Best Friends Through Eternity (10 page)

“Since when did you become so noble? They’re going to cut the body up.”

“Worms are going to eat you, anyway. Or maybe someone will cremate you; there’s not enough room on the planet to bury everyone under a nice tombstone.” It’s time for Jazz to turn off the route toward her house.

“True.” Jazz stops for a moment, then touches my shoulder with her mittened hand. “Thanks, Paige.”

“For what?” I’m anxious to get out of the volleyball team’s range of revenge. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah. Because of you I can at least pretend my life is normal.”

It’s one of those mushy moments that I used to hate because I didn’t understand them before my train accident. Today, I really want to try. But I glance over my shoulder
and see people in the distance. “You’re my only friend, too,” I tell her back. “Now can we just hurry home where it’s warm? We can chat later on Facebook.”

She grins and nods, and we go our separate ways.

I run the rest of the way home, hoping she does the same. Who knows when Vanessa might jump out at either of us. Phew! When I step into the warmth of our house, I hang up my coat, kick off my boots and head straight for the computer in the den to do homework.

Of course, I check Facebook first and see that Max has posted photos of Body Worlds. Too cool. I grin as I click on each picture and see, one by one, Max’s favorites. I download a copy of each to my hard drive. He’s even taken one of that intertwined couple. I click “Like.” In a few moments, another comment appears.

As big a nerd as I am, she’s on her computer the second she gets in the door, too.

I answer with two words—Cell phone—and then don’t think anything more about it as I finish my homework.

When Dad comes home, I help him make chili, crumbling up the little package of ground soy into the frying pan. “How was your science trip?” he asks.

“It was really great. Dead people sculptures. Would you
donate your body to science?” I ask as I stir in the beans.

“No,” he says flatly as he dumps in a can of chopped tomatoes.

“What about organs?” I sample the chili and hold out the spoon for him to taste. “Wouldn’t you donate your heart for Mom?”

His lips curl upward only slightly. “I already have.” He brings the spoon to his mouth and tastes the chili. “It’s missing something. Pass me the cumin.” He shakes some in. “Chili powder.” He holds out his hand like a surgeon waiting for a tool. I pass him the chili powder and he sprinkles it in.

“So you would donate your heart? What about your lungs, your pancreas, your eyes, your liver and your kidneys?”

“Donating an organ for your mother is different. For you, too. Heck, I’d give you a kidney while I’m still alive.” He tosses a dash of hot sauce into the chili. “But for someone I don’t know …” He shakes his head and tastes the chili again, making a face. “A dash of cinnamon, maybe.”

I reach into the cupboard and hand him some. “But you know that I want to study biology, and I need bodies for that.”

“Look, can we not talk about this anymore?”

But we talk about everything,
I want to argue. That’s what Mom always says. Only Dad rarely raises an eyebrow, never mind his voice. Today I hear an edge, maybe even a splintering in his words. If I ask anything more about organs, I think he might crack open.
A touchy subject?
Too bad, because I remember about Kim’s parents asking for donations to the Kidney Foundation at the end of her obituary.

When Mom gets home, I follow her up to their bedroom and ask her as soon as we’re alone, “Mom, you know I saw Kim Ellis’s obituary on the Net. Why did her parents ask for donations to the Kidney Foundation?”

Mom looks as though she’s trying to swallow her mouth.
Painful memories?
I wonder. Finally, she speaks. “Well, you know when you have a bacterial infection, the kidney is the worst place for it to hit really badly. Kim ate that bad hamburger and the
E. coli
attacked her kidney.”

“Makes sense. They couldn’t really ask for donations to the better hamburger fund, I guess.”

“No, but they could have asked for them for Sick Kids Hospital.” Mom seems almost angry for a moment. I want to ask her more questions but don’t even know exactly what answers I’m looking for.

“Look, Kim’s death was a real shock to us.” Mom pulls off her Foods R Good shirt. “We never really got over it.”

“No kidding. Dad doesn’t even want to talk about organ donation.”

“Well, then, just leave it alone, Paige.” She pulls on a lime green T-shirt with white handprints all over it. My handprints. I’d decorated it about three years ago for Mother’s Day and she still wears it. “Try to be sensitive to other people’s feelings.”

It feels a lot like that sting of cold air across my face on
my way home this afternoon. I look at her sideways. “Mom, can I say one thing before we drop it?”

She looks me in the eye. “Go ahead.”

“If something should happen to me …” I stare back into those blue eyes that are so electrically charged and sensitive to my moods. I want to tell her
Please, please pull the plug, because if I can’t live my life, I should at least be able to live out my afterlife.
Kim and I should be able to move on.

Or we’ll be stuck on a beach forever.

But I would only be asking because I know that if fate plays out exactly the same way, I will be rigged to some kind of ventilator by Monday night.

