Maybe One Day (24 page)

“I know,” she said. “It’s my superpower.” She headed down the bleacher stairs, but before she got to the bottom, she turned back. “You should go home and do something you like to do,” she called up to me. “Make yourself feel better.”

“That’s the problem with me,” I yelled. “I don’t like to do anything.”

Mia put her hand on her hip. “I thought you liked to dance.”

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Try it,” she said, and she waved good-bye to me.

There was no call from Olivia when I got home. I practically wasn’t even surprised not to hear from her anymore. After I walked Flavia, I tried doing homework, but it was pretty much
impossible to focus on sines and cosines.

Our last year at NYBC, Livvie and I were friendly with a French girl whose parents had a super-swanky apartment near the UN. She’d invited us to one of their parties, and we’d gotten dressed at her place, listening to the French singer Serge Gainsbourg and dancing around her enormous bathroom, slathering heavy, dramatic makeup on our eyes and putting our hair into elaborate twists.

Now I plugged my phone into my speakers and put on the same song we’d played that afternoon. My parents weren’t home, and I blasted it as loud as it would go. I started moving, not dancing so much as occupying the music. I remembered how we’d bopped around Nadia’s bedroom that long-ago afternoon wearing nothing but our bras and underwear, so used to getting changed in front of one another that we barely noticed we were more or less naked. Everything had been so beautiful—the three of us dancing and laughing, Nadia singing along with Gainsbourg, me and Olivia pretending to sing along even though neither of us knew French.

I pressed my hands against my eyes, seeing in the blackness behind my palms the perfection of that day. Now, as I stood in my bedroom, the music was so loud it drowned out thought. Spinning around with my eyes closed and my ears throbbing, I could almost pretend that I wasn’t dancing by myself.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

26

Friday morning, as I was walking up the steps to school, I felt a hand tap my shoulder. I turned around and found myself staring at Calvin.

This was the closest we’d been to each other since the night we’d made out at Mack Wilson’s party. It was so weird that he was at the center of this huge fight Olivia and I were having, and yet we barely knew each other. I hadn’t even talked to him since before my birthday, that day when he’d asked me why I was fucking with him.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you?” He seemed nervous.

I was suddenly weirdly nervous too. I thought about what Mia had said about my maybe really liking him.

Was it true? Did I like Calvin?

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.” We were five minutes from the
warning bell, and pretty much every Wamasset student was heading into the building. Calvin turned into the crowd and, like a snowplow, pushed a path for me out past the main steps and gravel walkway and over to one of the stone benches that lined the lawn. When we got there, he didn’t say anything, just sat down and stared at the pavement between his feet. I stood facing him. There was a puddle with a thin layer of ice, and he tapped it lightly with his heel until it cracked.

Eyes still on the ground, he asked, “Something’s up with you and Olivia, isn’t it?”

It was the last thing I’d expected him to say, and I definitely didn’t know how to respond. Did he know that we were fighting? Did he know
why
we were fighting?

I kept my eyes on the puddle also. “What makes you ask?”

He laughed. “Zoe, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been over at the Grecos’ without your being there. Suddenly I haven’t run into you
once
in almost a week? Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“You could say that,” I said cautiously. I glanced at him.

He was staring up at me, squinting into the sun behind my back. “Zoe, when’s the last time you spoke to Olivia?”

“Why?” I was suddenly nervous, but now it wasn’t because of Calvin. What was going on here?

He reached forward and took hold of my fingers, pulling me a couple of steps closer to him. “Zoe, I have to tell you something. About Olivia.”

How could Calvin Taylor possibly know something about Olivia that I didn’t? “What do you mean?”

“I . . . They . . . Shit.” He let go of my hands and rubbed his thighs, gazing out over the lawn. “When they did her blood work, you know, those checks they do?”

“Yeah, I know.” My heart was racing. Whatever he was about to tell me had nothing to do with my fight with Olivia.

His voice was quiet. “They found some leukemia cells. The results came back yesterday morning.”

