Always and Forever (18 page)

“Take it. I’m sure it’s fine.”

With trembling fingers, Melissa folded the piece of paper and tucked it into her purse. She shivered. Rachael Dove had lived four short years and left behind
a wounded teddy bear and a handful of colored papers. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible. “I … I guess I should be going.”

“Nice to meet you, Melissa.”

When she reached the doorway she looked back at the room. Everything was there except Rachael, life. Yet Melissa knew that the child had left one more thing behind. She’d left an unforgettable memory of herself. Melissa ran down the hall to catch the elevator, tears coming in violent waves.

“Melissa! What are you doing here?” Ric stood so abruptly from the desk in his dorm room that his chair tipped over.

She closed the door behind her. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah, Doug’s out with Cheri.” He grabbed handfuls of clothes off his bed and shoved books and papers and soda cans out of the way to make a place for her to sit. “I thought you said you were getting together with Jory tonight.”

Melissa paced, too restless to sit. “I went by the clinic this afternoon for lab work and then went up to the oncology floor.”

“And?”

“And they told me that Rachael Dove had died.”

He looked blank for a moment, then nodded. “The little girl you told me about. Gee, Melissa, I’m sorry. I know you liked her.”

“I called my mom and told her I was eating out tonight, but really all I’ve been doing is driving around. And thinking.”

Ric walked over to her and pulled her to his chest. “I’m glad you came to me, Melissa.”

She leaned against him briefly, allowing one moment
of softness and comfort to pass between them, then gently pulled away. “Maybe you won’t be.”

“Why?”

“I’m not going to Sarasota with you, Ric.”

Stunned, he blinked. “Why not?”

She took her time answering, staring thoughtfully into space. “Before I got leukemia, I had so many plans. I wanted to make the Brain Bowl team—no junior has ever made the final panel. I wanted to be a National Merit Scholar. I wanted to go to college and study law. I wanted so many things, Ric.”

“You were robbed,” he said with a shrug. “We were both robbed. I wanted to run track.”

“But I still want all those things, Ric. In spite of everything that’s happened.”

He reached for her, but she held up her hand to stop him. “What’s that got to do with our spending the weekend together?”

Melissa searched for the right words to tell him what she felt. “You aren’t my only option in life, Ric. Please don’t make me your only one.”

She saw anger in his eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense. My life doesn’t revolve around you.”

“What does it revolve around?”

Agitated, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “School. The fraternity. Things.”

“But no track.”

He scoffed. “Get real, Melissa. What kind of future does a one-legged runner have?”

“Make one. Be the first.”

“You mean, ‘If life gives you lemons, make lemonade’?” His tone was sarcastic. “Your romantic outlook is so sweet I could catch diabetes.”

She laughed. “My brother calls me a hopeless romantic,
too. And speaking of Michael, I thought of something else while I was driving around tonight.”

Ric raked a hand through his hair and scowled, but he seemed resigned to listen, so Melissa continued. “When Michael was twelve he had a friend named Corley. I hated Corley’s guts.” She crossed her arms. “We’d always play board games at his house. Corley had every board game money could buy.

“Anyway, I began to notice that every time Michael or I began to win, Corley would make up a bunch of new rules. One day I got so mad, I wrecked up the board, called him some names, and stormed out of the house. Michael caught up with me and tried to calm me down. When I told Michael I was angry because Corley was cheating, you know what he said? He said, ‘I know. But when someone changes the rules of the game, you either play by the new rules, or you don’t play.’ ” She paused to let her statement sink in. “I remembered that tonight even though it happened years and years ago.” She reached out and touched Ric’s arm. “Ric, I didn’t ask for cancer. Or for all the chemo and tests and hospital time. The rules of my life got changed, horribly changed. But I still want to play.”

“And going to Sarasota with me, committing to me, isn’t part of your game plan?” His question was bitter.

“No.” A fine film of tears welled in her eyes. “But being asked was the nicest thing you could have done. You made me feel really good inside,” she added shyly.

He stroked her cheek and let his fingers brush her wig. “I didn’t do it to be nice.”

“And that’s what made it even more special. Because
you cared. You really cared about me.” She squeezed his hand and moved toward the door, until she felt the hard knob touch her spine. “Goodbye, Ric.”

He started forward and stopped. “Melissa, if you ever change your mind … ”

“You’ll be the first to know.” She closed the door behind her, then leaned against it for support. It was the hardest conversation she’d ever held, and it meant closing a chapter in her life that might never be opened again. She remembered the fire she’d felt when Ric had caressed her body.

“At least leukemia didn’t dull your hormones,” she told herself wryly under her breath. She left the dorm quickly and headed home, knowing that the next afternoon held one more giant hurdle for her to overcome.

Melissa fidgeted with her belongings until everyone except the faculty advisors had left the Brain Bowl drill session. The names of the final panelists would be posted the next day, and Melissa knew deep down inside that her name wouldn’t be on the list.

When the last student had left the room, Melissa took a deep breath and approached the teachers, who sat at a conference table comparing notes—Mrs. Watson, Mr. Marshall, Dean Crane, Mr. Wilson, and Miss Judd. She cleared her throat and they all looked up at her.

Mr. Marshall asked, “Did you want something, Melissa?”

With a calm voice that in no way reflected the panic she felt, she asked, “Would you please tell me now if I’m going to be on the panel or not?”

