Part 40 (1/2)

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CHAPTER.

4 0.

Three weeks pa.s.sed faster than any I could remember before my dad died. For so long, time stood still, dragged, or even moved backward as I focused on every negative, painful thing that hap- pened and wondered what would come next. My guard was only down the tiny bit I allowed myself, as Becca waited for the test results of her cancer treatment. Her radiation was over, and instead of us spending more time together as her health improved, we saw each other less and less. I hated to admit it was because of a guy, but Leo and I were hanging out whenever we could, watching movies, study- ing at the library, brainstorming a movie I might make someday. Not that Becca wasn't busy with her own guy. Now that she was starting to feel human again, hair growing back, weight fi lling out her sunken frame, Caleb was in the picture a lot more. They went from romantic notes between windows to sharing her twin bed most nights. I won- dered if Becca's mom knew what was going on, considering Caleb --1 was a rather large guy to hide. Maybe she was of the mind that Becca -0 -+1 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 237 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 237 4/17/13 8:58 PM.

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went through h.e.l.l and deserved her little slice of homeschooled heaven. Or maybe she was too cracked out on G.o.d to notice.

Leo and I hung out with Becca and Caleb from time to time.

He was nice, mind- blowingly smart, but defi nitely a little pop- culture deprived. I feel like if I were homeschooled it would be impossible not to waste the day in front of the tele vi sion or computer and try to pa.s.s it off as ”homework.” But Caleb was all about actual learning. He did deign to come to a midnight screening of The Exorcist with us.

Leo and I disagreed on its brilliance. ”I think there's way too much plot and not enough scare,” I argued.

”Which makes the scary parts all the scarier. Plus, there's all that subliminal stuff ,” Leo countered. We discovered on a Blu- ray of the fi lm that the director did all of these extra- creepy secret things, like inserting random, terrifying faces into scenes and playing the squeals of actual pigs being slaughtered to make the movie extra unsettling.

”I'll take a midnight show of Casablanca over this any day,” was Caleb's response. Becca stared at him dreamily. It was a good look for her after so many pained ones.

And still we waited for the news of her life.

Becca began making school appearances again, not full days but enough to get some work done. One day at lunch, her phone rang.

Becca's cancer was like a get- out- of- jail- free card and allowed her to carry her cell phone in case of emergency. ”Emergency” most of the time meant texting sappy I miss you texts to Caleb, but it was nearing the time of her lab results. Post chemo, post radiation, she'd soon fi nd out if the cancer was zapped, if she needed to go through h.e.l.l again, or the worst possibility: Treatment didn't work at all.

-1- When her phone rang, Becca announced, ”It's my mom,” which 0- it often was. When Becca was the one out of the house, her mom

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called to check in every hour or so. She admitted to wis.h.i.+ng Helen could follow Becca around school so she didn't have to worry so much. I don't think anything could have stopped her mom from wor- rying. It felt a tad more appropriate than a facial.

”h.e.l.lo?” Becca stood up and plugged one ear to hear the phone better. The lunch crew followed her expressions. Antic.i.p.ation. Dis- appointment. Aggravation.

”Mom! Stop calling me! Seriously. Unless you have news, don't call anymore. You're going to make me have a heart attack before I even fi nd out if my cancer is gone.” Pause. ”Yeah, love you, too.

Crazy woman,” she mumbled at the end.

The following Sat.u.r.day morning I was busy slicing cuc.u.mbers at Cellar when my phone rang in my pocket. I normally didn't answer it, mostly because then I had to wash my hands for the millionth time.

Winter dryness was killing me. But all phone calls had become criti- cal. I knew any day Becca would learn of her post- chemo scans, which would basically say whether her cancer had gone away. Seven months.

That's how long I watched Becca have cancer. That's a long f.u.c.king time to be sick with anything, to have to watch and wonder what was going to happen to my best friend. Could this fi nally be the call?

I walked into the back room, away from the kitchen sc.r.a.pes and music from the stereo. ”h.e.l.lo?” I answered.

I played out this phone call a billion times in my head. Sometimes it went: ”I have to tell you something, Alex. The cancer's still there. And it's spread.”

And when I'm feeling particularly morbid, Becca adds, --1 ”They say I have one month to live.”

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I also have the other conversation, where Becca screams at the top of her lungs, ”The cancer's gone!!!” We dance, and I hug who- ever's closest to me, preferably not some sub- slinging douche.

”h.e.l.lo?” This wasn't in my head. This was the real deal. The phone call that determined our future. My hands shook as I answered.

I hadn't realized how terrifi ed I was.

There was no dramatic pause. Instead, unlike any of my pre- enactments, Becca blurted out, ”I'm clear. No cancer spots. Normal blood.” She was breathlessly quiet.

”That's good, right? I mean, it sounds good. I just never know if there's something else coming.”

”Eighty- fi ve percent full remission rate. That's really good. I go back again in three months. And three months after that.” I let the tears of relief tumble down my cheeks.

”That's a lot of waiting,” I told her.