I'm Not Her (11 page)

He lifts his hand in a wave and turns and walks off. I watch as he leaves, all,
what?
Um, what did you want to ask me?

He glances back over his shoulder and lifts his hand and makes a peace sign. My heart swoons for a second, forgetting and then remembering with a jolt. My sister. Cancer. The school is about to find out.

I spin and run into my classroom.

Clark Trent gives me a boy nod as I hurry to my desk. His chin dips just once. He looks serious, as if he’s focused on kicking my butt on the exam. I lift my hand and wave an acknowledgment and sit down, bending my head and focusing on my hands folded on my lap.

A throat clears. Surprised, I look up.

Clark stands in front of my desk, looking down on me. I feel like an ant on the sidewalk the way he looms over me. “You okay?” he asks softly.

I frown. “Fine. Why?”

He lifts his shoulder. “Just wondered. You look…sad.”

There’s an awkward pause then, and I feel obligated to try and fill it. “Uh, how’s Jeremy?”

“He’s at the hospital,” Clark says.

I nod and look around but we’re being ignored by everyone in the classroom. “Yeah. He told me, uh, about his mom.”

I wait for him to say something more, but he just stands there.

“Is everything okay?” I prompt. “With Jeremy’s mom?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. He doesn’t say much about it. He’s been at the hospital a lot lately.”

“What about his dad?” I ask.

“His dad died a long time ago. When Jeremy was six. His mom’s best friend is staying with him while his mom is at the hospital.”

The bell rings then and I let out a deep breath as Clark walks to his desk and sits. Test papers are handed out from the front row. Mr. Pepson chants directions at the front of the class. Soon everyone settles and the class quietly works on the test.

The exam turns out to be easy, thank God. I rush through it and finish with fifteen minutes left. Instead of using the time to go over my answers for accuracy, like I usually do, I take my test paper to the front of the class and put it down on Mr. Pepson’s desk. He nods toward the door to let me know I can leave. I feel Clark’s eyes on the back of my head as I slip into the hallway but I ignore him.

I hurry down the hall to the girls washroom and rush inside a stall. Fully clothed, I sit on the toilet seat while my body twitches with nerves. People must know now. They’ll be talking. They’ll be coming after me.

I don’t move even as the bell rings and the washroom fills with voices and flushes and high heels clacking on the floor. Minutes before the bell for the next class will ring, I stand.

When I hurry out of the washroom, I run straight into Clark Trent.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s perfectly normal for him to wait for me outside the girls bathroom.

“Hey. You’re going to be late for class,” I say.

He lifts his shoulder. “I have art with you. I’ll walk you.” Him. The Honor Society guy. Late to a class, because of me.

The bell rings and we both run inside the class, but he follows me to my seat and waits until I sit down before heading to his own. Around us, kids whisper. The buzz is in the air. I know word about Kristina has gotten out. Fresh gossip travels faster than a jackal running through the forest. I feel eyes inspecting me. I’m different to them now. I’m the girl whose sister has cancer. Fortunately, Mr. Meekers yells for silence. Everyone quiets down for the grouchy old fart who doesn’t put up with classroom chatter.

I’m relieved when he announces we’ll have a freestyle class to work with clay. I get my hands dirty and put my head down, concentrating on creating a sculpture of an ugly gargoyle. No one says a word to me. Just before the bell, Mr. Meekers yells for us to line up to wash our hands at the sink. I pretend to be preoccupied in my work and wait until the last person is done at the sink before sneaking over to wash up. As I finish, the bell rings and I head back to my desk slowly, wiping my wet hands on my pants.

Clark walks over. “You okay?” he asks, and blocks people from gawking at me.

I catch a reflection of us in the windows. He actually looks kind of hot, so tall and broad-shouldered. Beside him I look almost helpless and waifish, all folded into myself. My face burns. “Fine.”

Thank God I’m not popular. I’m hormonally imbalanced or something, lusting after every boy who talks to me.

