He was definitely marked, but not for Aria.
“Henry,” said a voice, and the boy by the window looked up as a nurse carried a cup of water over to his wheelchair.
Aria wondered why Henry was here, and why he was shrouded in such a grim cloud. She looked around, searching for someone like her, maybe someone with a charm bracelet to match that particular shade of purple-black smoke. But no one stood out. In fact, Aria was the only person in the common room who didn’t look like she belonged there.
Until another girl came in. She was about Aria’s size, with warm, tan skin and rich, dark hair. But what caught Aria’s attention wasn’t the girl’s skin or her hair or the notebook she was clutching to her chest. It was the blue smoke swirling around her shoulders.
Smoke the exact same color as Aria’s bracelet.
The girl wove absently through the tables and chairs, lost in her own thoughts, and flopped down onto a couch in the corner. Aria hesitated. She’d been so focused on finding the smoke, she didn’t know what to do now. So she stood there, watching, hoping the girl would give some clue as to what was wrong.
The girl didn’t seem sick, not like the other kids in the common room. But that didn’t surprise Aria. After all, the smoke had nothing to do with sickness. It marked a person only if Aria could help them, and she couldn’t help sickness. She wasn’t a healer. (She didn’t even know if those existed.) Aria was just … Aria. And whatever was wrong with the blue-smoke girl, Aria was pretty sure she wouldn’t figure it out by standing there. Plus she was beginning to feel awkward about staring. So she took a deep breath, walked up to the girl on the couch, and said hello.
Gabby had been squinting up at the ceiling, trying to decide if the lights in the room had gotten brighter, when someone said, “Hello!”
She looked over to find a girl perched on the opposite edge of the couch. The girl had coppery hair and bright blue leggings and a cheerful smile. The thing about hospitals was that few people smiled like that. They grimaced with worry, or pursed their lips with pity, and on occasion they beamed with relief, but they rarely seemed cheerful.
“Hi,” said Gabby cautiously.
“What’s your name?” asked the girl. She looked like she was Gabby’s age. There were a few other twelve-year-olds here, but all of them were sick. In fact, Gabby hadn’t seen a girl her age who wasn’t sick all summer.
“Gabrielle Torres,” she said, then added, “Most people call me Gabby. You?”
The girl’s smile brightened, as if the question thrilled her.
“My name’s Aria.” She held up her hand and Gabby could see the name etched into a metal pendant on the girl’s charm bracelet. “See?”
Gabby nodded. It was a pretty name, one she hadn’t really heard before.
A beat of silence fell between them. Gabby realized Aria was staring at her. Gabby stared back.
“So …” said Aria. She tapped her fingers on her knee, her gaze wandering over the room like she was searching for something — anything — to say. When her eyes found the far green wall, her lips curved up.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
Gabby’s eyebrows rose. People asked a lot of questions in hospitals — How are you feeling? Can you rate your pain? Do you need anything? But What’s your favorite color? wasn’t one of them. She shrugged.
“I’m not sure,” Gabby said. She knew Marco’s favorite — green — and she knew what hers used to be — purple — but it had been so long since she thought about something silly like that. With so many big questions out there, how could she care about something stupid like colors? The black music notes on her notebook stared up at her from their white background, not helping.
“Don’t worry,” said Aria. “I’m not sure, either.”
“Really?”
Aria nodded. “Really. Or at least, I can’t decide. I see one color and I think that might be it, my favorite, but then I see another and I change my mind. It’s so hard to pick only one. Like my laces,” she said, gesturing to the shoestrings, which were now hot pink. “I’ve changed them twice so far today.”
Gabby almost smiled. Aria was weird.
“There is one color I don’t like,” admitted Aria. “The color they’ve painted the hospital steps. That sad gray. It’s almost like a noncolor. It’s …”
“Sickly,” offered Gabby.
“Exactly,” said Aria, shaking her head.
Something moved at the edge of Gabby’s sight, and she turned to see the nurse wheeling Henry away. Gabby waved and Henry waved back.
