Another wave of sickness churned through her and she clutched the sheets until her knuckles went white. “I … I can’t think of anything stronger than those toads … ” she said as her nausea turned into pain.
“You have to,” Ric said, uncoiling her fingers from the sheet and making her grip his hand. “Don’t you understand, Melissa? Your life depends on how hard you fight.”
Chapter Ten
The chemical war intensified, and Melissa experienced battle fatigue. There were setbacks. A reaction to one of her medications that caused a horrible rash. A brief secondary infection that took an extra week to clear up. Melissa’s stay in the hospital lengthened, and she felt more and more estranged from her former world.
Melissa knew she wasn’t the only one having trouble coping. Her mother came daily with tense smiles and false bravado. Michael came, always nervous and fidgeting, revealing to Melissa that he’d rather be anywhere but at the hospital. Jory visited often, but Melissa adamantly refused to let any of her other friends come up to see her.
Late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds as Jory bounced into Melissa’s room, talking nonstop. “Sorry I didn’t get by last night. Steve and Melanie and Dirk and I went out for pizza, and Dirk was cash poor so I had to fork it over—boy, did that steam me. I mean, why pay for your own date?” Jory paused long enough to take a breath, and Melissa forced a smile.
Jory’s visits were the hardest. She always had stories to tell of school and parties and dates. Melissa listened, hating to hear them, yet longing for them.
“I’m sure he’ll pay you back, or at least treat you next time.”
“He’d better.” She tossed her books on the floor along with a sack. “Listen to me, going on and on. How’re things going for you today?”
“Except for chemo, my schedule’s open.”
“This must be such a drag for you.”
“The high point of my day is when they come to disinfect the bathroom,” Melissa said.
“How is the food? You really should eat more. You look thinner.”
“I know. I’ve lost twelve pounds in eight days.”
Jory grimaced. “Can’t keep anything down, huh?”
“I didn’t think it was possible to throw up so much.”
“And me rattling on about pizza. Sorry about that.”
“Let me make my pity party complete,” Melissa said, tugging gently on her hair. A handful fell weightlessly to the floor. “How can you stand to look at me?” she asked, touching the sores that erupted on her face.
Jory’s green eyes grew wide. “You’re not that ugly. I … I mean … ”
Melissa released a short, bitter laugh. “Real homecoming queen material, huh? And how about the junior prom? Who’ll want to ask the Bride of Frankenstein?”
Jory picked up the paper bag that lay with her books. “Here. This is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Scarves. I bought them in that boutique we used to shop at in the mall.”
Melissa momentarily forgot her misery as she fingered the selection of colorful, filmy scarves. “Silk, Jory?” she asked, lifting her hairless eyebrow. She knew that each elegant piece of cloth must have cost double digits. The irony was not lost on her. Jory never had to give a second thought to what things cost. Or who would ask her for a date. She didn’t have to struggle with anything more incapacitating than a hangnail. “Thank you, Jory. It was nice of you.”
“Do you like them? I picked out what I thought you’d like best. They are okay, aren’t they?”
Her eagerness to please touched Melissa deeply. “They’re great.” Melissa tied a paisley scarf around her balding head.
“Good grief, you look like a bag lady. Here … let me do it.” Melissa reached for a surgical mask and covered her mouth and nose.
“Why’d you do that?” Jory asked.
Melissa felt overwhelmed suddenly. How could she explain to Jory that the disease was hers and she had to join the doctors in the fight against it? Melissa knew that being careful and taking precautions from now on meant helping with her cure.
“Dr. Rowan says I have to be careful not to catch anything. Even a cold could set me back weeks.”
“What do I look like? A germ bank?”
“It’s nothing personal, really. I just want to get out of here so bad … ”
Jory slouched in a chair on the far side of the room. Melissa hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings and didn’t know how to make it up to her.
“So tell me more about school,” Melissa said brightly. “Does anyone ask about me?”
