This Girl: A Novel

at me for another day. The day she recited her poem in class was probably the hardest knock my heart has ever taken from a girl . . . and it happened in front of seventeen other students. I realize none of them knew I was her target, other than Gavin, but still. It felt like I’d taken over thirty bullets straight to the heart with each insult that came out of her mouth.
    The door to the bathroom begins to open and my attempt at casual goes out the window. I jump over the back of the couch, wanting nothing more than to hold her and apologize for everything I did tonight.
    When she sees me rushing toward her, her eyes grow big and she backs up to the wall. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight. “I’m sorry, Lake. I’m so sorry I did that. You were just losing it,” I say in my best attempt to excuse my actions. Rather than try to hit me, she wraps her arms around my neck, causing my chest to tighten as I attempt to hold on to my willpower before it slips away from me again.
    “It’s okay,” she says softly. “I kinda sorta had a bad day.”
    I want nothing more than to stifle her words with my mouth right now. I want to tell her how much I need her. How much I love her. How, no matter how bad things get for her, I’ll be by her through every second of it.
    But I don’t. Because of Julia, I don’t. I reluctantly pull back and place my arms on her shoulders.
    “So we’re friends? You aren’t gonna try to punch me again?”
    “Friends,” she says with a forced smile. I can tell she wants to be my friend about as much as I want to be hers. I have to turn away from her and head down the hallway before the words “I love you” fall helplessly from my mouth.
    “How was the matinee?” she asks from behind me.
    I can’t make small talk. We need to get to the heart of why she’s here, or I’m going to forget she’s not here for me.
    “Did you talk to your mom?” I ask.
    “Jeez. Deflect much?”
    “Did you talk to her? Please don’t tell me you spent the entire day cleaning.” I continue into the kitchen and grab two glasses. She takes a seat at the bar.
    “No. Not the entire day. We talked.”
    “And?” I ask.
    “And . . . she has cancer.”
    Damn that indomitable will.
    I roll my eyes at her stubbornness and walk to the refrigerator, removing the milk. When I begin to pour it into her glass, she turns away from the bar and flips her head over, then pulls the towel off her head. Her hair falls around her and she brushes at the tangles with her fingers. She smoothes out the strands, working her fingers through them delicately. What I wouldn’t give to touch—crap! I realize, just as she glances up, that I’ve poured way too much milk. It’s trickling down my hand and onto the counter. I quickly wipe it up with a hand towel.
    Please tell me she didn’t see that.
    I grab the powdered chocolate out of the cabinet and a spoon, then stir some chocolate into her cup. “Will she be okay?”
    “No. Probably not.”
    I should know better than to ask close-ended questions with her. But I haven’t asked Julia any details and I’m curious.
    “But she’s getting treatment?”
    She rolls her eyes and looks incredibly annoyed. “She’s dying, Will. Dying. She’ll probably be dead within the year, maybe less than that. They’re just doing chemo to keep her comfortable. While she dies. ’Cause she’ll be dead. Because she’s dying. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
    Her response sends a surge of guilt through me. I’m doing the exact thing to her that I hated having done to me. Forcing her to talk about something she hasn’t even accepted yet. I decide to drop it. She’ll come to this on her own terms. I walk to the freezer and grab a handful of ice, then drop it into her cup, sliding it across the counter to her. “On the rocks.”
    She looks down at the chocolate milk and smiles. “Thanks,” she says. She finishes her drink in silence.
    When the glass is empty, she stands up from the bar and walks to the living room. She lies down on the floor and stretches her arms above her head.
    “Turn the lights off,” she says. “I just want to listen for a while.”
    I turn out the lights, then walk to where she is and lower myself onto the floor beside her. She’s quiet, but the stress radiates from her.
    “She doesn’t want me to raise Kel,” she whispers. “She wants to give him to Brenda.”
    I inhale a deep breath, understanding completely where her pain is