“We have science. Come on,” Clark says. “I’ll walk with you.”

I can’t look at Clark. I never even noticed how many classes we have together. I certainly don’t know why he’s appointed himself my personal guardian, but for now I’ll take it. I just have to get through one more class. One more and then Mom will be outside waiting for me. I’m glad now she called in an excuse for the afternoon. I’m almost afraid to leave the classroom.

Outside, Melissa is waiting for me. She steps inside and gives Clark a dirty look, but he doesn’t budge.

“Where’d you get those jeans?” she asks, pretending he’s not even there.

“My mom got them for me.” I refuse to elaborate or make excuses. I hold my chin high, waiting for her snarky remarks about me trying to be a cool kid.

“They’re expensive,” she says, but there’s much more in her voice. We both know they’re kickass jeans, but they’re not something I normally would strut around in. I don’t tell her I got them to make my mom happy. I know she knows about Kristina and I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. As we move to the door the buzz outside gets louder.

“Oh my
God
,” Emma Hart cries from the hallway. She’s the youngest girl on the junior volleyball team, one of Kristina’s biggest groupies. And she’s staring right at me.

“Is it true about Kristina?” she yells at full pitch. “She has
cancer?
”

I open my mouth. Everyone’s eyes are on me. I close my mouth, unable to get words out.

“Leave her alone,” Clark says, and scowls at Emma. He puts his hand on my back and pushes me forward. “Come on,” he says. He walks beside me, guarding me with his overgrown body, like a shield. He shoots daggers at Emma and everyone else gaping at us. Melissa is lost somewhere behind us.

“OhmyGodisKristinagoingtobeallright?” Emma hurries behind us, shrieking in my direction. “Ican’tbelieveitshelookedsohealthylasttimeIsawher!”

“I said leave her alone,” Clark growls, and everyone around us goes quiet, surprised by his snarly outburst. He pushes his glasses up on his nose and continues to shield me. It feels like every pair of eyes is on me. Probably because they are.

“Come on,” he says, and I follow, happily hiding behind him as he leads me away.

When we turn a corner to the hallway where our next class is, we both stop. There’s a new swarm heading toward us. A big swarm. Seniors. Led by Devon. Gee. The rest of the volleyball elite. They’re heading straight for us. I hear the questions before they open their mouths. Like the seniors are Pied Pipers, more kids flock behind them, eager for information. They’re focused on me like paparazzi without cameras.

This is so not how I envisioned my life at high school.

Clark stands straighter and puts a hand on my arm, but he’s no match for the seniors and we both know it.

I brace myself.

Devon steps forward so he’s right in front of me. I’m forced to look into his eyes, and see shock and pain reflected back at me.

“Is it true?” he asks. His voice is soft.

I wince and then slowly nod.

The volleyball girls gasp and all start asking questions at the same time. Devon turns to glare at them and they all shut up.

“I want to see her,” he says.

My stomach feels like a snake is slithering around inside, tying itself into knots. Man, I should have prepared an answer for this. I should have prepared for the onslaught. While I was studying last night, I should have prepared a speech.

“She doesn’t want to see anyone,” I mumble.

Thinking I could pass the buck to Nick was not only naïve but stupid.

“Is she still at the hospital?” Devon asks.

“She’s been in the hospital but she’s coming home.” The effort of speaking makes me queasy. “She’s, uh, tired.”

I look at her friends’ faces. Concern. Fear. Horror. They want answers. I take a deep breath, dig deep, and decide to give them the truth. “She’s done her first round of chemo.”

I don’t mention the side effects. I won’t. No matter how much they try to press me.

Everyone starts to talk at once again, firing questions at me, and my brain goes into sensory overload. Clark puts his arm around my shoulder and I lean into him.

“Why didn’t she tell us, Tess?” Gee pleads.

I look at her but questions keep coming at me from all around.

“Is she going to be okay?” someone demands, and I stumble. Dizzy. Clark grabs me tighter and straightens me.