“Sure. As a matter of fact, Brad asked me about you today.”
Melissa’s heart leaped in spite of herself. The afternoon she’d spent with Brad at the country club seemed like a million years ago. And although she didn’t want anyone but Jory visiting her, she wouldn’t mind if he called. But he hadn’t. Not once. “How’s Brain Bowl coming? Are they still holding my place open on the team?”
“You mean you still want to do Brain Bowl?”
Jory’s surprise irked her. “Of course. Once this part of my treatment is over and I start looking human again, I will come back to school.”
Jory flushed and stared into her lap. “I—uh—well Brad did say that they were talking about replacing you …”
“Don’t let them do it, Jory.” Melissa grew agitated, twisting the bed sheet into a ball.
“But Melissa, you’re so sick. Why does it matter to you now?”
“Because it just does.” Her voice went thick with emotion. “Because it’s mine. That seat on the Brain Bowl team belongs to me.”
“Do you want me to ask Mr. Marshall or Mrs. Watson about it?”
“Would you?”
“Well, they’ve certainly talked with me on enough occasions,” Jory observed dryly. “In fact, if you remember, Watson threatened to flunk me last year. I guess I could chat with her on your behalf.”
Melissa felt relieved, but the intense emotions had drained her energy and she eased down against her pillow. “I’d really appreciate it, Jory. I mean, I could ask my mom, but I don’t think she could handle one more thing. My leukemia is wringing her out.”
“How’s Michael taking it?”
“He avoids it. I don’t think he means to. No one really wants to talk about it with me except the medical types.”
Jory picked at the blue polish on her fingernails. “So who do you talk with here?”
“Ric. Sometimes.”
“That’s the guy with—” Jory paused, “—with the bone cancer.”
“The guy with one leg, you mean,” Melissa said, knowing Jory was embarrassed. “Don’t worry, it took me a while to get used to being honest about it, too. At least once I’m in remission, I’ll look normal again. That’s what they tell me anyhow. Ricter Davis never will.”
“When do you think you’ll get out of here? Have they said?”
“My blood work’s looking better. My platelet count has stabilized and my white blood count has fallen. My doctors say it’s a good sign, but they also say that I still have a long way to go. Once I’m discharged, I have to go on outpatient therapy.”
“What’s outpatient?”
“I can go home, but I have to come here for chemo and bone marrow exams and blood tests until I achieve remission.”
“How long will that take?”
Melissa shrugged her thin shoulders. “They don’t know. But once I do go into remission, I’ll still have to take some of the drugs for a long time. Maybe years. And I’ll have to keep coming to the clinic for testing.”
“But you’ll be all right?” Jory picked the words carefully. “You’ll be well again?”
“I don’t know what ‘all right’ means anymore. I’ll still have leukemia. But the longer I stay in remission, the better my chances of being cured. Five years without a recurrence and I’m home free.” The smile Melissa offered felt stiff and forced.
“And if you don’t stay in remission?”<
br />
Melissa studied her friend. She’d turned the statistics and facts over and over in her head for days, ever since she’d asked Dr. Rowan the very same thing. Suddenly she wanted to talk about it, get it into the open and out of the dark corners of her mind. “They’re going to do a bone marrow aspiration on Michael next week,” she confided.
“Is Michael sick, too?” A look of fear crossed Jory’s face and she bolted upright in the chair.
“No. It’s for me. To see if his bone marrow is compatible with mine in case I ever need a transplant. They harvest a bunch of his marrow and put it into my bones and wait to see if it will grow and take over for my own.” A bunch. Is that how bone marrow grows? In an unscientific bunch? Like a cluster of flowers? She cleared her throat. “If it does, no more leukemia. But Dr. Rowan says it’s risky. And I could reject the transplant.”
Jory’s round, green eyes widened and Melissa prayed that Jory wouldn’t pursue the next most logical question: What if you reject the transplant? “I hope they can fix it the other way. With the chemo and all,” Jory finally said.