There was a long, long silence. I felt waves of panic crashing over me, and I dropped down on the bench next to Calvin. The important thing was to remain calm and focused.

“What . . .” I cleared my throat. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Calvin turned his head to look at me. “Dr. Maxwell met with the family yesterday afternoon. They’re going to do a bone marrow transplant. Jake’s a match for her. But I think you already know that.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Olivia went into the hospital last night. They’re giving her chemo. It’s what they do to try and get her into remission before the transplant.”

“Oh God,” I said again. I pressed my fingers hard against my lips to try to get them to stop quivering.

The warning bell rang, but neither of us made a move to leave. Calvin put his arm around me. I realized as he did that
my whole body was shaking. “Work it out with her, Zoe,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “Whatever it is, work it out.”

By second period everyone knew that Olivia was going to have a bone marrow transplant. People kept asking me how Olivia was doing, and despite Mia’s advising me to tell the truth, each time someone came up to me and asked about her, I just lied. “She’s, you know, she’s okay,” I said. “She’s doing as well as you would expect.” Every time I opened my mouth I fucking loathed myself. If only I’d had the balls to tell people the truth.
I don’t know how she’s doing. She hates me, okay?

It was halfway through lunch when Stacy and Emma came over to where I was sitting with Bethany, Lashanna, and Mia. They were both wearing their cheer uniforms, and Stacy put her arms around me and instantly started weeping.

“Oh my God, Zoe, I’m so scared for Olivia,” she said. The enormous bow in her ponytail bobbed against my chin.

“And for Jake,” Emma added. Her nails were long and square, and when she wiped at a tear on her cheek, I was surprised she didn’t take out her own cornea. “They’re going to take a
needle
and go into his
bone
!”

“Seriously?” asked Mia. She looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded. “Jesus.”

“When are they doing it?” Lashanna asked me.

Of course she asked me. Why wouldn’t I know? Why wouldn’t I know all the details of my best friend’s illness and
treatment unless it was because I had totally betrayed her and she fucking loathed me?

Instead of answering, I mashed my straw wrapper into a ball.

“Next week. Tuesday morning,” Stacy told Lashanna.

From across the cafeteria, a guy called, “Yo, Stacy!” and both Stacy and Emma looked up. Then Stacy answered, “Just a sec!”

She turned back to the table. “Olivia’s going to get this
huge
dose of chemotherapy. More than she’s ever had before. It’s so
everything
gets killed.”

Emma picked up the explanation. “Jake was telling us that after she gets his bone marrow, she’ll have a whole new immune system. He said his cells are going to be like the American soldiers on the beach at Normandy.”

“Wow,” said Lashanna. “That’s incredible.”

“We’ll see you later, ’kay?” Emma said. As she and Stacy walked away, Stacy called over her shoulder to me, “When you talk to Olivia, tell her I love her and I’ll call her later.”

Clearly she was one more person who had no idea that I probably wasn’t
going
to talk to Olivia later.

“Are you okay?” asked Mia as soon as they were gone.

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean no. I mean . . . I don’t know.” Suddenly I could not sit in that cafeteria for one more second. I stood up abruptly, sending my chair sliding over the smooth floor. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Where are you going?” Lashanna asked.

“You want us to come with you?” asked Mia.

“You can’t,” I called out to them without turning around.

Then I left the cafeteria, walked down the hallway, crossed the lobby, and exited the building.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

27

At home I showered off the school germs and got dressed. My mother was in upstate New York for a daylong site visit; there was no way she would cut that short to drive me to see Olivia. There was also no way Mrs. Greco (assuming she was with Olivia, which seemed like a safe assumption) would let me into Olivia’s room after a germy train or subway ride to the hospital. I didn’t know what a cab to Manhattan would cost, but it was definitely more than the thirteen dollars I had in my wallet.

Luckily, my dad was downtown meeting an editor for lunch. He’d walked to the station, then taken the train into the city.

Which meant his car was in the garage.

