dance floor. (Fortunately she only got as far as flinging her shoes and earrings into the crowd before my dad hustled her out of there.)
But now her eyes are rimmed with red and her face sags. Every so often she turns away and those massive shoulders shake. I canât stand seeing her cry. Nana never cries. It threatens to bring back my own tearsâIâve pretty much been a faucet the last few days. When Iâm not swearing and throwing stuff across the room, that is.
âNinety-five percent,â my mom announces, pointing at the statistic.
âYes, thatâs very positive,â my dad says, his voice quivering.
Grandpa nods. âThe odds of beating it are excellent.â
Grandma pats my leg. âYouâll be fine, Brendan.â
Oh yeah? I think. And just how do you know that?
âYouâll fight this. And win,â Maureen says, fixing me with that big-sister glare. Like, you better do what I say or else.
âAnd weâll be fighting with you, Brendan, every step of the way,â
Grandpa says.
Bull, I think. Are they going to go through chemo with me? Puke? Lose their hair? Maybe go sterile? Maybe die? No way. Thatâs a road Iâm going down alone.
âLily Taranoff?â Grandma says. âWho lives two units down from us? Her granddaughter had leukemia. Just a little tyke she was. But she beat it, and now sheâs fine.â
Everyone nods.
âMy bossâs nephew,â Maureen says. âSame story. Cancer-free going on seven years.â
âSee, Bren?â my dad says. âItâll be the same with you.â
I start fidgeting. I canât take much more of this.
They start talking about my chemotherapy schedule and how theyâre all going to visit me in the hospital. I tune it out. I donât want to think about it.
Donât want to think about getting poison shot into my veins instead of leading my team to the regionals. Or hanging out with Kesh, my best friend. Or getting laid. Or riding my bike or going out for breakfast or any one of the millions of things I wonât be able to do for months. If Iâm lucky.
The voices die down. Figuring weâre done, I stand up.
Grandma pulls me down. âWait, honey. Before you go, let us pray.â
She bows her head. Grandpa follows suit. They sit there with their hands folded.
Everybody else bows their head and folds their hands. Even Nana. That kills me. Normally Nana would be snorting and making sarcastic remarks under her breath.
âDear merciful God in heaven,â
Grandma begins.
Merciful?
She goes into a long ramble in which she beseeches the Lord to watch over and protect and bring comfort to âyour young servant.â She prays that Iâll be as receptive to the wondrous healing of our Lord as I surely will be to the medical blessings Iâm about to receive. âAnd let us sayââ
I canât take it anymore. I stagger to my feet. âBlessings?â I shout. âWondrous healing? Bull. If there is a Godâand right now itâs not looking like itâheâs dealt me a rotten hand. Screw prayers!â
I storm out of the room, ignoring the shocked faces that stare at me as I pass.
Chapter Three
Thereâs a knock on my bedroom door. I quickly shove the sheaf of papers under my pillow. Iâve swiped one of Momâs information packages and have been reading up on the crazy, out-of-control cancer cells in my blood and bone marrow, and how theyâre wiping out my healthy cells. âYeah?â I call.
Only my voice is so hoarse that itâs a croak. I try again. âYeah?â
Kesh sticks his head around the door.
I love this guy, all six-foot-four skinny brown beanpole of him. Weâve been best friends since we were little. We dig the same movies, full of farting and car crashes. Think an entire day spent practicing spinning jump shots is a holiday. Consider pizza and a milkshake the perfect breakfast.
Ned Vizzini
Stephen Kozeniewski
Dawn Ryder
Rosie Harris
Elizabeth D. Michaels
Nancy Barone Wythe
Jani Kay
Danielle Steel
Elle Harper
Joss Stirling