“Me too.”
Jory stood, fidgeting with the strap on her purse. “Well I guess I should be going. I’ve got a geometry test tomorrow.”
Melissa felt childish longing. “I wish I did.”
“Are you able to do much studying? I’ve brought all your textbooks. But maybe you need something special from the library. I’ll bring anything you want.”
“I’m keeping up. Mom got each of my teachers to outline assignments for me. When I go back to school, I can take a few tests to see if I’m up to par with the rest of the class. It’s important that I keep up, you know.” She focused her attention on a blank spot on the wall behind Jory.
Jory shifted from one foot to the other. “The PSATs are scheduled for the third Saturday in October.”
Melissa’s vision zeroed in on her friend. The PSATs! How could she have forgotten them? Especially when she pinned her hopes on scoring high enough to qualify as a National Merit Scholar. “In the Lincoln auditorium?” she asked.
“Yes, starting at eight-thirty A.M. sharp. Bring two number-two lead pencils. Don’t fold, spindle, or mutilate your IBM punch card.”
Melissa sighed. “I’ve got to get out of this place.”
“The test’s less than two weeks away.”
“I don’t care. I’m going to take it.”
“They’ll have a makeup test.”
“No. I’m going to take it with my class.”
“Oh, Melissa, do you think you should plan on that?” Jory asked.
“Why not? If I’m an outpatient, like they said I’ll be, there’s no reason why I can’t go.”
“But you’ve been so sick … ”
“So I’ll bring a barf bag.” Defiance and anger overwhelmed her. “I’m sick and tired of people telling me what I can and can’t do. Don’t I get to make any choices for my life?” By now her hands were shaking and she tasted tears in the back of her throat.
“I was just worried, that’s all,” Jory said.
“Well, stop worrying. I’m going to survive this. I’m not going to fade away like a shadow. I’m alive, damn it!”
“I know you are.” Jory’s voice held a note of hysteria. “It’s just all so horrible, that’s all. I hate it.”
“And I don’t?” The burst of anger had sapped her. She shut her eyes as the room spun and nausea overcame her. Fine beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead as she fought against the sickness, but she knew she was losing the battle and said, “Jory, the basin … ”
Jory clamored across the room and got the basin to her just in time. Melissa heaved until there was nothing left. Jory had dampened a washcloth and wiped her face for her. “Should I ring for a nurse?” she asked.
“No. It’s over.” Melissa lay back on the bed. She heard Jory moving around the room—flushing the toilet, running water, and returning the basin to her bedside table. When she had the strength to open her eyes, she saw Jory standing next to her, staring at her thoughtfully. “Some friend I am. I throw up all over you.” She was too weak to even feel embarrassed.
“I’m glad I was here and that you weren’t alone.” Jory kept studying Melissa’s face, as if seeing her for the first time. Melissa wished she didn’t look so horrible.
“Hey, your scarf’s twisted,” Jory said.
“Will you fix it?” The ulcers in her mouth burned and it was difficult to speak.
Jory eased the surgical mask over Melissa’s face. “No use taking any chances on your catching anything. Especially now that you’re so close to getting out of this dump.” She retied the scarf in a jaunty fashion, with the knot to one side.
“You’re a good friend,” Melissa said.
Jory’s voice turned crisp and businesslike. “And don’t worry about Brain Bowl. I’ll talk to the powers that be. They won’t dare drop you from the team.”
“How can you guarantee that?” Melissa was struggling to form words and stay awake.
“Blackmail. How could they even consider dropping a poor, sick girl who’s just counting the days till she’s able to compete with her team?”
Melissa smiled. “You’re devious, Jory Delaney.”
“Yeah. I know.” Jory wiped her friend’s forehead one more time. “And we’ll go take the PSATs together. I’ll even hold your barf bag if you want.”