It was the car I’d learned to drive on, the car I’d passed my
road test on, the car I now drove whenever I was allowed to take a car somewhere, the car Olivia and I had driven all over New Jersey during break.

Backing out of my driveway, I felt calm and clearheaded. This was nothing I hadn’t done millions of time. As I headed toward the Holland Tunnel, I reminded myself that I wasn’t technically breaking the law. Not yet. I merged into the E-ZPass lane, still a law-abiding citizen, then descended into the fluorescent world of the tunnel, keeping my eyes on the taillights of the car in front of me, my hands at ten and two on the wheel. Nothing happened when I crossed the line marking the division between New Jersey and New York—no sirens went off, no police car appeared in my rearview mirror. That’s how laws are, I guess. Nothing actually happens when you break them unless you get caught.

As I drove along the West Side Highway, I found myself getting angry about the rule that seventeen-year-olds couldn’t drive in New York. There was
no
difference between driving in Manhattan and driving in New Jersey. “You think you’re so fucking
cool
, New York! I yelled. “But you can kiss my fucking ass.” I stopped for a red light, remembering that you can make a right on red in New Jersey but you can’t in Manhattan.

“I guess that’s just one more way New York City is better than the rest of the
fucking
world,” I shouted, banging the steering wheel for emphasis.

As soon as I caught my first glimpse of UH, I had a
decision to make. There were a surprising number of empty spots on the street, but my parallel parking was for shit. Even with the little screen that told you what was behind the car, I could never figure out when to turn the wheel or when to stop backing up and move forward. Half the time when I parallel parked I was actually
on
the curb. That was the one thing I’d been sure I was going to screw up when I took my driving test, but I did a halfway decent job, the guy who administered the test wasn’t too strict, and I managed to pass. Still, was I going to risk getting a parking ticket I’d have to explain to my parents?

I turned into the hospital lot. If my conversation with Olivia wasn’t worth $9.95 for the first hour, nothing was.

I half expected to be stopped by hospital security.
You can’t go up there; Olivia isn’t speaking to you
. But they were as lax as ever, and I got my visitor’s pass with Olivia’s room number Sharpie’d on it no problem. The elevator swept me up to her floor, and then I was walking down the hallway and opening the door to her room.

She was lying on her bed, an IV in her arm, the TV on. Her mom was sitting on a chair (this one pale green instead of pale pink) next to her; her father was sitting by the window on his BlackBerry with his iPad on his lap. As I walked in, he was saying quietly, “Give me those numbers again.”

Mrs. Greco smiled when she saw me. “Hello, Zoe. What a pleasant surprise.”

Well, that answered my question. Apparently the Grecos
didn’t
know their daughter thought I was a lying whore.

Olivia glanced at me, then turned back to the television. “What do you want, Zoe?” Her voice was lifeless.

“What do I
want
? I want you to forgive me.” I stupidly stamped my foot for emphasis.

“Tough.” Her eyes were still on the screen. A woman was running on the beach. “Comfort you can trust,” said the announcer.

“Girls?” said a confused Mrs. Greco. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, give me a break.” I walked over to the bed, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television.

“Hey!” Olivia objected loudly. Startled, Mr. Greco looked up from his iPad. Olivia reached for the remote, but I took a step back.

“You forgive me now,” I said. I pointed the remote at her.

“You know, Zoe, maybe this isn’t the best time for your visit,” said Mrs. Greco, getting to her feet.

“What are you going to do, beat me into submission with a remote control?” Olivia demanded.

“Maybe!”

“I’m going to have to call you back,” Mr. Greco said into his phone. Like his wife, he stood up. “Now, girls, what exactly is going on here?” Mr. Greco was wearing a serious power suit, and his voice was stern. It scared me.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Zoe!”

“That is
no
way to talk,” Mr. Greco snapped at Olivia. Then he turned to me. “Zoe, I don’t know what’s wrong between the two of you, but your visit is upsetting Olivia. I’m going to have to ask you to go.”