Aria watched him go, too, with a strange look on her face.
“That’s Henry,” said Gabby. “Do you know him?”
After a pause, Aria shook her head. “Not really. Why is he here?”
Gabby smiled sadly. “If you ask him, he’ll say it’s because the doctors like him too much to let him go.” Her smile fell. Wouldn’t it be nice, to live in a world where that was true? “He’s really sick,” she added. “I don’t know if he’s going to get better.”
“The smoke,” Aria said to herself. “It’s really dark.”
Gabby frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Aria’s attention snapped back to her. “Nothing. I just … I hope he gets better.”
“Me too,” said Gabby.
She squinted at Aria. What was she doing in the hospital? Unlike Gabby, she didn’t wear the battle scars of those bound to the sick. No bags under her eyes from spending nights here. No cringing at the sound of a distant cough. Nothing tired or worn or tense about her. In fact, she radiated health.
“Do you have family being treated here?” asked Gabby.
Aria shook her head.
“Then why are you here?” asked Gabby, hoping she didn’t sound rude.
Aria looked down at her pink laces. “I’m just here to help.”
“Oh,” said Gabby, “so you’re like a volunteer?”
Aria hesitated, scrunched up her brow, and then nodded decidedly. “Yes, like that.”
“I didn’t know they let people our age work at the hospital,” said Gabby.
Aria hesitated again. “Well,” she said, “you have to start sometime. What about you?”
“What about me?” asked Gabby.
“Do you have family here?”
Now it was Gabby’s turn to hesitate. She’d said more in the last few minutes than she had in days. It felt nice to talk to someone, and she hated the idea of the girl’s smile turning tight with pity. But it wasn’t like Gabby could hide Marco’s sickness, not when she was in his hospital.
“My brother’s here,” Gabby finally replied. “He’s sick.”
Gabby braced herself for the I’m sorry, but Aria simply nodded and asked, “Is it bad, like Henry?”
Gabby looked down at her notebook. “It’s different.”
Marco’s bad had started last year on a soccer field. At first they’d thought the pain in his leg and hip was just another growth spurt — he was tall for fourteen — but it kept getting worse. And then one day when he and Gabby were racing up the wooded hill behind their house, he’d had to stop, he couldn’t make it to the top. And they took him to the doctor and found out that it wasn’t normal, wasn’t natural. The tests confirmed it. A series of tumors — such an ugly word, like a kind of beast — were attacking the bones in Marco’s left leg. From his knee all the way up through his hip.
And they were growing.
Fast.
In a matter of weeks, the Torres family’s life had been overtaken by the bad. Marco began an aggressive treatment plan to stop the tumors from spreading. The doctors explained that they had to shrink the tumors first. So that when they operated on Marco, it would be easier to remove them all.
Nothing about the treatment had been easy. But Marco had done it. He’d fought his way this far. And now it was time to operate, or it should be, but …
“Gabby?” pressed Aria.
“We’re waiting,” she said, willing he
rself to say the words out loud. “We moved here over the summer so my brother, Marco, could have an operation, but a couple weeks ago he got sick. Not a big kind of sick. A small kind, a bad cold, but still. They keep putting his surgery on hold. And now we’re waiting.”
The truth was, every time Marco coughed, every time his temperature went up or he slept too long, the panic in Gabby’s chest got worse. What if they couldn’t clear him for surgery? What if the bad came back before they could operate? What if —
“It’s okay,” said Aria softly, as if she could hear Gabby’s worried thoughts. And Aria’s tone did make Gabby relax, just a little bit.
“I’m starting school tomorrow,” Gabby went on, “and I’m worried about Marco, but there’s this part of me that can’t wait to get away from here. When I’m here all I can think about — all anyone can think about — is my brother’s sickness. But when I go to school at least I can pretend for a little while that things are okay. Normal. That I’m not just the sister of a kid with cancer.”
