Everything That Makes You by Moriah McStay Page B

changes us,” Fiona continued, “nobody would get anything done.”
    Ryan tipped his head toward her and smiled. It was a small smile—a saddish one—but a smile all the same. “I feel like it’s my job to fix it.”
    Now it was Fiona’s turn with the sad smile. “I thought you said I wasn’t broken.”
    He shook his head. “Not fix you. Fix it.”
    â€œWhat’s the difference?”
    He took a deep breath. “Three hundred sixty-four days of the year—I don’t know, you’re Fiona. Fun and sarcastic and just you. This day, not so much. That makes the problem an it, not a you. ”
    â€œSo according to this logic, we fix the scars, and my problems are solved?”
    â€œYou don’t think?”
    It was a nice idea, one she probably clung to herself more than she’d like to admit. “There’s some safety in it, this way,” she said. “Like, I can always blame something for all the parts of me I hate. What if I’m just as pathetic with a full face?”
    â€œYou are the least pathetic person I know.”
    Fiona didn’t agree with this at all, but that was a different argument. “It’s a scary idea, carrying around someone else. I’ll be benefiting from someone dying. ”
    â€œYou can’t take responsibility for that. That person chose to donate for his own reasons. It has nothing to do with you.”
    â€œBut he—she—chose it for bigger reasons probably. Something more heroic. Not so some girl could be pretty. Or regular.”
    â€œWho’s to say that’s not heroic? Who says it needs to be? Whoever it is might just have checked the box with a Sure, why not? ” Ryan nudged her shoulder. She wasn’t looking at him, but she knew he was smiling. “Not everyone agonizes over every little decision, Ona.”
    She was pretty sure organ donation didn’t fit in the every-little-decision category, but she didn’t press the point. This back-and-forth with her brother felt too nice, even if the topic was morbid.
    A second television flicked on across the street, in the room just next to the other TV. The lights flickered in unison, like both were tuned to the same channel. “So you think I should have the surgery?”
    A few quiet moments passed before Ryan answered. “I do.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know. Because you can?”
    What a simple reason—no grand philosophy behind it, no gut-wrenching self-evaluation required. It was easy and obvious and lovely.
    She decided to follow her brother’s lead.
    She rested her head on his shoulder and said, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

FI
    When Fi first started dating Marcus, she’d talked to a girl on her lacrosse team who was allergic to everything—peanuts, soy, wheat. Even though her friend joked about her hermetically sealed lunches, she’d told Fi, no, she didn’t count to fifty while washing her hands.
    â€œSo what’s really wrong with you?” Fi asked Marcus, one night later on.
    â€œIt’s just a weird food thing,” he said. He launched into an exhaustive scientific explanation about allergy vs. intolerance vs. sensitivity that made her eyes glaze over.
    While she still didn’t understand it, she was getting better at rolling with it. For example, a few days ago, Marcus had gotten some weird bug, and Mrs. King had imposed a strict quarantine. Since Sunday, they had only talked by phone. She missed his smell and his arms around her and the feel of late afternoon stubble against her cheek, but she didn’t really mindthe occasional break. She liked staying up late, curled into her covers and snuggling with Panda, talking quietly about everything and nothing.
    â€œWhat’s on your bucket list?” Marcus had asked last night, over the phone.
    â€œUm, I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. Go to