Which was completely wrong of her. And actually, she was the one being unfair.
I mean, if he’d asked me what I did last winter break and I’d answered something like Ah yes, I remember: I went skiing in Vermont, that would be a lie, because the truth was that I was stuck at the hospital doing all-day chemo, feeling like a blob of oatmeal clogging the drain in the kitchen sink. But he’d never asked a specific question, and I’d never answered anything specifically false. In fact, Griffin and I never discussed facts—we only ever talked about fantasy creatures. So how could you lie if you were talking about fiction? Fiction was nothing but a bunch of lies anyway.
Harper was a great friend, but she didn’t understand any of this. And why should she? Yes, she came to the hospital all the time, but as a visitor. She wasn’t a patient, like me; she never had the scary middle-of-the-night feeling that she’d stopped being part of regular life, that she was floating above it in a kind of endless blank nowhere. So she didn’t have anything to forget, or to try to forget. Versus me, who wanted only to go forward. Act normal. Be normal.
And anyhow, why should I volunteer personal information to a boy who maybe liked that awful, airy Thea with the squealy laugh?
And only gave me a stupid hug, which meant he felt sorry for me?
* * *
The next morning in math, we had a substitute teacher, a rumpled guy who seemed like he’d woken up about fifteen minutes before homeroom. Ms. Perillo had prepared a few worksheets for us, and I guess he was too sleepy to hand them out himself.
So he pointed at me for some reason. “Young man, would you help me distribute these?”
Astrid laughed. Rowan snorted. And Thea did a pouting face at me like Aww, poor you.
“My name is Norah,” I muttered.
“Sorry, young lady,” the sub said, honking his nose into a dirty tissue. “My mistake.”
I passed out the worksheets, avoiding eye contact with every single person in the class. Was it possible to be any more humiliated—called “young man” by a teacher who hadn’t heard My Whole Story? I felt like a popped balloon.
When I sat down again, there was a folded-up piece of paper on my desk.
I unfolded it.
Green ink. Gel-pen ink.
A drawing. Of what? It looked like a thumb with a giant eye. Underneath it was written: ICU.
Intensive Care Unit?
Omigod, is that a hospital reference?
Why would Griffin do that? Does he know about me?
And if he does , does he think this is funny or something?
Barely breathing, I peeked at him.
Griffin ripped off a corner of one of the worksheets, wrote something on it fast, and handed it to me: Supposed to be Cyclops. Told you I can’t draw! Stupid sub is blind. I see you.
ALL ABOUT FEELINGS
So you were right,” Harper said as soon as I sat down next to her in English. “Kylie did get in trouble. Silas, too.”
“For what?” I asked her, still distracted by the period before.
“What do you think, Norah? Sneaking out to get pizza yesterday. And guess who saw them and told the principal: Ms. Farrell.”
This surprised me. Ms. Farrell hadn’t struck me as the tattle type. But sneaking out of the building during school hours was pretty serious. “How do you know?”
“Everyone was talking about it in math. They both got a week of detention. So thanks for trying to convince me not to do it.”
“You’re welcome. Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you come with me to the mall after school today? To get my ears pierced?”
“What?” Harper seemed jolted by my change of subject. “Norah, are you even allowed? I thought you always went straight home.”
“Yes, normally, but Dad said I could. He has a business trip, so he can’t pick me up today. And I asked my parents if I could pierce my ears after you told me Aria did it at the mall, and they said yes.”
All of which was technically true.
“Well, but I have Art Club,” Harper began.
I leaned toward her to beg. “Please? A sub in math called me ‘young man.’ That’s the second time someone thought I was a boy. And I think earrings will make me feel better. About how I look.”
“Oh. Sure. Of course!” Harper was too good a friend to protest that I already looked perfectly wonderful, blahblahblah. And here I was, actually sharing my feelings about cancer-ish topics. So of course she was going to be supportive, even if it meant missing Afterschool—and not telling her mom where she went instead.
Class started. Today was especially fun, because Ms. Farrell had us play a game called Greek Gods Couples Counseling, where a god and a goddess who were having relationship issues had to talk to a “therapist.” I was in a group with Aria and Harrison; every five minutes we were supposed to switch roles.
First I was Echo and Aria was Narcissus. We argued to Harrison about how we couldn’t communicate.
Next Harrison was Orpheus and I was Eurydice, telling Aria about our unfair separation.
Then Aria said: “Okay, I have an idea: Now I’ll be Artemis and Harrison will be Actaeon. Norah can be the therapist.”
“Wait,” Harrison protested. “I don’t know that story.”
Aria narrowed her eyes. “No problem, Harrison, I’ll tell it to you! Artemis is the beautiful goddess of the hunt, right? She’s always running after animals in the woods. And one time she stopped to bathe in a little brook. And this hunter guy named Actaeon was in love with her, so he spied on her bathing. But Artemis always needed privacy, so when she realized Actaeon was
