Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
“Been having what?” Mom asks.
I swallow hard and glance away, ashamed to admit the one thing I’ve been so scared to say out loud. “Symptoms,” I murmur, saying the word as though it’s poison on my tongue.
“What?” Dad questions, his whole body stiffening. “What do you mean? You’ve been having symptoms? You’re perfectly healthy. What symptoms?”
“I’ve been lethargic every day,” I tell them in a small voice, barely whispering the words, not brave enough to meet either of their horrified stares. “And not just had a big day kind of lethargic. I’ve been heavy, sometimes barely able to even pull myself out of bed. I’ve been falling asleep all the time and having no energy to do anything. And then there’s the dizziness,” I add, pain slicing straight through my chest. “I lied the other day . . . about my hip.”
“What are you talking about?” Mom whispers, her voice breaking as she clings on to my hand so tight that I fear my fingers will break.
“I didn’t slip on water,” I admit with a heavy sob, so ashamed of myself. “I fainted. I fell into the vanity and slammed my hip into the sink, and it’s not the first time. I fainted on my birthday.”
“What?” Dad demands. “Your birthday was back in February.”
“I know,” I say, my voice a little louder. “I was with Noah, but we just assumed I was getting sick. Everyone at school was coming down with the flu, and maybe that’s all it was, but . . . I don’t know. What if it wasn’t and it’s been gradually getting worse since then?”
Mom holds me so damn close, I can barely breathe as Dad gets out of bed, pacing in front of the window. “You’re sure about this?” he asks, a strange tone in his voice that I’ve never heard before. “You really think it’s back, that you’ve . . . relapsed?”
I shrug my shoulders, not really sure what to say. “I think I’m getting sick, and I really hope that I could be wrong, that there’s some other explanation for this, but you’ve always taught me to trust my gut.”
Mom silently cries at the thought of me getting sick in the same way, while Dad tries to think rationally about this. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he finally says, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “We’re going to go about our normal day, have a shower, get ready for your day, and after Hazel is dropped at school, your mother and I will take you to see Dr. Sanchez to get some tests done. After all, there’s no need to panic or jump to conclusions until we’re certain.”
I nod, the lump in my throat now so big it’s almost impossible to breathe. “Okay,” I say, my voice breaking as the tears continue flowing. I glance at Mom, meeting her green eyes that are so identical to mine. “What if—”
“Don’t do that, my precious girl,” she weeps. “Don’t start asking yourself what if until we know. If it comes down to that, then we’ll cross that bridge then, okay? For now, positive thoughts.”
I nod, and with that, Mom scooches back in her bed, pulling me down with her and into her side before pulling the blankets right up to our chins. Her fingers brush up and down my arm as Dad excuses himself to go to the bathroom, but instead of hearing the shower running, I hear the subtle sound of his broken cries.
Mom and I stay like this until Dad finally emerges from the bathroom, dressed and ready for the day. We hear Hazel down the hall, turning on her music and singing, completely oblivious to the way my whole world feels as though it’s about to crumble. “I’ll drive her to school,” Dad mutters, barely just going through the motions. “Then I’ll head back here and pick you up.”
Mom and I sit up and nod, and with that, Dad is out the door, putting on the performance of a lifetime as he tells Hazel to hurry her ass up and get out to the truck.
I get up out of my parents’ bed, and as I go to walk out of the room, Mom stops me and pulls me back into her arms. “We’re going to be okay, Zo,” she promises me. “Whatever comes our way, we’ll fight it together. You’ve beaten this beast before, and if it comes down to it, you’ll beat it again. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, my love. You’re a survivor, and whatever this is that has got you not feeling your best, you’re going to get past it.”
I bury my face into her chest, the tears starting all over again. “I’m scared, Mommy,” I cry, clinging to her shirt.
“I’m scared too,” she tells me, gently pressing her fingers to my chin and lifting until I meet her eyes. “But the beauty is that we have each other to be scared with, and when you have someone holding your hand, sometimes those scary things really aren’t so bad.”