The moment she spoke those words, Gabby felt horrible. She wasn’t ashamed of Marco or his illness. But if she could have anything in the world, it would be for him to get healthy. It wasn’t Marco’s fault he was sick. This is why I should keep my mouth shut, Gabby told herself. Half of the time her thoughts didn’t seem important. The other half of the time she hated herself for even thinking them.
Gabby started to take back what she’d said, when Aria said, “That makes sense.”
“It does?” asked Gabby.
Aria nodded. “Sure. Your brother’s sick. You’re not.”
Gabby found herself nodding. “I know it’s wrong,” she said, “but I’m just tired of … I don’t know….” She fumbled for the words. “In a hospital, the only people who matter are the ones in the beds. But when someone you care about is sick, you get sick, too, in a different way….”
Just then she heard a text come in on her phone. She dug it out of her pocket.
“What was that?” asked Aria as the phone made another chirping sound.
“My mom,” said Gabby, getting to her feet. “I have to go.” She couldn’t believe she’d told the girl so much, but it felt good. “Thanks,” she added.
“For what?” asked Aria.
“For listening.”
Aria smiled. “That’s what I’m here for.”
At that, Gabby’s heart sank a little. Sitting there, talking to Aria, she’d felt special, important. She’d totally forgotten that Aria was a volunteer at the hospital. It was probably just her job to make people feel better.
“I’ll see you around,” said Gabby, quickly turning to go.
Aria shoved her hands in the pockets of her skirt, and smiled. “You will.”
Aria watched Gabby walk away, the blue smoke swirling around her shoulders. She waited a moment, then hopped up from the couch and followed. Gabby had vanished around a corner, but thin tendrils of smoke trailed behind her, and soon enough Aria caught sight of her near the end of a pale blue hall. She was standing outside a door, staring in.
Aria hesitated. She wanted to go over to Gabby, but she thought it would seem strange, her showing up so soon after they’d said good-bye. Better if she could stay with Gabby for a little while without the girl knowing. If only she could watch unseen.
Was that possible? Aria wondered, looking down at her hands. Some things she knew with absolute clarity — what she was, what she was meant to do, what she couldn’t do, what she mustn’t do. But what she could do and what she should do, those things were muddy, blurred.
Only one way to find out, thought Aria.
Staring down at her hands, she willed herself to disappear. At first nothing happened. And then, between one blink and the next, she was gone. She’d expected something slow and spreading, the way color did through her laces, but she didn’t bleed out of sight. She just vanished.
She could still feel the linoleum beneath her shoes, but there were no shoes to see. Aria shivered a little. She didn’t like it. What if she couldn’t undo it? She wanted to undo it!
And just like that, she was there again, green top and blue leggings and pink laces in the hall.
Aria sighed with relief.
What an unpleasant thing, being invisible. It made her feel less real. But it was necessary. And now that Aria knew she could undo the illusion, she took a deep breath, made herself invisible again, and joined Gabby in front of the door.
Gabby was peering in through a glass insert, and as Aria looked over her shoulder, she could see what Gabby saw in the room. A boy in a bed.
It had to be Gabby’s brother, Marco. He was propped up against several pillows, sleeping. He wasn’t what Aria had pictured, not frail like that other boy, Henry. No, Marco was broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair and golden skin.
Gabby was about to turn the knob when a woman called to her from down the hall.
“Gabrielle,” said the woman, her voice tense. She had a crease between her eyebrows and circles under her eyes, and she looked like an older, sadder version of Gabby. Aria guessed that she was her mother.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
Gabby’s hand fell away from the door. “I was wandering.”
“Well, you’ve had me wandering all over this place looking for you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Gabby automatically. “I was just trying to stay out of the way.” She turned back toward the door. “How’s Marco?”
“Sleeping, again,” answered her mom, softening. “I’m going to stay with him awhile longer.”
“I can stay, too.”
Mrs. Torres shook her head. “I want you to go home.”
“It isn’t home,” muttered Gabby under her breath.
Her mom tutted. “Don’t talk back. Just go.” Gabby’s shoulders slumped. “And if I’m not there by nine thirty,” added her mom, “I want you in bed.”
