My Skylar by Penelope Ward

“Yeah, and you’re not hard, either.”
    We both burst into laughter with tears pouring from our eyes.
    Skylar fell asleep in my arms about fifteen minutes later.
    I didn’t sleep at all that night. I chose to stay up and listen to the sound of her breathing
    instead, each breath reassurance that she was still here, that everything was going to be fine.
    It had to be.
    I watched the sun begin to rise on a day I wished would never come. Then, for the first time
    since the little girl in braids came into my life, I prayed to a God I hoped was still listening.
    CHAPTER 11
    SKYLAR
    “Just do it.”
    Lizete held my father’s electric shaver but was refusing to turn it on. My new stepmother was
    the perfect person for this job. We weren’t close enough for it to really affect her like it would my mother, and I couldn’t bear to do it myself. So, a few days after my hair started falling out in
    chunks, I asked her to meet me in the bathroom.
    “Are you sure you want to do this?”
    “Yes,” I said, staring blankly at my father’s outdated pink bathroom tile.
    “But you still have a lot of hair.”
    “It’s only a matter of days. This way, I can control it.”
    She nodded. “Okay, m’ija, whatever you want.” I hated her nickname for me, the Spanish word
    for daughter. I wasn’t her daughter. I had to give her credit, though. When she married my father,
    she hadn’t signed up to have a sick teenager living with them. As much as I wanted to hate her, I
    couldn’t. She made the best damn arroz con pollo, too.
    She clicked a button, triggering the buzzing sound. I saw nothing but her big, fake boobs
    before closing my eyes as the blade raked over my head. Focusing on the sound, I continued to
    keep my eyes shut and told myself this was about preserving my dignity and beating chemo to the
    punch.
    It’s just hair.
    After a few minutes, a draft blew over my head, and I knew it was all gone.
    When the buzzing stopped, Lizete gently placed her cold hands on my scalp. I still refused to
    open my eyes. “Can you give me a minute alone?”
    She patted my shoulders. “Sure, m’ija. Come downstairs when you’re ready, and I’ll make you
    something to eat.”
    I heard the door shut.
    Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…two…two…one.
    I opened my eyes. My heart skipped a beat.
    It’s just hair…until it’s gone.
    I continued to stare into the mirror, hoping that at any moment, the sight of myself bald would
    get easier to accept. No matter how much you try to prepare yourself for something, you just don’t
    know how you’ll handle it until it happens. Now, I looked like I had cancer, and the reality of that was hard to take. Pretending that everything was normal would no longer be an option.
    I cried for the first time since arriving in New York over two months ago.
    Up until this moment, nothing had been unbearable. I had already completed the first cycle of
    a type of chemo called ABVD. It sounds like a sexually transmitted disease, but the letters
    represent each of the four different drugs in the regimen. Even getting those toxins pumped into
    me hadn’t been as bad as losing my hair.
    Actually, so far, chemo wasn’t as scary as I’d imagined. To avoid frequent needle sticks in my
    veins, the drugs were administered right through a port that was inserted under my collarbone.
    The nurses always did their best to cheer me up and take my mind off it without trying to make
    it seem like a bed of roses. They gave me what I needed without feeding me a load of bullshit.
    They’d have sour candies to help rid the bad taste in my mouth caused by one of the drugs,
    Adriamycin. They’d also turn the television onto the entertainment channel for me. I could block
    out what was actually happening by involving myself in reality television and would forever
    associate treatment with watching the Kardashians. Khemo.
    My father would stay with me for the full three hours. Once they administered all four