5

“A brain tumor! Oh, April, I can’t believe it,” Kelli gasped.

Seeing her friend so upset made April want to cry. But she quickly took hold of Kelli’s hands. “I’ll be okay,” she said without much conviction. “Some radiation, some pills, and it’ll shrink enough so the doctors can operate.”

Kelli had come over the afternoon she’d returned from the ski trip. The two of them were sitting on the bedroom floor on plush pale lavender carpet. April’s entire room was decorated in rich shades of purple accented with pure white. The down comforter on her four-poster bed was covered in white eyelet, and plum-colored pillows rested against the pristine whiteness. Without the drabness of the hospital surrounding her, April’s diagnosis seemed like a bad dream.

“It’s not fair!” Kelli blurted out. “You’ve never done anything mean to anybody. Why should you get sick?”

“What’s being mean got to do with any thing?”

“Well, there are tons of bad people in the world. They’re the ones who should get brain tumors.” Kelli sounded furious.

“I guess life doesn’t work that way. I’m proof that bad things can happen to anybody.”

“Have you told Chris?” Kelli asked.

“I’ll tell him tonight. We’re supposed to go out to dinner.” April hugged her knees. “I’m dreading it.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure how he’ll handle it.”

“He’ll be mad about it—like me.”

But Chris wasn’t like Kelli. Kelli was her best friend. April and Chris had only been together a few months, and they weren’t nearly as close as she and Kelli. How would Chris react? “I just don’t know,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip.

Kelli blew her nose. “This is just the worst thing to ever happen.”

“Listen, do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“I don’t want this to get all around school. It’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“But everyone knew you couldn’t go on the ski trip because you were in the hospital. They’ll want to know what the doctors told you.”

“If anyone asks you, tell them I’m being treated for migraine headaches or something. I don’t want them to know about the tumor.”

“But why?”

“I don’t want kids whispering about me in the halls and treating me like I’m contagious or something.”

“But that’s dumb. Everybody knows you can’t catch a brain tumor like you can a cold.” Kelli paused. “Can you?”

For a moment, April couldn’t tell if Kelli was joking, but then a sly grin broke across Kelli’s face. “Just a little humor,” she said.

April nodded sheepishly. She was tired of thinking about what was happening to her. Tired of feeling sorry for herself and for her parents, who had been in despair ever since she’d come home from the hospital. She wanted her life back to normal. She wanted to get on with the radiation treatments and get them over with and have her life the way it used to be. “So, let’s talk about something else,” she said crisply. “How was the ski trip?”

“All right. Not nearly as much fun as if you’d been there.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“It’s true.”

“Well, I am going to the shore with everybody this summer. It’ll be our last blowout and I’m not about to miss it.”

An awkward silence fell between them. The summer seemed so far away. How could they make plans when no one knew if April would be well?

“What’s that?” Kelli broke the silence. She pointed to the limp balloon tied to the doorknob of April’s bathroom.

April told her about meeting Mark.

“I remember that he was cute, but gee … his being sick—it’s kind of a turnoff.”

“ ‘A turnoff?’ ”

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” Kelli insisted. “You’re not him.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want kids to know about me,” April said emphatically. “It’s all a big turnoff.”

Kelli hung her head and then mumbled, “Sorry.”

Already April could feel the gap opening between them. Kelli belonged to the world of perfect health, while she belonged …? Where? Suddenly she didn’t know either. She thought of Mark and wondered how he managed to straddle the two worlds of sickness and health. How could she find a place for herself in this new world where all the rules had changed?

Chris picked her up that night and took her to the country club where most people in their Long Island community had memberships. Normally, April didn’t mind going there, but tonight she didn’t want the quiet country club atmosphere. She felt like loud music and pizza and having to shout above the noise. Maybe because that way Chris might not really hear her when she told him about her tumor. In the quiet elegance of the country club, there would be no mistaking her words.

“You look great,” Chris said, taking her hand across the table. “And I missed you like crazy.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t even have time to think about me. What with the tournament and all. How did your team do?”

His face clouded. “We came in second. We should have won, but Andy got a red card and we had to play a man down the whole second half of the final game.”

“Bummer.”

He grinned and April couldn’t help noticing how different his smile was from Mark’s. Chris’s eyes didn’t light up in the same way as Mark’s. “But I want to hear about you. What did those doctors say?”

Her heart began to hammer so loudly she was afraid that he might hear it on his side of the table. “Well … the news wasn’t great.”

“What do you mean?”

She forced a smile and said flippantly, “I have some wild and crazy cells growing in my brain. They’ve set up housekeeping and my doctor has to radiate them out of existence. Actually, it’s a recurrence of a tumor that I had when I was five.”

He stared at her, as if sorting out her answer. “You’ve got some kind of tumor? Inside your head?”

“So it seems.”

He sagged back in his chair and stared at her. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Her face felt frozen. “No joke.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I wouldn’t make it up.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Say anything, she thought.

“You had a tumor before?”

“When I was five.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

His question made her hesitate. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but she recalled how Kelli had taken the news. And Mark. In so many words they both had said, “I’m here for you.” Chris seemed almost angry at her.

She told Chris, “I thought it wouldn’t ever be a problem for me again. My doctors told me it wouldn’t, so I didn’t see any reason to talk about it.”

“You shouldn’t hide things from people you care about.” He sounded upset, accusatory.

“Would it have mattered?” April was feeling light-headed, but it had nothing to do with her medical condition.

“Of course not,” he said a little too quickly. “It’s just that you should have told me. I would have liked to know.”

“I was only five. It wouldn’t have made any difference.” But the expression on Chris’s face told her otherwise. “Would it?”

He quickly reached across the table and took her hand. “No. I—I just can’t stand the thought of you being sick. I don’t want you to be sick.” He was picking through his words like a soldier inching through a field of land mines.

Chris was an athlete. In prime physical condition. Strong, muscular, and fit. To him, being sick must be a horror. “I hate what’s happening to me, Chris.” Tears swam in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help herself.

He sprang from his chair, knelt beside her, and pulled her against his chest. “I’m sorry, April. Really sorry.”

Everyone was sorry. She wept while he rocked her. As her tears slowed, she noticed other diners staring at her and Chris. Self-consciously, she pulled back and wiped her tears on the linen table napkin. “I didn’t mean to lose it like that,” she said hoarsely.

“You all better now?” Chris asked.

She wasn’t all right. She never would be again. “Sure,” she lied. “But I’ve lost my appetite.”

“You want me to take you home?”

“Yes.”

They left and Chris was silent during the ride home. It was just as well. April wasn’t sure what else to say to him. At her front door, he took her in his arms again, but his touch was tentative, as if she’d suddenly been turned to glass and he had to be extra careful in handling her. “I wish this wasn’t happening,” he breathed into her hair.

“So do I.”

He kissed her and she wanted to cling to him and not let go.

He cleared his throat. “I have a game Monday after school. Will you come cheer for me?”

“I can’t. I have a consultation with the doctor who’s doing my radiation. Then the treatments start.” She explained the schedule.

“Every day!” He protested. “You’ll miss my whole soccer season.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“So will you glow in the dark?”

He was attempting to be funny, but April wasn’t in the mood to laugh. “No,” she said. “But if I’m lucky, the tumor will shrink.”

“Of course it will shrink.”

She asked, “Do you want to come in? I could make you a sandwich since I made you miss dinner.”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Chris quickly said goodnight. And as she watched him climb into his sports car, maneuver it around the wide brick circular driveway, and drive away, she felt cold and empty. She wrapped her coat closer around her and hurried inside the house.