dad lies too. Once Mom was across the state at a school nurse conference and I fainted and it was Dad who found me and rushed me to the ER. He was just like Mom, clenching my hand, biting his lip, telling me over and over that everything would be okay and it wouldn’t hurt and last time, I promise.
I was so angry with him. Told Mom I never, ever wanted Dad to take me to the hospital again. She worried he’d messed something up, told the doctors the wrong thing or mixed up my allergies. But no. He’d just broken my heart with his lies.
One of my nurses once told me that all parents tell lies to their kids. Wishful thinking, she said. They hate seeing their kids in pain, so all they can do is hope and pray that it will be over soon. They don’t want to tell lies. They want to be telling the truth.
It took me a long time to figure out that she was right. Still didn’t make it hurt any less.
But now I’m fifteen—practically an adult, not that I’ll ever live long enough to be a real grownup—and I’m getting ready to do something even worse than lying.
The second worst thing I’ve ever done doesn’t seem so bad, except that keeping secrets feels a lot like lying. Last Christmas when I was in the hospital, Mom thought I was going to die. Guess everyone did because all the churches in town were praying for me and reporters even came to interview my folks about their sitting vigil, hoping for a Christmas miracle. But I didn’t die. I lived.
When I got home and Mom was back at work, a package came for me. This happens a lot—usually they’re silly get-well cards or stuffed animals or food I can’t eat because of my allergies. Mom loves it—she’ll have me handwrite thank-you notes while she decides what to do with the loot, doling it out to neighbor kids or taking it to kids we met who are still stuck in the hospital.
But this package was different. It came from a mom whose son had been in the ICU at Children’s the same time I was over Christmas. Only he was waiting for a heart transplant that never came and he died on New Year’s Day.
He’d gotten an iPad over the holidays but only had the chance to use it a few times before he got sick, she wrote. His name was Nassir and if he’d lived he wanted to become a pediatrician—just like the newspaper article said I wanted to be (I’ve never remembered saying this to anyone; medicine is definitely an interest of mine, I just know I’ll never live long enough to actually become a doctor)—so she hoped I’d accept the gift and think of Nassir as I pursued my studies.
And there it was. My escape route to the world outside. I’d no longer be worried that everyplace I went online and everything I read or wrote would also be read by Mom and Dad. I swear they had the toughest spyware ever installed when I began online homeschooling. Like I was going to waste my days looking at porn or something.
I stared at the iPad and realized two things. First, I was free!
Second, it was the same size as a school notebook, thus easily hidden and camouflaged. It was my secret, something special that belonged to me alone. I could do anything I wanted with it and no one could stop me.
I touched the power button, my wool sweater releasing a spark of static electricity that leapt through me. That feeling of lightning striking stuck with me. I still feel it every time I turn my iPad on and escape from my life.
That was nine months ago. What I’m about to do now is worse than lying or keeping a secret. I think of that key ring, of the flash drive. I listen as Mom climbs the stairs to her room.
A thrill runs through me. I’m going to do it. I’m really going to do it.
I think of Tony, the way he looks at me. My heart skitters. I climb out of bed and creep across the floor to my bedroom door. Open it and listen hard for Mom.
I can’t believe it. I’m about to defy my mother for the sake of a boy I’ve just met. This is not me, not my world. I’m crossing into
I was so angry with him. Told Mom I never, ever wanted Dad to take me to the hospital again. She worried he’d messed something up, told the doctors the wrong thing or mixed up my allergies. But no. He’d just broken my heart with his lies.
One of my nurses once told me that all parents tell lies to their kids. Wishful thinking, she said. They hate seeing their kids in pain, so all they can do is hope and pray that it will be over soon. They don’t want to tell lies. They want to be telling the truth.
It took me a long time to figure out that she was right. Still didn’t make it hurt any less.
But now I’m fifteen—practically an adult, not that I’ll ever live long enough to be a real grownup—and I’m getting ready to do something even worse than lying.
The second worst thing I’ve ever done doesn’t seem so bad, except that keeping secrets feels a lot like lying. Last Christmas when I was in the hospital, Mom thought I was going to die. Guess everyone did because all the churches in town were praying for me and reporters even came to interview my folks about their sitting vigil, hoping for a Christmas miracle. But I didn’t die. I lived.
When I got home and Mom was back at work, a package came for me. This happens a lot—usually they’re silly get-well cards or stuffed animals or food I can’t eat because of my allergies. Mom loves it—she’ll have me handwrite thank-you notes while she decides what to do with the loot, doling it out to neighbor kids or taking it to kids we met who are still stuck in the hospital.
But this package was different. It came from a mom whose son had been in the ICU at Children’s the same time I was over Christmas. Only he was waiting for a heart transplant that never came and he died on New Year’s Day.
He’d gotten an iPad over the holidays but only had the chance to use it a few times before he got sick, she wrote. His name was Nassir and if he’d lived he wanted to become a pediatrician—just like the newspaper article said I wanted to be (I’ve never remembered saying this to anyone; medicine is definitely an interest of mine, I just know I’ll never live long enough to actually become a doctor)—so she hoped I’d accept the gift and think of Nassir as I pursued my studies.
And there it was. My escape route to the world outside. I’d no longer be worried that everyplace I went online and everything I read or wrote would also be read by Mom and Dad. I swear they had the toughest spyware ever installed when I began online homeschooling. Like I was going to waste my days looking at porn or something.
I stared at the iPad and realized two things. First, I was free!
Second, it was the same size as a school notebook, thus easily hidden and camouflaged. It was my secret, something special that belonged to me alone. I could do anything I wanted with it and no one could stop me.
I touched the power button, my wool sweater releasing a spark of static electricity that leapt through me. That feeling of lightning striking stuck with me. I still feel it every time I turn my iPad on and escape from my life.
That was nine months ago. What I’m about to do now is worse than lying or keeping a secret. I think of that key ring, of the flash drive. I listen as Mom climbs the stairs to her room.
A thrill runs through me. I’m going to do it. I’m really going to do it.
I think of Tony, the way he looks at me. My heart skitters. I climb out of bed and creep across the floor to my bedroom door. Open it and listen hard for Mom.
I can’t believe it. I’m about to defy my mother for the sake of a boy I’ve just met. This is not me, not my world. I’m crossing into
Similar Books
