Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
To cry alone. The words went unsaid, but she saw them in Genie’s eyes. Zoey. Autumn’s heart constricted, chest aching as a steady buzz took up in her head. She pictured the tiny twelve-year-old girl with dark curls and a heart of pure gold. She’d dreamed of being a ballerina. An impossible wish that could never come true no matter how long she’d lived. She’d done slow pirouettes down the hall just three days before…
Dance, sweet Zoey. You’re well now. There is no sickness where you are.
Autumn had suffered this same clawing grief and uncertainty so many times before—this familiar tipping feeling that made her want to grab on to something solid and the terrifying knowledge that there was nothing there that would hold her steady. It never got easier. It never demolished her any less. She could only ride it out.
“Thank you, Genie.” Autumn did want to cry. Where no one could hear her. Where she could be alone with her grief. Where she could mourn again when she’d already mourned so many times before. Yet each loss cut just as deep, the scars she carried internally far deeper than any that marred her skin.
Chapter Two
The small form was dwarfed by the large hospital bed, machines blinking and beeping softly from behind her. So much equipment for one tiny girl.
Autumn dropped her school bag from the class she’d attended in the south wing and sat down at Mara’s bedside, taking her friend’s skeletal hand in hers. Mara’s eyes blinked open, and she gave Autumn the slip of a smile. “How are you feeling?” Autumn asked.
“About as good as I look.”
Autumn squeezed one eye shut, wrinkling her nose. “That bad, huh?”
Mara laughed, though it was shallow. “Worse.” She adjusted her body, wincing. “There’s not much more they can cut out before I’m all out of the necessary organs,” she said, and though her tone was matter-of-fact, her bottom lip quivered slightly.
Autumn gave her hand a squeeze even as she felt tears burn the backs of her eyes. “If the surgeon removed enough, the Mesmivir will take care of the rest.”
But Mara shook her head. “You’re always optimistic, Autumn. But…it hasn’t so far. And…I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”
A slice of fear cut through Autumn. “Do what?”
“Live like this. What kind of life is it? Constant suffering? Unending surgeries.” Mara gestured to her body, the wound from her most recent operation covered in gauze. Autumn knew that beneath Mara’s white nightgown, there were numerous scars from previous surgeries, the ones that had attempted to remove tumors so her body could overcome the cancer.
“What’s the alternative, Mara? We have to fight. If we don’t, what is there?”
“Peace.”
Peace.
The yearning that one-syllable word brought produced a physical pang that rose above her myriad other aches. Peace. Others felt that. Others woke in the morning and sprang out of bed with healthy bodies, their minds focused on classes, meetings, or maybe the date they had planned that weekend. Did they stop to consider the peace they possessed? The peace that enabled them to hum distractedly as they listened to music or scrolled through social media? Autumn could only wonder.
What she was certain of was that she’d give anything not to wonder but to know.
“That’s what we fight for,” she told Mara. “No matter the improbability.” And they had to address the improbability that Mara would heal, didn’t they? Because truth mattered too, and if Mara couldn’t count on it from her other sick friends who carried the same burden as she did, regardless of scale, then who could she trust to provide honesty?
Fight, but not blindly.
Yet Autumn didn’t tell her about Zoey. Not today. Not when Mara was still so fragile. She hadn’t been able to attend breakfast in the cafeteria, so she wouldn’t have heard the announcement.
Autumn squeezed Mara’s hand. “You just had surgery, and you’re feeling especially ill. But you’ll be up walking the halls soon, and you’ll get that fighting spirit back.”
“Walking the halls.” Mara sighed. “Great. Really something to look forward to.” But she gave Autumn a faint smile and squeezed her hand back, even if weakly. There it is. That glimmer. That fight. Autumn would be there to help her friend lace up her armor when she was ready.
For a flash, Autumn thought about her dream, and something strange blossomed in her chest. She’d almost call it excitement, but that seemed too strong a word for something only in her imagination.
“You must look at me and worry,” Mara said, taking Autumn’s momentary silence for concern.
“Of course I worry—”
“No, I mean, you must worry that you’ll be me in a few years.”
The door opened, Mara’s nurse bustling in and chirping an overly cheery good morning. Autumn let go of Mara’s hand as the nurse she believed was named Cheryl took Mara’s vitals and asked her questions about how she felt.