I glance around, desperate to escape, and see Melissa blending into the crowd behind us. Grateful for more support, relief floods me and I wait for her to come closer and stand by me. Help to protect me from the questions being fired at me.

But she doesn’t move.

Under her oversized T-shirt, her body remains stiff, her mouth tight. Her eyes squint in the corners. I don’t recognize the expression. I’ve never seen it on her before. No, that’s wrong. I have. But never directed at me. Her eyes travel down, sneering at my new jeans.

A kernel of anger pops inside me.

“So?” Melissa says, her voice hard and bitter.

It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak in a crowd.

“Is she, Tess?” she asks. “I thought you said she was fine. Is Kristina going to die?”

My heart almost stops, because for a second I sense that Melissa wants her to. That she wants my sister to die. Kernels pop. Pop.

Clark makes a groan of disgust and starts moving, his arm still protecting me. I stumble, as if I’ve forgotten how to walk, but he helps me.

“Don’t be an ass, of course she’s not going to die,” he tells Melissa.

I dig my feet into the ground to stop Clark. “How could you say that?” I glare at Melissa.

She stares back at me, barely blinking. Shameless. Then her cheeks redden and her mouth makes the
O
shape of a doughnut hole.

I can’t stop staring at her, horrified. My best friend is someone I don’t even know.

“Of course she won’t die,” Melissa snarls. “She’s too
perfect
to die.” Her voice spits out the word like it’s dirty and her face betrays the extent of her hate. It’s the worst expression I’ve ever seen. She might as well have lifted a pistol and shot a silver bullet right in the heart of our friendship.

I freeze. I want to smack her. Redden her cheek with my hand imprint. I turn my head around to see if anyone agrees with her venomous implication. My sister has cancer. There’s nothing perfect about that. But the few people who heard Melissa are staring at her, confused.

“I can’t believe you just said that! That’s the most insensitive thing I’ve ever heard.” Gee steps up to my other side. She and Clark guard me together.

How. Dare. She. I lean forward so we’re almost nose to nose.

“You’re fat and mean and no one likes you,” I hiss. I know what to say to hurt her most.

“Kristina Smith is an amazing person,” Devon says, addressing Melissa.

“Some friend,” another boy says.

It’s Nick. He’s standing beside Devon. I didn’t even see him in the crowd. But he’s defending me. Melissa and I eye each other. I’m ashamed I’ve called her names in front of everyone but I want her to feel as hurt as I do. Our years of looking on together from the outside vanish. The people we used to mock are defending me now. I’m in the circle so she hates me too. No matter what my reason is for being there.

We’ve both gone too far to take the words back. She can never take back her hatred for my sister. And I can never take back what I’ve called her. Not that.

The taste of her bitterness and betrayal is rancid on my tongue. I think about how we used to gossip together. I thought we were being silly. Melissa hurries away from the crowd, her head down, her stance awkward. She’ll go back to being invisible, but I remain completely exposed.

Her words have torn off the scab holding in my wounds. Is Kristina going to die?

No.

I won’t let her.

I shrug off Clark and begin to run. My legs carry me, fast, faster. Away. No one follows. I hear Clark and Nick, two boys in my life because of my sister, both telling people to leave me alone. I run on. My name passes from one person to another. Tess. Tess Smith.

They know who I am now.

Dad is at work, apparently too tied up with his classes and paperwork to meet us at the hospital to take Kristina home. He called my cell earlier to deliver his apology to Kristina. I held in my anger about being asked to pass along his message. Mom is still mad at him for whatever they were fighting about and refuses to talk to him. Before I hang up, I asked him if he’d told his friends at work about her cancer. He pauses and then tells me he has.

Kristina has on her favorite yoga pants, an expensive brand she got on eBay for more than they’re worth. They’re baggy on her where they used to be tight. Her head is hidden under a baseball cap and she’s got on a loose-fitting volleyball sweatshirt. She looks like a poster child for a refugee camp, slouched on the hospital bed, waiting, her feet dangling in the air above the ground with a pair of pink flip-flops on her unpainted toes.