“But you’ll be there in the morning, right?” asked Gabby. “To wish me luck?”
Mrs. Torres’s brow crinkled in confusion, and then her eyes widened. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “Big day, mija. You have everything you need? All your supplies?”
Gabby nodded. “I think so.”
“Seventh grade,” said her mom, voice tight. “When did you grow up?”
It was a small question, said more to herself than her daughter. Aria saw the pain in Gabby’s face, but the girl only shrugged and said, “I need to grab my things.” She slipped silently into Marco’s room.
Aria stayed in the hall with Gabby’s mom. Aria could see the question flickering like a light behind the woman’s eyes — When did you grow up? And for a moment it was like Gabby’s mom had looked at her daughter and actually seen her. Aria willed Gabby’s mom to hold on to that glimmer, but a second later Mrs. Torres’s pocket gave a shrill double-beep. By the time she dug out the phone, the glimmer was fading. By the time she answered, the glimmer was gone.
She started talking rapidly in Spanish and was halfway down the hall with her cell pressed to her ear by the time Gabby reappeared, shopping bag in hand.
Aria watched Gabby watch her mother. Gabby’s mouth was pressed into a small, sad line. Aria realized that that moment when Mrs. Torres saw her daughter was just that. A moment. And Aria could tell from the disappointed look on Gabby’s face that it was a rare moment.
Even though Gabby was trying to hold it together in the hall, Aria could tell that she was upset. Hurt. And suddenly, Aria understood something.
Gabby wanted to be noticed.
She wanted to be seen.
And Aria was the one who was going to help her. She didn’t know exactly how, but she would find a way. It was why she was here. It was her job. Her purpose.
Gabby started off down the hall, and Aria followed. Down the elevator and through the lobby and past the revolving doors — Aria nearly collided with the glass because she couldn’t see herself in it — and down those horrible gray steps.
Aria paused to cast a l
ast glance back at the hospital. The sun was sinking, the low light glinting against the building, making it look sharp, unwelcoming. When she turned back, Gabby had gotten a ways ahead, and Aria had to run to catch up.
As she reached her side, she noticed something.
Gabby had started to hum.
It was nothing more than a small, wandering melody, but it was lovely. Aria didn’t know if all people sounded as nice when they sang, and she was about to try when she remembered her current invisible state. So she kept her mouth shut and listened, the sound filling her with warmth. The melody had an effect on Gabby, too. As she hummed, her shoulders began to loosen, the strain going out of her face.
And then Gabby came to a stop in front of an apartment building and looked up. The humming trailed off, the easy song replaced by heavy silence. Gabby took a deep breath, climbed the steps to the front door, and went inside. Aria moved to follow, but by the time she got to the door, it had fallen shut again. When she tried the handle, it didn’t move. Aria frowned. It hadn’t been locked. Gabby had gone right in (she could hear her fading footsteps), but when Aria tried it again, it wouldn’t budge. She willed the door to open, the way she’d willed herself invisible, the way she’d willed her shoelaces to change colors.
But it didn’t work.
Weird, she thought. It should be so simple, opening something that’s closed, certainly easier than disappearing. But Aria couldn’t do it. Was she not strong enough yet? Or was it somehow breaking a rule?
Aria gazed up at the building, which was eight stories tall and five windows wide, and wondered which apartment belonged to Gabby. She thought about going for a walk, or making her way back to the hospital. But now that she’d found the blue smoke, found Gabby, it was like a thread connected them, a thread with only so much length, and Aria felt an uncomfortable tightness in her chest at the thought of testing its reach.
Overhead, a light turned on. Four floors up and one window over. When Aria squinted, she could almost see a curl of blue smoke up there. Gabby’s apartment.
Aria looked around. All she needed was a way up. The simple answer would be to fly, but Aria didn’t know if she could do that without wings. She closed her eyes and tried to picture herself airborne, but when she opened her eyes, she was still standing on the ground. Fine then. If she couldn’t fly, she would climb.