Radiate (14 page)

Because yesterday, I texted Chloe with the news that I wouldn’t make it to cheerleader camp with them.

She’s texted nothing back in reply.

Ginger retrieves the tray and clicks her tongue at her coworker. “Leave her alone, Rochelle. She can’t eat too much leading up to tomorrow’s surgery.”

“That’s just it,” her partner says. “She’s going to wish she’d eaten.”

“Well, we have something better for her to focus on,” Ginger says. The nurse disappears out of the room momentarily while Rochelle checks my IV, takes my pulse, and adjusts my pillows.

When Ginger returns, she’s carrying shiny red and blue metallic poms, just like we use at PHS. “Hayley Matthews, have I got a surprise for you!”

She steps aside, and I nearly lose it when I see my fellow Polk High School cheerleaders come bouncing into my room. They’re all wearing the brand-new white uniforms and the awesome donated Nikes. They’re all here—Madison, Lauren, Tara, Samantha, Ashlee, Ashleigh, Brittney, Hannah, Melanie, Lora, and Chloe. Everyone made it.

“H-A-Y-L-E-Y... Shout it loud, shout it high!”

I clap along as my girls surround me, shaking the poms, and clapping for me. Lora moves forward and hugs me tight. “We just had to come see you.”

“How did you get here?” I ask, brushing at the water on my face.

“Lora’s Uncle Ross chartered a luxury limo, and we all came up together,” Ashlee says, kissing me on the forehead.

Just at that moment, Mom walks in and bursts into tears. Behind her is a young guy in his early thirties. Very handsome, tall, and athletic. “Hayley, isn’t this amazing?” Mom says. “This is Ross Scott, Lora’s uncle. He brought the team all the way up here from Maxwell just to see you.”

“I know! It rocks.”

Mr. Scott moves forward and draws his hand from behind his back. It’s the PHS spirit bear that is passed down from one class to the next. “Lora’s told me all about you, Hayley. I know the girls wanted to see you, so I made it so.”

“You’re awesome, Mr. Scott!”

“Call me Ross.”

Lora rolls her eyes. “Call him Ross... whatever. Open your package!”

Tears of joy fill my eyes as Lora hands me a wrapped box. I rip it open like it’s Christmas morning and then I gasp at what’s inside—a new, white PHS uniform. Not just any uniform. Not one that was passed down to me when I made the squad. This one is
mine,
made especially for me and worn by no one else. Underneath the freshly sewn outfit is my pair of complimentary Nikes. I clutch everything to my chest and hug them tightly. No one can take these away from me.

That’s when my eyes meet Chloe’s. She’s standing toward the back of the room leaning against the wall. She’s participating, yet not.

I gulp down the lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry that I won’t be at camp with you,” I manage to say through the emotional swell. “I wanted nothing more.”

Lora squeezes my hand. “It’s okay. We reworked the routines, and it’ll be fine.”

“Just as long as you’re back for the first game,” Ashlee says.

“You couldn’t keep me away,” I say through my tears.

The girls sit around for about a half-hour, asking me questions about the tests, X-rays, and surgery, and I do my best to fill them in on what I know. Chloe diddles with her iPhone, seemingly uninterested in the conversation.

For a moment, Satan pops up on my shoulder and whispers evil thoughts at me. Why didn’t this happen to Chloe Bradenton? Why isn’t she the one lying here in the hospital while we’re all cheering her on? As quickly as the negative thoughts enter, I tamp them down. It’s not right to wish anything bad on someone, even if it is Chloe Bradenton. I simply don’t understand why people like her never suffer or struggle. Not that I wish that on her. Just that I wish it
not
on me.

Chloe taps her watch impatiently. “We should get going if we’re going to make it back to Maxwell before dark.”

“We just got here,” Tara says.

“I’m just saying.”

There’s a collective groan in the room, yet I understand it’s a three-hour ride.

“I can’t believe y’all came up here. This is the best thing ever!”

One by one, the girls hug me and wish me well on my surgery tomorrow.

Lora’s next to last, and she squeezes me the tightest. “Don’t give up the good fight, Hayley.”

“I won’t,” I whisper to her.

Chloe approaches me and pats her hand on the bed. “Get well, Hayley.”