Mom and I are stumbling around like
Dumb and Dumber
, gathering up belongings and going over the talk with the discharging doctor. We look like poster children for awkward when Jeremy walks into the room, and with him seems to come a breath of fresh air. Kristina looks less waifish and sits up straighter on the bed.

He’s wearing his dorky rap shirt again but I’m more than willing to forgive him as he smiles at all of us and sucks some of the tension from the room.

“So, big day. Going home,” he says and walks closer to Kristina. “You’ll sleep in your own bed tonight.” His voice isn’t charged with false bravado the way mine sounds whenever I speak to Kristina today. It’s natural.

I stare at him. He’s so much more confident than I gave him credit for at school. Clearly he’s a boy who does well in stressful situations. Either that or he just really likes my sister.

Kristina lowers her eyes but doesn’t answer him. He steps closer and leans in and whispers something in her ear. She smiles ever so slightly but it disappears quickly.

“Remember what I dared you,” he says, and then he steps back and lifts her arm. With a closed fist, he passes something into the palm of her hand and she holds it tight. I’m dying to know what it is. And what he said to her.

“Do you need help, Mrs. Smith?” he asks Mom. “Taking things to your car?”

Mom smiles at him, but shakes her head as she tosses Kristina’s gym bag over her shoulder. “I think we’ve got it.”

“I’ll walk you down to the parking lot, if that’s okay.”

Mom, Kristina, and I practically shout yes.

“Let’s go,” Mom says.

Jeremy holds out the crook of his arm and Kristina takes it and gets off the bed. Her free hand is still tight around whatever Jeremy handed her.

Mom leads the way out of the room and they follow. I walk behind them and watch the nurses on the ward as they wave and call good-bye and greet Jeremy like he’s an old friend.

He walks with us to the car and tucks Kristina in the back and then stands in the parking lot waving as we head home.

Mom drives about twenty miles an hour, gripping the steering wheel with ghostly white knuckles and annoying the hell out of me. Kristina is tired and withdrawn, and I almost wish Jeremy had come with us.

At home, Mom heads for the kitchen, chattering about whipping up a healthy meal as Kristina slowly climbs the stairs, holding the railing. She only answers questions in monotone one-word sentences. I follow her to her room, feeling like someone should fluff her pillows or get her some juice, mad at Mom for hiding in the kitchen.

“So, your friends really miss you. Especially Devon,” I say.

She raises her hand and shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can I have some privacy please?”

Fine by me. I don’t want to have to admit I screwed up her request and told Nick first and that he passed the message on to Devon and Gee. Her detachment is creepy though. A total contrast to life before cancer. It’s like she’s buried herself so deeply inside her head she’s disappearing. I know that feeling, because I’ve done it too, but never for such a serious reason. Besides, on me, it’s natural. The only thing that seems to bring her back to the real world is Jeremy, but he can’t exactly move into our house.

“You want me to get you the laptop?” I call. “I have it in my room. I was going to do homework, but you can use it to catch up on stuff you’ve missed out on.”

“Tess, leave me alone,” she says. “I don’t care about that stuff.”

I don’t move away. “You’re sure? I don’t mind.”

I want Kristina back. I miss her. A memory flashes in my head. The summer, only a couple of months before. Kristina standing in the hallway in her tiny purple and white bikini, yelling at me for hogging the computer. I’d only had it for a few minutes and was using it to google art supplies.

She doesn’t answer but hobbles further inside her room like a little old lady. “Where’d you get those jeans?” she says without looking back.

I’d forgotten I was wearing them and certainly hadn’t realized she noticed.

“Mom got them for me. She wanted to shop. You know. Her personal brand of therapy.”

“They look good.” She turns to face me. “You look good. Different. They suit you. You’re so skinny.”