Mrs. Crane said, “Now, dear, that wouldn’t be fair, would it? Everyone wants to know, and besides, that’s what our meeting now is for—to decide.”

Melissa gritted her teeth and refused to back down. “You aren’t going to choose me, are you?”

The teachers exchanged glances. “We’ve made no decisions, Melissa,” Mr. Wilson said, but without meeting her eyes.

Her stomach sank, like a fifty-foot drop on a roller coaster. Her suspicions were confirmed—they had no intentions of selecting her. “Why?” She asked.

“Why what?”

“Why won’t you choose me?” Her anger fueled a boldness she didn’t know she had. “I’m good at the game and you know it.”

“You’re the best,” Mrs. Watson said, and received a sharp look from Mrs. Crane.

But the words buoyed Melissa. “I’ve worked harder than anyone. And my specialty is math. No one’s quicker at solving problems than me. I’m always first on the buzzer with a math problem.”

“Balance, Melissa,” Miss Judd said. “We pick the team for balance.”

Melissa straightened. “It’s because of my cancer, isn’t it? You’re afraid that I’ll get sick or something.”

The quick exchange of looks between the advisors told her she’d guessed correctly.
Prejudice
. Isn’t that what Mrs. Watson had tried to warn her about weeks before?

Mrs. Crane tapped her pencil on the table. “Melissa, your illness is a factor. You were out for such a long time … ”

“But I’ve not missed one session since January. Not one!” She felt small tremors course through her body. “You have no right to hold that against me.”

“If our team advances,” Mr. Wilson said, “the pressure will be very intense. We can’t afford to have a panelist drop off.”

Mrs. Crane added quickly, “And you’re just a junior, Melissa. You do have next year, you know.”

Melissa crossed her arms and attacked their logic. “So in other words, I may be too sick to be on the panel this year, but not so sick that I won’t be around to try again next year.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Watson slip her a thumbs-up signal. Encouraged, Melissa let the words tumble out. “Who of
you can say, ‘I’ll be here next year’? Or next week? Nobody’s tomorrows are a sure thing. If I make no plans for a future, then I’ll never have a future. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand?”

The room had gone quiet, so quiet that Melissa could hear the clock on the wall when its hand jumped to pass another minute. Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. How had she ever found the guts to say those things to teachers?

Mr. Marshall cleared his throat, and his appraisal of her was both direct and pensive. “You’re right, Melissa. You need to know right now if you’ll be selected for the panel or not.” He glanced down the row of startled faces. “I personally recruited Melissa last September because I thought she had what it took to participate in Brain Bowl. Nothing has happened over the past few months to change my opinion. I want her on the final panel.”

“Me too,” Mrs. Watson added emphatically.

Miss Judd nodded, then Mr. Wilson. Melissa’s heart pounded. Mrs. Crane pressed her lips together, but finally offered a brief, terse nod. Melissa felt her legs trembling as Mr. Marshall stood and shook her hand. “Congratulations, Miss Austin. But please hold off telling anyone until all the names are posted tomorrow. All right?”

“It’s a deal,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to hold.

Mrs. Watson leaned forward. “By this time next year, you’ll be a veteran. Imagine how strong we’ll be when we have someone on the team two years in a row.”

Two years in a row
. Tomorrow. The future. Melissa flashed her a winning smile. “Yes, next year. When I’m a senior.”

Melissa slipped on the bright green jacket, smoothed her palms over the fine linen fabric, and examined the intricate green-and-gold Lincoln High School crest sewn on the breast pocket. Her bedroom mirror told her she looked every inch the exclusive representative of the Brain Bowl team that she felt she was.

With satisfaction she inspected her makeup, then her hair and figure. Gingerly, she touched the ends of her wig, smoothing them under, close to her ears. Few traces of her ordeal with leukemia remained, and unless someone had known her before, no one could tell she’d ever been sick. Yet, she cautioned her reflection, remission didn’t mean the disease was over, but simply that it was held in check.

She thought about the night ahead of her. In two hours, she’d be sitting on the stage of the Tampa Civic Center Auditorium facing every other high school panel in the Bay area for round one of Brain Bowl. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but they were welcomed. Her nerves tingled, but they also felt sharp and alert. Melissa knew that she was ready for the competition.

She thought back to the week before, when the names had first been posted and read over the school PA system. All day long, kids had stopped her in the
halls and congratulated her. And late in the afternoon, when she’d been waiting for Jory by her car, Brad had hailed her.

“Wait up, Melissa,” he’d said, jogging toward her. He still had the power to make her heartbeat quicken, and she guessed some things would never change. “I’m really glad you made the team and I just wanted to say, congratulations and I told you so.”

“Congratulations to you too, Brad. I’m glad they picked you to be captain. We’re gonna win it, you know.”

“Of course we’re going to win it.”

An April breeze ruffled her hair, blowing it across her cheek, and he reached out to smooth it. This time, Melissa did not withdraw from his touch. “The wind can’t do much damage,” she said, holding his gaze. “It’s only a wig.”

“I figured. I had an aunt who went through chemo, and she lost her hair and had to wear a wig, too.”

Suddenly, she felt a jumble of hopes and illusions and wishes. She glanced at his wrist and noticed that the ID bracelet still belonged to Sarah. Then, setting her mind at ease, she let go of her longings for Brad. She slugged him playfully on the arm. “My real hair’s growing out well, and by the end of the summer, I’ll bet it’s past my jawline.”