“Thanks, Chloe. Good luck at camp! Let me know how it goes.”

“Oh, I will,” she says a bit snarkily. “You’ll be hearing from me soon.”

Ross waves at me. “Take care, Hayley.”

“Thanks for everything Mr.... er... Ross.”

He flashes me a movie star grin, and I want to bolt out of the bed and hug him for making this happen. “I’m happy to help. I’m an athlete myself, and I know how hard it is to come back from an injury. It’s well worth the work when you get back to your sport.”

“What happened to you?” I ask.

“Blew my knee out in college and lost my football scholarship. I made up for it, though,” Ross explains. “I had surgery, excellent rehab, and now nothing holds me back. I mountain climb, race bikes, water and snow ski. I’ve done eight marathons, and two triathlons.” He points to his skull. “It’s all up here. It’s all mental.”

“Wow, that’s so amazing.” He owns a large sporting goods chain as well, so he’s not just talking the talk. He’s walking the walk. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

He shakes my hand and then heads out the door.

“I’m just going to see them out,” Mom says in Ross’s wake.

After everyone leaves the room, I am beyond super-juiced. I have my new cheerleading shoes, my new uniform, and a specific timeline as to when I can get back to the squad. My teammates came to visit me and they care. I truly felt the love from all of them. And Lora’s uncle is way cool.

I swing my legs off the bed and stand carefully. I need to stay limber, so I nab my crutches and head out the door of my room for a little up-and-down in the hospital corridor.

When I crutch past the nurses’ station, I hear voices raised around the corner toward the elevator.

Is that...
Mom?

“I won’t let you,” she says.

“Hayley’s left me no choice, Mrs. Matthews.” It’s Chloe. “I’m the head of the squad, and I have to do what’s best for the whole group. It’s nothing personal. I’m just doing my job.”

“Kicking my daughter off the spot she earned is not an option,” Mom says sternly.

What?

I nearly lose my balance and have to grab onto the wall to keep from falling.

“I’m really not trying to be mean here, Mrs. Matthews. I’m doing what I was chosen to do as captain. The team voted whether or not to keep Hayley on the squad. I want to get an alternate to step up and go with us to camp. There’s a transfer student from Florida named Kristin Powell who just moved in across the street from me. She was on her squad in Destin and could easily slip in to take Hayley’s place.”

I want to run.

I want to scream.

However, I’m cemented to the hospital’s tile floor, unable to breathe, think, or move. I don’t know whom I hate more—Chloe or this Kristin Powell person who wants my spot.

“You would do that to Hayley?” Mom asks my captain.

“I would do what’s best for the PHS varsity squad,” Chloe says. “Thing is, the girls voted me down, but I have the final say. If we go into camp a man down, we won’t win.”

“This is about Hayley, not about winning,” Mom stresses.

I chew on the inside of my cheek to stave back the tears that threaten to reveal me. My breathing is labored as I strain to hear every word.

“It’s about the team, Mrs. Matthews. Hayley is just one cog in the wheel. When there’s a cog missing, the wheel can’t function properly.” Chloe stops for a minute as if searching for the right words. “I know everyone’s worried about Hayley, and I get that. I’m concerned about her, too. But I had plans this season, you know? Big plans. I was going to be the first captain in PHS history to win first place at camp. That’s a huge deal. If one of my squad members is down, then we can’t accomplish that.” She points to her chest. “
I
have dreams, too, Mrs. Matthews.”

I’ve never heard Chloe talk like this before. For the first time, I “get” her a little more.

Mom doesn’t, though. She only cares about protecting me. I see her take a few steps forward. She is totally in Chloe Bradenton’s face. The ire in her voice is apparent. The tone authoritative.

“Listen here, missy. I don’t care about what you want or what your dreams are. I have to think about my child. You can
not
take cheerleading away from my daughter. It’s what’s keeping her going. It’s what’s keeping her mind off the malignantly cancerous tumor growing in her leg. It’s taking her mind off the possibility that she might not walk again once they remove her bone. Or at the very least, she’ll have a limp for the rest of her life. Being a cheerleader and getting to that first football game even if she’s on crutches is what’s keeping her going. You will
not
take it away from her. I won’t let you.”

There’s total silence.