“I might have to bring a bag to wear over my head, too. Don’t want to frighten all my classmates, do I?”
“Who cares? All that matters is that you ace the test for that scholarship.”
“You could ace it, too … ” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“College isn’t for me, Melissa. Unless you count the frat parties. Now go to sleep, and I’ll be back tomorrow after school.” Melissa’s eyes were already closed and Jory’s voice sounded far away.
When she woke up, the twilight had cast long violet shadows across her room. Ric was holding her hand. “Hey, lady,” he said, a half-smile lighting his gaunt features.
“Hey.”
Without asking, Ric placed a mint on her tongue. “Rough day?”
“Real rough.” Melissa noticed that he was dressed in street clothes, jeans and a polo shirt. “Got a date?”
He placed the back of her hand along the length of his cheek. His skin felt cool and slightly rough. “I’ve been discharged, Melissa. I’m going home.”
Chapter Eleven
Melissa filled with envy. Home. When would she be able to say the same thing? “I’m happy for you, Ric. Where’s home?”
“Upstate New York. But I’m really only returning to my dorm room at USF. After two years of living there, I think of it as home.”
“So you’ll be here at the university?” In a strange way she was relieved. He was the only person she knew close to her own age who understood what it was like to have cancer.
“At least until the end of the spring term. Then I’ll probably stay around for the summer and work until the fall semester starts.”
“Don’t you want to go back to New York for the summer? And see your family?”
His gaze was direct, and she noticed how dark and piercing his eyes were. “My medical support is here in Tampa. I don’t want to leave.”
The notion stunned her. Her medical support was here too. How would that affect her choice of colleges? Melissa kept her concerns to herself, offering Ric a half-smile. “When you’re dressed in jeans, you can’t even tell about your leg.”
His expression was cynical. “Yeah, this prosthesis is terrific. No one could even guess I’m a cripple unless I break into a run.”
“Ric, it doesn’t make you less of a person.”
“Just three-fourths of one.”
“But there’re no more signs of your cancer.”
He flipped the ends of her scarf. “That doesn’t mean it won’t come back. There are no guarantees.”
Her stomach lurched, but not from chemo. His blunt pessimism made her feel
as if she were trapped in a labyrinth of blind alleys and stone walls. “Where’s that optimistic guy who sat by my bed while I tossed my cookies every night?”
Ric took her hand. “He’s still inside me, Melissa.” His scrutiny made her feel uneasy because she knew how horrible she looked, broken out in sores and skin lesions from the medications. “I’m going to call you when you’re back home. After the worst is over and you’re back in classes.”
“Why?” Her heart thudded crazily, but not the way it had when Brad had touched her. She wasn’t sure how to sort out the differences between Brad’s and Ric’s touches and the way they made her feel. And she didn’t know why; although she was attracted to both of them, it seemed to be in different ways.
“Because I want to,” Ric said. “Because, like I told you before, we’re alike.”
“Just because we both have cancer doesn’t mean we’re alike.” She wasn’t sure why his comparison put her off.
He grinned beguilingly. “All right, then, because I think you’re one foxy lady and I want to date you.”
Surprised by his confession, she said, “I look totally gross, and you know it.”
“But you won’t always look ‘totally gross.’ Once they get you into remission, you’ll look just like you did before. Very pretty.”
Her hand automatically touched her head. “Except for my hair. I’ll never be able to grow it that long again.” Secretly she still mourned for it, but she didn’t regret having cut it. At least that decision had been hers and hers alone.
Ric’s eyes grew somber and he stared long and deep into hers. “Take care, Melissa. I’ll be calling you. You can count on it.”
She watched him leave, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Part of her felt dependent upon him. Part of her felt freed from having him checking on her, identifying with her, as if he knew what was inside her mind and soul when she grappled with having cancer. The truth was, she wasn’t dealing with it. “It,” the cancer, was an alien creature that had invaded her body and was gorging itself on her good health.