outside and pinch your rosy cheeks. You were all laughing and having a great time. I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous of Alex as he swung you around so you could put a baseball cap on ol’ Frosty. Well, okay. Maybe I was a lot jealous . . .

  December 25

  Dear Kitty,

  Your first real Christmas. It’s been quite a day. For both of us. You were a lot of fun to watch opening presents. I had Alex pick up a little tan teddy bear for me to give you for Christmas. You’ve been dragging it around behind you everywhere. I’m glad you like it so much. I almost forgot I was supposed to be depressed!

  And then, Kelly came over.

  Apparently, the whole entire school knows I’m out of remission. And even better—Kelly guiltily confessed that he and Jennifer have been “hanging out” and hoped I didn’t mind. Mind? It’s not like I can do anything about it. Some best friend—going out with my Jennifer while I’m stuck in bed. It’s bad enough that Kelly and Jennifer went to homecoming together, but now they’re hanging out, going out, and probably making out, too. Yeah, some best friend.

  Kelly left a gift for me. I didn’t open it . . .

  January 3

  Dear Kitty,

  My chemo treatment course is finally over for now, so I’ve been allowed to come home to rest from the whole ordeal. I’m feeling better today, so at my request, Dad drove us around the neighborhood to see Christmas lights. At least, what’s left of them on people’s houses. You looked so cute all bundled up in your snowsuit, saying, “Ooo, ooo,” over and over, pointing at all the lights you could see. I couldn’t help feeling bad watching how excited you got, because you missed out on all of it this Christmas because of me. Mom and Dad have been at the hospital a lot with me, so they haven’t felt the urge to go see the sights around town. They both look exhausted all the time. Don’t think I don’t notice, or that I don’t feel guilty. Through some miracle, they’ve both held onto their jobs, done the family at home thing, taken care of you, and taken care of me, too. It’s bad enough that Mom and Dad look like death warmed over and that Alex and Sam look stressed out, even when they’re smiling, but what’s really breaking my heart is everything you’ve had to miss out on. I don’t think you even sat on Santa’s lap. I’m sorry about that, Kitty. I promise I’ll find a way to make it up to you.

  I was quiet all the way home while you sat in your car seat between me and Alex, my index finger held tight in your fist until you fell asleep.

  I read a little in the Bible again tonight. I even took a look at that Mormon Bible Kelly gave me last year. And I prayed. It’s the first time I have since I’ve been out of remission . . .

  January 17

  Dear Kitty,

  I’m really starting the year off with a bang. I’m finally done with being quarantined from my chemo, and I’m feeling stronger, so Mom and Dad gave me the okay to go with Alex to a party at Mark’s house—a huge lineman on the football team I’ve never especially liked, but since Mark’s parents were out of town and he has a massive, fancy mansion of a home, the party was bound to be good.

  By the time we made it to Mark’s house, practically the whole school was there, too. I was having an okay time listening to the music and talking to people here and there until Mark walked over to me with a glass of some cloudy looking drink. I couldn’t hear anything he was saying because of the blaring contest between his stereo and everyone else.

  Mark shoved the glass he had in my hand with a “Here.” I had to scream “What is it?” before Mark yelled “Coke” back. I took a big gulp and nearly blasted him in the face with it. I was gagging and coughing so bad I couldn’t get any words out. Mark, the creep, just said, “Oh, yeah, I forgot. We mixed something with it.” Mark laughed again at the look on my face and said, “Don’t look so stressed. Just a little pick-you-up to start the New Year off with. You look like you could use it.”

  I was mad. Really mad. I shoved Mark as hard as I could, and since he was buzzing, he lost his balance pretty easily. After smacking into a bookcase behind him and sloshing the cola and whatever else was in it all down the front of his shirt, he fell in a heap on the floor. I stepped over him and stomped off into the kitchen.

  And then I froze. I couldn’t move or speak—I couldn’t even feel my heart beating.

  Kelly was in the kitchen. With Jennifer. And Kelly was kissing her. On the mouth. My Jennifer. Worst of all, I could tell she was liking it as much as he was enjoying slobbering all over her.

  My heart was pounding fast and hard in my ears while I yelled at Kelly. I called him a pretty rotten name—the kind Mom would’ve fed me soap over for a month. Both of them jumped apart, so I took that moment to plow in as if I were on the football field and punched Kelly in the face as hard as I could. I heard Jennifer scream, and then I turned my back on both of them and stormed through the house looking for Alex before I grabbed him and demanded he take me home. Now. I was shaking all over. I thought my hand would hurt, but I guess the adrenaline was pumping too hard for me to feel any pain. In my hand, at least . . .