I hold my breath.

It seems that Chloe does, too.

“I understand,” Chloe says meekly.

You go, Nan Matthews!

You would have thought my mom was a cheerleader in her time instead of a mere clarinet player. I’m glad she’s my cheerleader now. I’ve always loved my mom, but I’ve never loved her more than I do at this moment. Little red-hot fire engine that she is! I back away slowly and quietly and hobble back to my room so they won’t know I was listening.

Damn right I earned this.

Damn right I’ll make a comeback.

This spot is mine. No one’s taking it away from me.

Especially not Chloe.

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.

—George Eliot

I’ve just settled into my nest of pillows following the last Diet Coke I’ll have for a while when Dr. Stanislovitis walks in with two interns in tow.

“Hi, Hayley,” the doctor greets me. “Mrs. Matthews,” she says, nodding at Mom.

Mom springs up from her place next to me where she’s been playing chess on my e-reader. As always, she has a look of apprehension across her tired face. Poor thing. She’s spent every night next to me on that cot without one complaint.

“Good afternoon,” Mom says. “Tomorrow’s the big day.”

“Yes, it is,” Dr. S. says. “That’s why we’re here. We need to ask Hayley several questions about her medical history.”

“Her father and I did that when we originally checked her into the hospital.”

“I understand, Mrs. Matthews,” the doctor starts. “But these are things we need to discuss personally with Hayley. You understand.”

From the crease in her brow, Mom certainly does
not
understand. Nor do I.

“If you’ll just give us a few minutes,” the resident requests.

“Certainly,” Mom says, and then turns to nab her purse. “Hayley, I’m right outside in the hallway if you need me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say in a bit of a squeak.

When the door shuts behind my mother, the doctors gather around me with clipboards in hand.

“Now, Hayley, there are things we must absolutely know about you before Dr. Dykema can perform surgery tomorrow. These are very personal and somewhat intrusive questions. You must understand that this has to be done, so please don’t be offended by anything.”

“Um... okay.” It’s not exactly as if I have anything to hide.

Dr. S. slides to the end of my bed and begins her questioning. Nothing too pushy. Height. Weight. Last time I had a period. Any medication I’m on for allergies or conditions my family doctor prescribed. Geesh, they had to kick Mom out of the room for this?

Then the questions turn.

“Hayley, are you involved with anyone? A boy or a girl?”

What? “Um... I went out a couple of times with Daniel Delafield, who’s on the football team back home.”

Dr. S. smiles nicely at me. “What is the nature of your relationship?”

Nature? “We went to a party and the movies and—”

“Your sexual relationship,” the doctor interrupts.

I sit up high in the bed and feel the blush completely cover my body.
Wow, let’s be forward, why don’t we?

“We don’t
have
a sexual relationship, unless you count making out a little.”

“Have you ever had a sexual relationship?”

“No!”

“Oral or anal sex?”

“Yuck! No.”

“I’m sorry, Hayley. These questions aren’t meant to be offensive. We have to know your complete history.” The doctor continues. “So, have you ever had an abortion?”

“I thought that was pretty obvious. No sex. No baby.” This is, like, ridiculously embarrassing.

“Have you ever done illegal drugs?”

“I took a Claritin-D from my friend Shelly one time from her prescription.”

The doctor snickers and so do her interns. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Any cocaine, heroin, meth, acid, marijuana, ampheta—”

“None of that,” I snap. “I’m an athlete. I don’t need any of that stuff. I get ‘high’ from cheerleading.”

“We have to ask.”

“No, you don’t,” I say. “I’ve never had sex, I don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. I’m really boring and proud of it. Besides kissing a few boys during party games and a couple of dates with Daniel, I’m pretty squeaky clean. What does this have to do with my surgery?”

Dr. S.’s eyes soften. “We just have to know anything and everything that your body may have been through or is going through. It’s important to the doctors to know any substances or surgeries. I do apologize for the questioning, but it is necessary.”

“I guess,” I mutter, feeling completely violated.

A few more questions about my menstrual cycle, when it started, how long it lasts, and have I ever missed a period, and the interrogation ends. Honestly, I want to get up and take a hot, cleansing shower. Hospital stays really do strip you of all your dignity and privacy.