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7

As soon as I started to slide into second, I knew it wasn’t a good idea. But there was no stopping it now. I saw, in slow motion, number twelve facing me, her body positioned in front of the base, protecting it. I was heading into the space to her left, but I already knew that it was too small, that I’d never make it-

Crack.

I knew as it happened that my arm was broken, where I knew the collision of Oriole/Tiger/Second Base had occurred, with extreme force. I could tell, by the way that my arm felt as if it was in two pieces, that it had broken right in the middle of my arm, though, luckily, slightly higher than my elbow, because I could imagine how much worse that would feel, though, in the moment, it was hard to imagine pain worse than this. The pain was flowing through my body in hot pulses, and I somehow sensed, through all this, that the game was entirely stopped, because of my arm, because of the collision, because of me.

 

. . .

 

As the doctors wrapped my arm, I lay there staring out the window, my head aching slightly of a headache from the recent events. The doctor seemed to go really fast, either really keen on his job and wanting to get onto the next person, or, the more likely option of that it was his lunch break after this.

Anyway, it seemed only a short time later that I was walking back through the hallways with my mom, her asking me more questions about my pain, and what had happened, as I walked beside her and tried to satisfy her with my meaningless answers.

We were walking through the waiting area when I saw her, her face hidden in her hands, her body crumpled away from the seat. Her brown hair was splayed all across her shoulders, and the jacket that she was wearing was half slipping off. She looked so hopeless, like nothing in the world could ever be right again. And she was convincing. But still I watched her for as long as I could while keeping my mom’s pace, my head eventually snapping back forward when we reached the entrance.

 

. . .

 

Though the doctors had securely wrapped my arm in gauze, keeping it in its steady position, and it still hurt like heck, I was still more upset about not being able to play softball, “For at least two months.”, the doctor had said. Two months? That would mean missing conditioning, practice, and games until at least February. And without softball, I was nothing. If I wasn’t on the softball field, where was I? If I wasn’t a softball player, what was I?

 

. . .

 

My parents, of course, had tried to convince me that it wasn’t going to be that bad, as if thinking those thoughts would make it that way. They weren’t very convincing. These would probably be the worst two months of my life, not that that was exactly saying much. I knew that some friends of mine had things much worse, like my friend Lucy, whose nickname was Lucky, for her lack of being so. But thinking about Lucky made me want to call her, so I got up from from my full-size bed and walked across the now almost-silent house, quiet except for the occasional bark from my 2 year old dog, Arizona. I walked to the phone, spotting it from across the room, as its black color stood out from our family’s yellow-and-brown themed kitchen. I had to use the home phone for now, for my cell phone had been broken a couple of weeks before from dropping it in a parking lot while sprinting to school after my alarm failed to wake me up. I grimaced, imagining how I must have looked that day, as I dialed Lucky’s number.

“Hello?” her voice said on the other end of the line, sounding confused. I smiled. She always forgot that I had to use the home phone now.

“Hello, this is California Cruise Lines calling,” I said, trying to make my voice as unrecognizable as possible. “We are calling to inform you are the lucky winner of a free romantic cruise for two on our lines,” I said, trying to hold back my smile, as I heard her pause on the other end of the line, and then burst out laughing.

Juliette!” she practically screamed, her peals of laughter making me start giggling too.

“Hey, I had to take advantage,” I said, my giggles half obscuring what I said. I could hear conversations in the background behind her laughter, and I stopped for a second to ask, “Where are you?”

“Oh,” she said, her voice suddenly becoming serious, “I’m at the hospital.”

“What?” I said, alarmed by the sudden seriousness in her voice, and alarmed at the thought of her at the hospital. “Why?”

“Umm…” she said, obviously not keen on letting me know. “My sister has a weird mole on her leg.” she responded. “But, it’s probably nothing.” she added, her voice brightening, though I could tell that it was really fake.

I was quiet for a long time on the other side of the phone, thinking. It seemed as if Lucky had striked again. Then, suddenly, there was a burst of new conversation coming through the phone, and Lucy’s voice came on again, saying, “Sorry, I have to go, my mom just came back in.”, and I imagined Lucky, sitting in the hospital, by herself.

And then I thought of the girl.

And then it all clicked.

It was her.

 

. . .

 

I thought of Lucky all that afternoon and evening, wanting to call her and ask, but afraid of what I might hear. I was scared, scared of what I might hear about her sister, scared of the effect it might have on her. Because from what I had seen in those 30 seconds in the hospital waiting room, it was a lot more serious than she was letting on. And those fun moments that we had had before I asked her where she was, that laughter between two best friends, that had been fake.

The Feldman sisters had always been close, the one year difference between their ages pulling them, not farther apart, but closer together. Liz, the older one, had always been careful and kind to her mischievous younger sister, who had ran away from home when she was six, only to run back an hour later, “Just because of Liz.”. And then, my eyes silently starting to fill with tears, I thought of that strong little girl now, huddled in the hospital, all happiness and hope gone, her body crumpled from this new weight that the universe had thrown at her.

Then I remembered what she had said, that there was a strange mole on her sister’s leg. And I lapsed into more worry, this time for her sister, whom I had never really known, but had seen many times on my trips over to Lucy’s house. She had always seemed really nice, her secret winks to Luce across the room seeming to tell a whole story in one glance, and when I would look back at Lucy, she would seem to get it immediately, either responding with a nod, a smile, or just a look at her sister, the one that knew her so well.

Finally, I got up the nerve to call her, but it turned out that I had nothing to be nervous for. Her phone went straight to voicemail, and though this should have been a slightly worrying factor, hearing her voice over the phone made my nerves settle a little. “Hi, this is Lucy, call back later or leave a message.” the voicemail Lucy said.

