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It was evening, not too late, and this kid Tim opened the door, looking puzzled.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping in past him.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said, but I didn’t care.
I ran up to the third floor and down the corridor to Lane’s room.
I knocked, and his voice called, “Come in.”
“Hi,” I said.
His room was a mess. Piles of books, clothes, misery. It was so different from the pristine dorm room I’d made fun of a few weeks earlier. So much more lived in.
He stared at me like I was the last person he’d expected to show up at his door.
“Hi,” he said cautiously.
I closed the door and stood there, staring at him, wondering what he was thinking.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to break up with you.”
“You didn’t?” he asked, like he didn’t quite believe me.
“No. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, and I brought tie-dyed shorts to summer camp, so that’s saying something.”
“I remember those shorts,” Lane said, gri
And then he wrapped me in a hug. He squeezed me so tightly that I could almost feel the holes in my lungs, the missing parts that TB had pressed out of me, and how being with Lane made me feel like I was whole.
“I remember your braces,” I teased.
“I remember your purple rubber bands.”
“I remember your red sunglasses.”
“I remember staring at you when we swam in the lake, thinking how beautiful you were.”
“You did not!” I said.
“Okay,” Lane said guiltily, “but I should have. And I should have told you a long time ago that I love you.”
I stared up at him in shock, and he gri
“Even after I broke up with you?” I asked.
“Oh, wait, now that you mention it,” he joked.
“Hey,” I said, pretending to be mad. But I threw my arms around him and stood on my toes to kiss him, and right before I did, I said, “And I love you, too.”
And then I kissed him like I wanted to make both of our med sensors explode.
“Whoa,” Lane said after we pulled apart.
I smiled at him.
“We don’t have to stop,” I said.
“Um, we probably do.” He motioned toward his silicone bracelet. “I’m pretty sure any more of that would set off nuclear warheads.”
“Yoga breaths,” I told him. “Nice and slow. In and out.”
“Who knew Wellness would be good for something?” he joked.
“Shush, I’m trying to kiss you,” I complained.
And then my lips met his and we didn’t say anything at all.
FRIDAY WAS THE next collection, and of course Nick backed out at the last minute. Lane said he’d come with me, but I told him it was okay, I’d rather go on my own.
I hadn’t been in the woods since the night of the toga party. I’d been avoiding them, the way I’d avoided everyone. But Charlie wouldn’t have wanted to ruin the woods for me. So I squelched my nerves down into a tiny, manageable little ball, and set out that Friday night with my backpack and knit cap, walking the familiar path with my flashlight illuminating the trees. I was trying to make peace with the woods, and to say good-bye to them.
It was almost December, and a lot of the trees were skeletons now. It was easier to see the sky through the branches, and I could even make out some stars. I read once that we’re all just dead stars looking back up at the sky, because everything we’re made of, even the hemoglobin in our blood, comes from the moment before a star dies.
I don’t know why I was thinking about that, but it made a lot of sense right then that stars glow so brightly in their instant of death, and that Charlie’s music was him glowing, and that the stars in the sky would one day burn out and become atoms inside of people who were sick with diseases we couldn’t yet imagine.
Michael was waiting for me in the clearing, hunched inside a heavy coat, even though it wasn’t that cold out.
“Hey,” I said, waving my flashlight beam up and down in greeting.
He turned, and there was a strange expression on his face.
“Just you?” he asked.
“Nick is the worst business partner ever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Which is particularly ironic, since he’ll probably wind up ru
Michael coughed then, and it didn’t sound good.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said. “Sick.”
“Cold season, huh?” I asked.
He stared at me, and I realized that he didn’t have any bags with him. He hadn’t brought our stuff.
“TB, actually,” he said, with this unsettling half smile.
We stared at each other in the dark, and I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t know why I felt so nervous all of a sudden.
“I’m sorry,” I offered.
“You’re sorry?” Michael laughed in a way that scared me. “Sorry? What does sorry do? Can it get my job back? Can it pay my rent? Or my child support?”
“No, I—” I broke off, unsure what I was going to say.
“What?” he said, raising his voice. “No what?”
“No, it can’t, but there’s a new medication,” I said.
“Oh, that’s right, the so-called protocillin. If that’s even real,” he spat, taking a step toward me. “But it doesn’t matter if the medicine is real or not. They’re not giving it to people like me for months. I have to sit and wait. I could die before they have enough.”
Michael was really frightening me. He didn’t look scared, he looked furious. And then he took another step toward me.
“You did this!” he accused. “You gave this to me! My life is over. I can’t see my kid. I lost my job. I’m not supposed to leave my house. And I’m going to die from this! I’m going to die alone!”
I stumbled back, trying to get away. But he lunged toward me, his fist co
And then pain. So much pain. Everywhere, like, I was drowning in it. Like galaxies were collapsing inside of me, the stars burning out, even though they were already dead. I was filled with twice-dead stars, and everything began to go black around the edges, and I tried to say something, anything, but all I could do was curl up on my side and cough in violent, gut-wrenching spasms. I could hear Michael saying, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” and the beep-beep-beep beeeeeep! of my med sensor on high alert, and then darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LANE
SADIE SAID TO meet her in the gazebo after the collection, but it was getting late and she still wasn’t back. I waited, wondering where she was, and wishing we had cell phones, so I could have texted.
I didn’t know what would happen if she missed lights-out. She could probably figure out some excuse. I just hoped she was okay. She’d seemed more tired lately, and more pale than usual, but I was probably imagining things, because of Charlie.
I was scaring myself, because I was alone in the dark and it was late and starting to get cold. Sadie would be back any minute, with that silly red cap on her head, her backpack heavy with contraband, rolling her eyes over how that black market guy hadn’t shown up on time. And then she’d tuck her chin against my jacket and grin up at me, and we’d share a quick good-night kiss before dashing inside with barely enough time before the nurse check to climb under the covers still dressed.
I was listening to this playlist I’d made for her, headphones clamped over my ears. It was the story of us in music, except it wasn’t finished yet. I had this plan that I’d add a new song every month, so that the playlist would keep going as long as we did. It was sort of an electronic version of adopting a tree, which I’d done in the Carbon Footprint Awareness Club, but only because it had looked good, not because I’d actually wanted to. Keeping a playlist alive sounded much more me.