“You’re the one who’s skinny,” I tell her, doing my best to make it sound like a compliment, hoping to cheer her up, but she hums with unhappiness, a cross between a sigh and a groan. “You’re going to have to use dental floss for toilet paper,” I try.

She doesn’t even crack a smile. “I’m going to take a nap,” she says.

I step away and shut the door quietly behind me. Alone in the hallway, the emptiness inside me threatens to eat me alive. I head downstairs to see Mom frantically racing around the living room, straightening things. She’s a bundle of nervous energy. I sit down on the leather couch in the living room and watch.

“Can I do something?” I ask when she breezes by me with a duster in her hand.

She shakes her head. “How’s Kristina?” she asks.

“Tired.”

She nods and runs back to the kitchen and I hear her chopping vegetables. She whips up her healthy supper while I sit in the living room staring at the walls. Finally I turn on the TV and flick channels instead of studying or working on my sketches.

The doorbell rings, and when no one else appears to get it, I stand and walk over to the door. A delivery man with a bored expression stands in the doorway. He’s holding the biggest, most colorful bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Kristina Smith?” he asks.

I shake my head. “She’s here but not available.”

He thrusts the flowers in my arms. “Well, if she’s here, take them. I have another vase in the car. She’s popular. What’d she do? Have a baby?”

I give him a dirty look and slam the door in his face. I take the flowers into the kitchen and Mom grabs her chest with one hand and then rushes forward. She takes the flowers and puts them on the counter and opens the card.

“It’s from the volleyball team,” she says.

The doorbell rings again. “There’s more,” I say.

Mom presses her lips tight but doesn’t say anything or move to get the door, so I walk slowly back to the door and collect the next vase of flowers without saying a word to Delivery Dude. Mom takes the flowers and reads the card again. They’re from Devon.

“Her boyfriend?” Mom asks.

I shake my head. “Ex,” I tell her. “You know Devon. You’ve met him.”

She nods absently. “Yeah. Kristina didn’t bring him around much though.” She returns to her cooking without another word. The fragrance of the fresh flowers makes me want to sneeze so I leave and go back to the living room.

A short while later, Mom hollers that supper is ready. “Wash up,” she calls.

Dad still isn’t home from work.

I go to the bathroom to wash my hands. She’s chattering about Dad being late and saying we’ll go ahead and eat without him.

“What else is new?” I mumble as I walk back to the kitchen. She’s setting the table and I offer to help but she waves me away as if I’m causing her grief.

“Can you get Kristina for dinner?” she says without looking at me. “I’d like her to come down. She should see the flowers too. It was a nice gesture from her friends.”

I head upstairs and knock on Kristina’s door.

“I’m not hungry,” she calls out.

“Mom’ll freak out if you don’t come down and at least have something.”

Kristina doesn’t answer, so I turn her knob and push the door open. She’s lying on her bed, on top of the covers staring at the ceiling. She looks breakable. “You got a couple of bouquets of flowers. From the volleyball team and Devon,” I tell her.

She doesn’t even blink.

“Do you think I’m going to die?” she asks the ceiling in a flat voice. Unfortunately, I know she’s talking to me.

“No!” I’m surprised by the ferociousness of my voice. A surge of anger sweeps through me. She’s not allowed to give up.

“But what if I do?” she says.

“Then I’ll get the bigger room,” I tell her. “And your Toyota. But you can’t die because I want a Volkswagen Beetle and you love this room.”

She glances over at me then and sits up slowly. “My sickness is bringing out a sense of humor I didn’t even know you had.”

“Neither did I,” I tell her honestly. “You’re not going to die,” I add.

She lifts her hand in the air and studies her fingers, kind of waving them about. The veins popping out on the back of her hands are clearly visible. They look like old woman hands. I try not to picture the poison that was running through them. Chemo to kill the cancer.

“What did Jeremy give you at the hospital?” I ask.

“A charm,” she tells me. She holds up her wrist again and this time, instead of her veins, I notice the old silver bracelet she used to sleep and shower with when she was little.

