“Norah Levy!” Dr. Glickstein shook my hand at his door, the way he always did. It was a joke, a this-is-how-grown-ups-behave handshake. His eyes twinkled behind wire-frame glasses. “How’s it going out there?”
“Pretty good,” I said.
“She’s been back at school a full week,” Mom explained. “And exhausted all weekend.”
Dr. Glickstein gazed at her as if she were across the street. This was another thing he did: treating my parents politely, but making it clear that they weren’t the patient, and he wanted to hear from me. “Any of those rotten kids cough on you, Norah?” he asked as he took out his stethoscope.
“No. And no one sneezed on me either.”
“Let’s keep it that way. You’ll get re-immunized six months after chemo—until then, avoid germs, please, kiddo, and scrub those hands throughout the day. How’s the appetite?”
“Uneven,” Dad said.
“Fine,” I corrected him. “But I’m still super-aware of smells. Especially when there’s meat.” I stuck out my tongue.
“That’ll fade. But maybe you’ll always have a thing about Big Macs.” Dr. Glickstein winked at me. “There are worse things. Let’s see your weight.”
I stepped on the scale.
“Up three pounds,” Daphne announced, beaming. She was one of my favorite nurses, always interested in my drawings.
“Is that enough?” Mom asked. “I mean, is she gaining at the right rate?”
“Norah’s gaining at the right rate for her,” Daphne answered.
Something about the way Daphne said that decided me. “Um, can I ask a question?” I said. “In private?”
“You mean you want to talk to the doctor in private?” Mom repeated, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard right.
“Yes, actually,” I admitted.
Mom’s cheeks turned red. Dad’s mouth made a small O. The truth was, I wouldn’t have minded for Mom to stay, but no way was I going to talk about this in front of Dad. And for me to ask Dad to leave—that would seem like choosing sides, which I refused to do.
“Absolutely,” Dr. Glickstein said with a calm smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Levy, would you mind stepping out in the hall for a moment?”
“It’s Ms. Lewis now,” Mom snapped. “Dr. Lewis, actually.” But she walked out of the exam room, with Dad right behind her, not even throwing a glance in my direction. Were his feelings hurt? Were Mom’s? This was the first time I’d ever asked to speak to Dr. Glickstein privately, and probably I should have warned my parents back in the waiting area. Although if I had, they’d have totally freaked. I mean, they were still both capable of freaking over a single sneeze.
Dr. Glickstein closed the door. “What’s on your mind, Norah?” he asked kindly.
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I was just wondering about . . . uh, about my body. When it’ll catch up. To other girls my age.”
“Ah. Do you remember when we discussed this?”
I shook my head. Sometimes on chemo I was a bit foggy-headed, and afterward forgot about certain conversations. It was embarrassing, and also a little scary.
“Well, Norah, the chemo does have certain side effects you’ll be experiencing for a while. Most girls your age who’ve been through cancer treatment don’t develop at the same rate as their peers. But you will catch up eventually. And you’ll get a period, too, never fear.”
I shrugged. “I don’t care so much about that. It’s more about how I look. Compared to everyone at school, I’m just so . . . little-girlish. And with my hair so short—”
“Hey, your hair is adorable.” Daphne smiled. “And your body is still recovering, honey. You’ll get there.”
“Okay. Thanks.” It was what Mom had told me, but coming from a doctor and a nurse, it just sounded more believable.
Dr. Glickstein asked if I had any other questions. I shook my head.
He chuckled. “Okay, so can we invite your parents back in, before they both have heart attacks? Because I skipped class the day they taught CPR in med school.”
“Haha,” I said. Skipped class. That’s so funny.
THE SOCIAL THING
After the exam I had a bone marrow aspiration so they could check me for any leukemia cells hiding deep inside my bones. (Even after two years of treatment, I still hated needles worse than anything, and this one hurt like a whole hive’s worth of beestings. But at least it was over pretty fast.) Then I had an appointment with Raina while my parents sat on separate couches in the waiting room, reading their phones.
Raina seemed happy to see me, but a bit distracted, like she’d just run a tough marathon. I guessed she’d had a hard time with some patient.
“So how’s school going?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said. “And you were right! I mean about the work not being hard for me.”
She grinned. “Not surprising, smartypants! And the social thing?”
“Yeah, so you were right about that, too. Silas is a jerk. He’s practically ignored me the whole week.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Norah. But maybe over time—”
“And I’m still good friends with Harper, but I can’t do a bunch of things, and I don’t want to keep explaining everything to her, you know? Or talking about cancer stuff, which makes me feel guilty, because she thinks I’m hiding information. Which I sort of am, I guess.”
“Hmm.”
“Plus, she’s hanging out with these girls who aren’t my friends. They’re not my enemies or anything, although Kylie says it’s depressing when I talk about being sick and Addison acts like she thinks I’m faking. But I guess since I wasn’t around for two years, Harper decided she needed new friends. Which I totally understand, but . . .” I shrugged.
Raina nodded thoughtfully. “Norah, let me ask you a question. Is there someone at school to talk to?”
“You mean someone like you?”
“Yes. Not necessarily a counselor. Any adult, really.”
“Well, there’s my guidance counselor, but she’s kind of bossy. She wants me to do this stupid Overcoming Challenges thing where I have to stand up in front of the entire school and talk about cancer.” I shuddered. “Which, by the way, she refuses to say. She just keeps saying I was ‘sick’ or