  January 20

  Dear Kitty,

  Both Kelly and Jennifer have been driving me up a wall trying to call and come over every second. And I’ve been driving Mom, Dad, and Alex up a wall by refusing to see or talk to either of them.

  I never opened the present Kelly gave me for Christmas. I threw that in a sack and asked Alex to take it back to Kelly. I even wrapped up the Book of Mormon he gave me last year in Santa paper with a note that said, “No thanks, ‘friend,’” and threw that in the sack, too.

  I’m having bad dreams again—the ones ending with seeing Dr. Grenville. And the dream with us stuck in the meadow. You still can’t see me or hear me begging you to take my hand. I hate seeing you look so sad and lost—and afraid.

  And then there’s my sickness. I’d almost begun to believe I was immortal again. Since I’m only sixteen, it’s hard to imagine dying or even getting old, but I guess in a way I have an advantage over some. Take the night of the party. Everyone else only cared about having a good time. No one was thinking about their life ending. No one else had to think twice about their health and dying and everything I have to worry about. They can go to a party and just relax and enjoy, but I can’t go anywhere—not even a stupid party—without having to be on my guard. I’ve got to worry about what’s in the drinks for a whole different reason than anyone else. Not to mention who I might find making out in the kitchen. The kitchen, of all places . . .

  Sometimes I just want to run and never stop. Or else drive. I make Alex take me for long drives at night. It makes Mom crazy, but when I’m feeling okay and up to it, I just need to get away from my bed, the medicine—everything. I know I can’t run away from my sickness, but it feels like I am when I’m in a car making Alex drive fast at the wheel. Sometimes I can even convince him to let me take the wheel on an extremely deserted road.

  I haven’t written it down before, but the true name of my sickness is acute myelogenous leukemia. The real kicker is that not only is there no cure, but there wasn’t anything I could’ve done to prevent it. I wondered if I’d done something wrong, or if I hadn’t done something I should’ve, but it just happened. I think Mom and Dad drove themselves crazy thinking the same thing. I’ve been asking God why He let it happen to me. I haven’t gotten an answer yet . . .

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Earth to Kathy. Come in, Kathy!”

  I didn’t know how long I’d been holding a glass of water almost to my lips, oblivious to the Thanksgiving dinner going

  on around me, but from the exasperation in Sam’s voice, it must have been quite a while. “Sorry—sorry, Sam. What did you say?”

  Sam rolled her eyes and said loudly and slowly, “I said, ‘Could you please pass the stuffing?’ If it’s not completely ice co
ld by now, that is.”

  I quickly shoved the bowl into her hands. “Sorry. Here.”

  “From that grin you’ve had on your face all day, I think it’s safe to say you’ve got something new to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.” Thanks to Alex, now everyone was looking at me expectantly, as if they all thought I was going to tell them anything about where my smile had come from. And yes, Alex was right. I did have something new to be thankful for. Or shocked over. Definitely something to be analyzed and played out over and over in my brain.

  Less than twenty-four hours ago, I’d been standing in front of Brett’s trophy case, staring at Brett’s laughing face and thinking about the broken-record dream I’d been having of him. I hadn’t thought Jason would need me to tutor him this week, because the assignment was creative writing, but he insisted I come over on Tuesday to read what he’d written. “Just to see if it’s completely worthless and stupid” were Jason’s exact words. So I’d left the trophy case behind, and at four o’clock as usual, Emily stampeded to the front door to let me in and handed me another crayon drawing. And as usual, Jason waited patiently while Emily taught me a story from the Book of Mormon via the crayon drawing and then scampered off to play the piano. Only this time, something was not usual at all. And it wasn’t just the fact that I hadn’t been ushered into the West family room as usual, due to a thorough carpet cleaning being performed, but instead, had been escorted by Emily down another hallway to a room with a small sofa in it that Jason was lounging on in his usual leg-propped-up position. It wasn’t until I started to read Jason’s attempt at creative writing that I finally put my finger on it.

  Jason hadn’t teased me. Or grinned. Not even once. And he seemed—nervous. He obviously had something on his mind. When he did speak again, I was in for a huge surprise.

  “So, Kathy—the Christmas dance is coming up in a few weeks.”