But

Instead

I hung up.

 

. . .

 

When I heard the contents of Lucky’s sister’s diagnosis, I was shocked.

Skin Cancer.

Lucy herself hadn’t been at school, but the news about the diagnosis was everywhere: I heard about it from the girls on the bleachers, the kids on the soccer field, and practically everyone passing in the halls. But each time I just kept walking, past everyone, my shock smothering everything else in the world.

Skin Cancer.

 

. . .

 

That whole week, I didn’t call her, or talk to her. I was a wimp, that whole week, and I wasn’t being a good friend. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face her, and I felt terrible about it. But the truth was, this reminded me too much of an event that had happened when I was younger, that I had been trying to forget my whole life.

And if I started thinking about that day, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

But I couldn’t leave her alone.

All by herself.

Could I?

 

. . .

 

That whole week, I avoided everything and everyone. And I felt really guilty about it. The me that was walking the halls was a shell, a ghost. I didn’t want this. But I didn’t want the alternative, either.

“Jules!” I heard my name from down the hall, and the only reason I turned was because I recognized the voice. The one that had been calling my name all week. And this time I finally looked her in the eye.

It was Helena, the all-around perfect girl at our school: nice, popular, smart, pretty. Her red hair flipped over her shoulders as she jogged toward me through the hall, probably so she wouldn’t be late to another one of her AP classes, the ones I had skipped over when looking at the class admissions list.

“So, how’s Lucy?” she asked, and I realized that I had no idea of the answer. This is what people thought, that I was still talking to Lucy, helping her through whatever happens. And the guilt washed over me again, because of course that’s what everyone thought; me and Lucy were best friends, and that’s what best friends did. They were always there for each other. I  couldn’t ditch Luce. No matter what happened, we would stay together. I was not going to let her fall apart so that I could continue to ignore what I had for so long, the disasters of 6th grade. And I knew right then what I would do, the thing that was overdue; I needed to see Lucy.

And then I realized that Helena was still there, staring at me expectantly, her hands on her hips. And I didn’t know what to say.

“Uhh… Well, she’s going through a lot right now,” I finally settled on, answering her question with a non-answer.

“Oh, yeah, I understand,” she said, her arms dropping from her hips. “Well, please tell her I’m sorry, okay?”

“Yup,” I said, nodding my head, not sure if I was actually going to, or if that was a lie.

“Well, bye, then!” she said, and with a wave over her now-turned back, she was gone.

 

. . .

 

When I called Lucky’s cell phone, it once again went to her voicemail. But this time, instead of stopping to listen to it, I hung up and dialed her home phone number.

“Hello?” her dad answered on the third ring, and I grimaced slightly by how bad he sounded. His voice was gravelly and rough, and he sounded just as Lucy had looked that day in the hospital: hopeless, deserted.

“Hi, it’s Juliette. I was wondering, could I talk to Lucy?” I said, hating how my voice sounded, wavering and pitying. I was not going to be afraid of Lucy’s dad.

“Uh… Yeah, Lucy. Um, she’s at the hospital,” he said, his voice faint, like he was a million miles away.

“Okay, thanks, Mr. Feldman,” I said, and after waiting a few seconds for a non-existent response, I hung up the phone.

 

. . .

 

On the way to the hospital, I wasn’t really thinking about anything except for Lucy and Liz and what might happen when I got there. But when the hospital came into sight, I put all of these thoughts out of my mind. This was my best friend. I didn’t need to prepare for this. This was for the Feldmans.

And with these thoughts in my head, I suddenly felt a lot braver than before. I marched right up to the front desk, the lady staring down at me with a quizzical look.

“I’m here for Elizabeth Feldman,” I said, not breaking eye contact with the lady behind the counter.

“Family?” she asked, frowning down at me.

“Ye- Yes,” I confirmed. In the Feldman family, they had always joked about how I was one of the family. I just hoped that they still felt that way.
The woman sighed, and though she was still squinting at me suspiciously, she said, “The Samples Ward, second door on the right.” And so, with a deep breath, I walked through the doors without even glancing at the hospital map, prepared for whatever was waiting for me.

After I made it to the Samples Ward, Liz’s room was extremely easy to find. “Second door on the right,” the woman had said. And there it was, the second door on the right.

With a deep breath, I pushed open the wooden door, and there she was. Liz. Exactly as I remembered her, minus all the tubes and wires that were all around her head and some disappearing under her white cotton blanket.

She was awake, and with only the two of us in the room, she spotted me immediately.

“Hey, Jules,” she said, treating me like an old friend. Her eyes crinkled up at me in a smile, and I smiled back at her, glad that she was still able to smile in this environment. But, she had always seemed like a “bright side” person.

“Hi,” I said back, not exactly sure what else to say, but feeling as if that was enough.

“I’ve been hoping that you would come by,” she said, that smile staying on her face even as she spoke. “I’ve always wanted to get to know you better.” And her saying that seemed remarkable to me, that even in her situation, she was still striving to get to know her little sister’s best friend better. But Liz was a remarkable person.

“And, I wanted to talk to you about Lucy,” she said, her smile tightening with this statement.

“Yes?” I said, my smile, too, dropping slightly.

“She’s really depressed,” Liz said, and I felt that wave of guilt once again. “I want you to promise me that you will take good care of her. She’s my little sister. Please, Juliette,” she said, her voice finally turning to pleading with this last statement. And it felt as if my heart was breaking. Liz loved Lucy so much. But… she would have to leave. And I would have to help Lucy through that, because that was what friends did, and that was what love did.

 

“I will,” I whispered. “I will.”