The next day, Mr. Horowitz wanted us to go outdoors and write about nature in our journals. The memorial area seemed like the perfect spot, but I could hear a bunch of noisy kids playing soccer nearby. I had been there for five minutes when I noticed a spider web attached to my jeans. Between swatting at bugs and my hair blowing everywhere, I ended up writing about how next time I would remember to bring a hair clip. When Mr. Horowitz read my piece, he wrote I should let nature “overtake me” and not focus on the “outside world,” but on the natural world. Whatever.

When I got home, Dad said Grandma had been throwing up again.

“Mom’s been there all day. Do you want me to drop you off?” he asked.

Dad drove me to the hospice, and Grandma seemed so helpless lying there. I had never seen her so vulnerable. I was used to her hauling huge laundry baskets, cooking goulash, and yelling at game shows on TV, not lying there half-unconscious. There was this part of me that kept thinking if she wanted to, she could make herself well again. If she cared about us, she would fight and get out of this stupid bed and go home and make a pot of vegetable soup, and we could eat some carrot-cake muffins. Sometimes I felt like she was in there somewhere, and I almost wanted to scream loud enough for her to hear me.

I read to her for a while, and my mom said she had a migraine and wanted to go home. As we were driving, I checked my social media sites and saw a bunch of my friends posting about what they were doing after school. It was all stuff like practices, clubs, hanging out with friends, or their boyfriend or girlfriend. Then there was a post of Katia with her grandma, and they were going to yoga class together. Seeing everyone with their normal, uncomplicated lives was hard enough, but seeing Katia’s grandma on a yoga mat while mine hadn’t made eye contact with anyone in days? It was too much.

As soon as Mom pulled into the driveway, I grabbed my purse and told her I was going for a walk. I went all the way down to the elementary school in our neighborhood. There were a bunch of kids on the swings, and I wanted to be alone, so I went over and sat on the bleachers next to the baseball diamond. It was the first time I had been in complete silence in a long time. I tucked my hair into my jacket collar, put my phone ringer off, and stared into space. As long as I was outside I figured I might as well do my nature journal assignment, so I pulled a notebook out of my purse and found a pen. I started writing about the bugs and about how cold I was, but pretty soon it was all about the stuff I had been dealing with recently. I filled three and a half pages, but when I stopped to look it over, it shocked me what I had put down on the paper. I wrote how I didn’t feel my writing was as good as everybody else’s and how I didn’t know if I would have been able to handle interning at the newspaper. Then I wrote about my feelings on how I wasn’t sure if I was good enough for Brendon and if he actually liked me, and how there was a part of me which felt like if my grandmother truly loved me then she’d fight harder. I felt guilty even writing it, but I felt I needed to write it down because a little part of me had these nagging feelings.

I walked home, and Mom told me Brendon and Rory had called the home phone. Since I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, I went upstairs to read. Kylie called later, and I had to pick up for her.

“Zach’s driving me nuts. He went to Moby’s with his friends the other night, and I thought he and I were doing something at night, so I was at home waiting for him to call while he was out with his stupid friends,” she said.

“I hate men,” I said.

“I thought you and Brendon worked things out,” she said. “Hold on, other line.”

She came back and said it was Zach calling to apologize.

“What was his excuse?” I asked.

She said he didn’t realize she wanted to go out, and he said he’d make it up to her. He even made a special playlist for her. Gag me.

“And you’re going to let him get away with it?” I said.

“It’s not like he ran over my puppy,” she said.

“Men are so self-centered. I feel like maybe I’m letting Brendon get away with too much stuff—like, yeah, we’re getting along, but he did blow off a big moment for me, and the whole Lauren dance thing. Plus, I never—”

“You like him, right?”

“Yeah, but why should I always have to—”

“Give in?” she said.

“Right. I’m getting mad all over again,” I said.

“Okay, you can tell me I’ve been reading too many of my mom’s self-help books, but don’t you think maybe you’re getting mad at him to push him away?” she said. “Hold on, let me get my copy of Being You.”

She came back on the line. “It says sometimes we put up roadblocks because we don’t feel worthy of something, and we run from our fears instead of facing them.”

“So you think I’m not good enough for him?” I asked. “You said it at the football game—”

“I didn’t—the book said it. Maybe you feel unsure about some stuff, and instead of dealing with—”

This was getting way too close to what Cheryl had said. “Not in the mood for a therapy session right now. My grandma’s still in a coma, I still have my stupid journal thing to type up, my grandpa’s—I’m just not in a good mood right now,” I said.

“You don’t say. What’s wrong with your grandpa?” she asked. “Is he sick, too?”

I didn’t feel like going into the whole “my grandpa was wetting the couch, and he doesn’t even realize my grandmother’s gone half the time” thing.

“He’s just upset over my grandmother,” I said.

“Listen, I’m working at the coffee shop after school if you want to stop by. If my manager’s not around, I’ll slip you an apple cinnamon muffin,” she said.

“Okay, I’m supposed to wait for Brendon after school. I’ll tell him to meet me there.”

I dropped by the bagel shop after class, and Kylie made me a white chocolate soy latte and gave me a chocolate chip muffin since they were out of the apple cinnamon ones.

“White chocolate is our new coffee flavor, but so far all of mine have been too sweet or not sweet enough,” she said.

“It could do with a touch more chocolate,” I said.

She put more flavoring in my latte and said she brought Being You for me to look at.

“Is this the book your mom reads while she’s in the bathroom?” I asked. “Maybe I should wear rubber gloves or something.”

She rolled her eyes, and I thumbed through it to make her happy. She had stuck a bookmark in the chapter on self-sabotaging, as if she was being subtle. Brendon came to pick me up, but said he had to drop me off without hanging out because he had a student council meeting at seven o’clock. I wanted to talk to him about my grandmother, but instead I was home in time to work on my math.

On Friday, Grandma’s breathing had gotten worse. The nurses said she might not pull through, and Mom and I went to sit with her. I wasn’t sure what to say because I didn’t want to talk to her like this was our last conversation. Even though things were looking worse and worse, I still didn’t want her to know I thought she might die. We stayed for three hours reading from her prayer books, but Grandma didn’t even stir. Mom went straight to bed when we got home, but I stayed up listening to music and crying and didn’t fall asleep until four in the morning.