I walk toward her bed and she holds it up for me to see.

“It’s a dancer,” she says, and points out a charm.

I study it. A silver girl with a long dress and a bun striking a ballroom pose. “A dancer?” I ask.

“Private joke,” she says. I sit on the end of her bed. “I told him about my charm bracelet and how I kept it over the years. We were talking about things we loved when we were kids. He remembers stuff like that.”

“He sounds like a good friend,” I say.

She nods, pulling her wrist back and studying the dancer.

“He’s a really strong person. And so easy to talk to. Probably because of his mom. He’s so, I don’t know, hopeful, I guess.”

“Yeah.” I can’t think of anything to say so I improvise. “I didn’t see him at school today.”

“No. His mom wanted him at the hospital.” She pauses. “He said she never asked him to do that before.”

“He must be worried,” I say softly, and hope it’s the right thing to say. I’m so new at this. I need instructions. I need to download something off the Internet. How to talk to people who have cancer and not sound like an insensitive jerk.

“Yeah,” Kristina pauses. “He’s a nice kid. I mean, he’s not that young. I like him. He’s easy to talk to about stuff.”

Shame creeps through me for not being easier to talk to.

“Your friends at school are so worried.” I tell her.

She closes her eyes. “Of course they are. I have cancer. They’re supposed to be. It’s expected.”

I wonder about her choice of words. “No, they really are. They don’t know what to do. They want to do something to help. Gee wants to collect money to buy you the newest iPhone. She thinks it might make you better.” I snort but she gives me nothing. “I told her not to. That you didn’t want one. Maybe you should talk to them. You know, call Gee or someone. It might help. She’s kind of your best friend, isn’t she?”

“No.”

It’s funny that Kristina never had one person. A BFF. I guess it’s Jeremy now.

“Gee wouldn’t be able to handle seeing me sick. Anyhow, I don’t want to talk to anyone from school. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“How do you know what she can handle? Having friends around is important to you. She wants to see you. It doesn’t matter how you look.”

“It always matters, Tess. They don’t know me. Not really. No one does.” She opens her eyes. “Well, except Jeremy. He sees more than the volleyball star. The hair and the makeup and clothes. He even sees more than the cancer now, you know? He talks to me. He takes the time to ask questions, to understand who I am. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you were that close.” I smile but it hurts a little. Jeremy can be something for her that I can’t.

“Did you talk to him? About, you know, your leg.”

A tiny smile turns up her lips and then disappears. “That I might lose it? Yeah. A little.” She giggles but it’s weak and she covers her mouth with her hand. “He said if I do, I’ll be on
Dancing with the Stars
. You know. Like that lady who was married to Paul McCartney and only had one leg.” She holds up her wrist again. “That’s what this is for. To show me what I can do, no matter what.”

I smile. It makes me feel better, thinking about that. Kristina dancing on TV.

“He made me a bet.”

I nod, remembering what he said at the hospital. “What?”

She doesn’t answer. I hear Mom shouting from the kitchen but we both ignore her. I wait for Kristina to tell me more about the bet but she doesn’t. “He said I’ll be the oldest one in the nursing home and all the old men will be secretly in love with me.”

“He totally has a crush on you,” I tell her.

She lifts her shoulder but it’s barely perceptible. “Maybe. A little. But it’s not really like that. He’s a good guy. It’s sweet. We’re friends.” She slides over her covers until she’s flat out on her back again, staring up at the ceiling. “Really good friends.”

I have an urge to tell her about Melissa. About how my best friend turned out to be someone I don’t even know. That maybe she was right about her. But it’s not the time or the place. This isn’t about me.

Kristina looks at me and her lips turn up. “He told me he has a friend who thinks you’re pretty.”

I blush and then laugh, but warmth settles in my stomach. I guess that it’s Clark and I want to ask, but don’t.

I lower my eyes. “His friend obviously needs glasses.” I hope she’ll tell me he already has them.