Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

“I’m not wonderful.”

“I’m sure you are. Derek has very good taste.”

I slurp up a melting marshmallow—much louder than intended, and we both laugh.

“It started with Meadow, I guess.” I tell her about Meadow’s stage fright and how I filled in. My absurd makeover. Derek up on that mountaintop already knowing my voice. Him coming after me and finding me on that bench. She nods her head when I explain my genetic problems—understanding my pain like no one I’ve ever talked to before.

“You’re lucky in a way. We didn’t know until after Derek was diagnosed. I wanted a houseful of kids, but the risks . . .”

“I know.” Our eyes meet. “Kind of awful. Derek was . . . incredibly comforting.” I flush and my hands get sweaty. The hot cup of cocoa I’m holding is no help. I set it down and lean back in my chair.

His mom grins and shakes her head. “The opportunistic little devil.”

“No.” How can I explain how much that meant? “I’d never had a hot guy like him do anything more than hurl abuse at me. Then doctors were saying they were right. I really am beastly.”

She shakes her head and stirs her cocoa.

“And then there was this beautiful boy holding me while I cried. When he kissed me, my world changed forever. I’ll never be the same. Cystic fibrosis? What difference could that make to me ?”

She gets teary while I tell her how magical the rest of our time in Lausanne was, how scared I was when it was over, how relieved when he showed up on that motorcycle—until he took me for a ride. I look at the trappings of his condition all around us. “Now I know why he kept me away.”

“And why he didn’t tell me about you.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“I’ll manage the medical establishment. You manage him.”

“He won’t like me bossing him around.”

“That’s not what I mean. He wants to live—for you. He wants life. With you. Keep him hoping. Keep him fighting. Until they can save him.”

My heart gets tight, but I look up at her and nod. “All right. Should be easy.”

She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine. “It may be the hardest thing you ever do. Are you sure?”

“I’m not afraid.”

Her mask of calm drops for a moment, and she whispers, “I am.”

chapter 30

EXISTENCE

Getting my butt out of bed Monday morning is painful. I hit the snooze button three times. Mom has to drag me out from under the covers. I throw on an old sweatshirt and slide into my Levi’s. I capture my hair and jam it through a black scrunchie. I treat my face so the sore spots on my chin and forehead don’t erupt on me, but I don’t bother with makeup.

I grab a banana for breakfast. Mom pours me juice.

“Please—can’t I go back to the hospital?”

“After school. But take your homework.”

“It’s December. Christmas break starts in two weeks.”

“And you have finals in all your semester classes.”

“Who cares?”

“Every college you’ll be applying to in a couple of months.”

Applications? Colleges? What planet is she on? “Get real. I can’t bother with that until Derek’s okay.” I filled her in when I got home last night. She took it pretty hard.

She looks down and stirs her coffee. “What if he’s not okay?”

I slam the juice glass on the counter. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Reality sucks, but you need to face it, honey.”

“He’s not going to die.”

“He tricked you. He tricked both of us.”

“Shut up. Don’t talk about him like that. He needs me, and that’s all that matters.”

“I don’t want you to throw away your happiness.” She closes her eyes and her tone drops. “Like I did.”

“You said you loved my father.”

She nods and sighs. “You have to do this. I understand.”

“Good.” I run back upstairs to my room, pull my suitcase from the summer out from under my bed, dump the junk that’s still in the bottom, and start throwing underwear and T-shirts into it.

“Whoa.” Mom barges in. “Hold on.” She grabs my arm. “Slow down.” She takes a stack of jeans out of my hands and gathers me close. “Let’s think this through for a minute.”

I drop my head onto her shoulder. “I have to get back up there. What if—”

“Is he that bad?” She lets me loose.

I sink down on my bed. “How can I waste time on school when he—” I take a deep breath and steel myself to say it. “When he could be dead tomorrow?”

“It’s that close?”

I fight hard to keep my emotions steady. “No one knows. It could be. This new medication they’ve got him on seems to be helping.” His mom filled me in when we went back to the hospital Sunday. “How long it will help and how much is a mystery. They have to keep him alive long enough for him to get the transplant. Only problem is they have to get him so he’s not antibiotic resistant anymore first.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s not.” I sniff and start to blink. “If they take him off his antibiotics, the infections will win.”

Mom sits beside me. “I’m sorry.” She’s fighting back tears, too. “So, so sorry.” She puts her arm around me and squeezes. “Okay. Let’s take it one day at a time. Go to school today. Get your assignments, and you can take off tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Try to make it before midnight.” I had a hard time leaving Derek last night. “I love you, Beth.” She leans her head against mine. “I’m here. Whatever I can do. I’m here.”

I kiss her cheek, hug her, jam a change of clothes and my zit stuff into my bag, and tear out of there.

I get to school late, but Scott’s still at his locker. I was so awful to him Saturday night. I need to apologize—explain. “Hey, Scott. I’m so—”

He whirls around with his arms full of books. “To hell with you, Beth.” He walks past me, to the far end of the hall.

The locker beside mine is empty.

I hear books thud and a locker door slam down the hall. I feel like he hurled those books right in my face.

He’s not in choir.

At lunch I see him with a tiny junior girl who’s new this year. On my way out after school, he’s making out with her by the front doors.

Crap. He’s taking my stupid, stupid advice. I should be happy for him. I’ve got Derek to worry about. No room for a friend who wants more than I can give. I relied on him and that’s not really fair. Better to have Scott occupied. Right now he’s more occupied than I want to know, but he deserves something. He can’t really like her. She’s tiny and pretty and perfect for him, but he can’t love her. He loves me. She’s probably had a crush on him since school started. And now, oh my gosh, he’s got his hands on her butt.

I hurry by them, chuck my bag on Jeanette’s passenger seat, and drive fast for London. No line at the border between Port and Sarnia. I’ve got my passport today, but the guy glances at my license plate and waves me through. It’s snowing again, but the road is fine. I make it to the hospital in under an hour. It’s easier than driving to choir. Shoot—choir. We have a practice tomorrow. I’ll have to call Terri. Maybe I’ll just update my status on my page. Everyone will get the message that way—

Oh my gosh. My page.

Derek friending me—curious about the rest of me.

What a brat. He was right, though. The Amabile guys beat us. He got his way with me, too. He always gets his way.

He’ll get those lungs. It’s Derek.

I burst into his room. He’s asleep with his inhaler thing strapped to his face. His mom, poor woman, is nodding off, too, balanced on that uncomfortable chair. I gently shake her shoulder. Her eyes flutter open.