I dared to let my gaze flit toMolly’s. Her eyes swam behind pools of hurt and longing. I wanted to saysomething. Wanted to tell her that what Brendon said wasn’t true—Ididlike her. That I was still her friend. ThatI hadn’t forgotten her. But that would’ve been a lie, wouldn’t it? We hadn’tbeen friends in years. I hadn’t kept my promise. And what would happen now if Isaid that? These guys, my new friends, would ditch me, and I’d be no better offthan Molly was. Picked on and teased. Why the hell would I want that formyself?
“I don’t get you,” she said tome. Her voice quavered. “I don’t get why you’dwannahang out with these assholes. They’re not your friends. You know that, right?”
Travis rolled his eyes,suddenly bored. “You can go away now.”
“After graduation, they’re notgonnagive a shit about you. And neither will I,” shewarned, although the quivering of her bottom lip said otherwise.
“Shut the hell up,” Brendondemanded. “Isn’t theresomethin’ around here yougottaeat?”
The words struckherand she winced, but they didn’t make her cry. Shewaited, daring me with her steely gaze, but I remained silent. Conflicted bythe past and the present, right and wrong, and wondering if what she said wastrue.Werethey my friends? Did they care?
Travis lifted his hand andsnapped his fingers before her eyes. “Hey. He doesn’t like fat chicks. Okay?”
“Say something!” Mollycommanded, and when I dipped my head to stare at the table, that’s when shebegan to cry.
Her friend tugged her awayfrom the table and the sound of their heavy, platformed boots stomped away.Brendon and Travis laughed heartily, cruelly, as though the severe heckling wasthe highlight of their miserable existence, and I shook my head.
“What a fuckin’ cow.” Travissounded like a hyena when he laughed. Cackling like a witch.
“I heard she don’t have adaddy,” Brendon informed him with nasty amusement. “Guess he didn’t want hereither.”
It was then that anger bubbledthrough my bloodstream, boiling to the surface of my heated veins, and with aburst, I smacked my hands against the table. With the room instantly hushed, Ipushed myself up and stepped over the bench seat, ignoring the eyes of everypresent student pinned on me. I didn’t bother to grab my tray of untouched foodas I walked away from the table and toward the door.
Saysomething. Fucking say something.
Heeding the instructionscoursing through my brain, I turned around before I could leave the cafeteriaand stormed back to my friends. A dull murmur had begun to build again in theroom as the drama had seemed to pass, and I was grateful, not wanting to causean even bigger scene as I pointed a finger at Brendon and Travis.
“If I hear either one of youmake fun of her again, I’mgonnakick your ass. Gotit?”
Brendon laughed. “So, youdolike her? You like the fat girl?”
My nostrils flared and myfists clenched. “You want me to beat your ass right here?”
Travis chuckled and shook hishead. “Chill out, man.Everybodymakes fun of her.”
“Well, Idon’t,” Ifired back.
Brad rolled his eyes. “Fine.We won’t make fun of your little girlfriend. Okay?”
My fists rolled tighter at thetone of his voice. At that word—girlfriend. “Good,” I grunted, even if I didn’tbelieve him. Because Travis was right; everyone did make fun of Molly. Therewas nothing I could do to stop it now.
***
Three hoursand countless tests later, I was in a hospital room hooked up to an IV,administering fluids into my severely dehydrated body. I’d already had threenurses insist I shouldn’t have allowed any of it to get this bad, and how I waslucky that I hadn’t required a transfusion. That at the first sight of blood, Ishould’ve made an appointment with a doctor, should’ve gotten myself into thehospital, should’ve kept my fluid intake up … So manyshould’ve’swithout any way to rewind and undoall ofthe stupid thingsI’d done, but none of it would’ve changed the outcome.
Itwasn’t cancer, a diverticular disease, orangiodysplasia.There were a few other tests they wanted torun, but the doctors were pretty sure they were looking at Crohn’s Disease orUlcerative Colitis.
Inflammatorybowel disease.
Chronicillness.
Iwasn’t surprised, but I also wasn’t relieved.
“Hey,”Devin said, pulling up a chair to the side of my bed, “it could be worse,right?”
“Sure,”I agreed, because shit, of course it could’ve been worse. But isn’t it allrelative? I could’ve been diagnosed with stage four colon cancer, and I couldstill find someone out there dealing withsomethingworse.
“Youshould take some time off,” Ty told me, laying a hand on my shoulder, “and whenyou’re in the clear, come back.”