Surely that’s against the rules—to ask to be released because of my prior knowledge. So I start again, on something I’ve always wanted but just never mentioned. “If something should happen to me, I want you to donate all my organs. My eyes, my lungs, my liver, my kidneys …”

She chokes back a sob then and looks away from me. That one word “kidneys” has upset her. Probably something to do with Kim.

“Aw, Mom. We’re talking recycling here.” I try to kid her out of her tears. “Just don’t let anything go to waste. That’s all I’m asking.”

Mom bows her head and holds the bridge between her brows with two fingers. Her shoulders shake.

N
ext day, the same snow flurries that occurred last Friday keep Dad back from the food terminal again. Mom and Dad decide to take the van in together and, if business is quiet, they will shut the store early.

Before they leave, I make sure to give them each a big hug.

“Mmm, this is nice,” Mom says. “To what do we owe this?”

“Growing up?” I suggest.

“Sometimes it has its advantages,” Dad says as he kisses my forehead.

If my previous destiny cannot be altered, there isn’t too much time left. I watch as Mom’s van backs out of the driveway and I wave. Then I swallow hard and head off, too.

Feathers of white swirl around me as I wait at the corner for Jazz. She must be running late. I turn to her house so we won’t miss one of our last walks to school together.

“Sorry, I slept in. Just be a sec.” She opens the door wider, and I step into the entrance of a whole different world, one that manages to surprise me all over again each time I visit Jazz.

The furniture looks large and overstuffed, bright green and red, with a huge leather footstool and a dark wooden elephant coffee table. This morning, the air smells like an exotic dinner. Hints of garlic and cumin make my mouth water. A different exotic world.

Jazz dashes from her room with her backpack. “See you later, Mom,” she calls as she slips into her coat.

Her mother comes quickly to the door, smiling. With the same green eyes as Jasmine, she has the same warm brown skin, too, only on her it looks so much more foreign. Like all of Jasmine’s family.

“Don’t forget, I’ll be home late. Paige and I are helping Mrs. Falkner in the library today.”

“It is very nice of you girls to help your teacher so much.” She tips her head and Jazz brushes her lips across her cheeks. “And, Paige, you will be coming to Beena’s party on Saturday, yes?”

Last time her mother invited me, I made the excuse that I needed to help my parents in the store. Seeing all that extended family partying could be depressing. This time, I smile. “Thank you, yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Very well. We will be seeing you.” Her mother continues to watch us as we step to the end of the walkway, then waves from the window.

Because of the snow, the cold has cracked open to a softer warmer temperature. I look up at the sky. White everywhere. Beneath our boots, the snow feels wet and clumpy, perfect for snowballs or short-lived snowmen.

At the end of the block, I look back, and Mrs. Aggarwal is still there. I can just make out her bright red sari.

“They don’t give me a minute of freedom,” Jazz complains through gritted teeth, picking up some snow and forming it into a ball.

“She’s so proud of you,” I say. But I know firsthand what that kind of adoration does to you. It weighs you down with expectations, makes it hard to breathe. Makes it hard for them to pull the plug and let you give up your breath. I try not to think about how this all will end on Monday. The closer it draws, the more difficult that becomes.

“As long as I do everything her way, she’ll stay proud.” Jazz throws the snowball hard onto a stop sign so that the
O
is filled in with white. She pauses to admire it, then turns to me. “Thanks for backing me up.”

“No problem.” We slop through the soft snow to the school, then climb the stairs to the front door. I push it open, and we both stomp our boots on the mat in the foyer. Just ahead, people gather around the trophy case next to the office, but we continue straight ahead for our lockers. Something white flashes at us from Jazz’s door.

When we draw closer, we can see it’s an enlarged photo of the intertwined couple from Body Worlds. Only the
heads don’t belong to any red-veined cadavers; they are Jazz’s and Cameron’s, cut and pasted onto the bodies.

Jazz gasps. We both freeze for a moment, then she rips the picture from her locker.

But I get a sinking feeling. The crowd at the trophy case. “Let’s go back to the office.”

Sure enough, stuck to the glass pane is another poster. I tear this down for Jazz. She looks like she’s hyperventilating.

“It’s just a stupid picture. Don’t let it get to you,” I tell her.

“If my mother sees one of these,” she gasps, “I’m dead.”

“Relax. We took them all down.” When we step into the washroom to give Jazz a chance to calm down, we see that all the mirrors have the posters on them, too. Jazz tears them off frantically. I try to help but she’s faster.

“It’s not your fault someone fooled around with Photoshop. Your mother can’t blame you,” I tell her when she starts to cry.

“She’ll figure out that something’s going on between me and Cameron. She’ll tell my father.”

I help her shred the photos into the trash. “Don’t worry, they’ll never see these.”

I stay with her as she washes her face with cold water, hopeful that Vanessa has done her worst. Then we head to homeroom a few minutes late. For me, it’s English with Mrs. Corbin. No one gives me any grief about slipping in after the bell. Emma doesn’t shove any notes in my hand, and Zoe and Gwyn seem to be paying attention to Shakespeare.

No gym today, so the morning goes smoothly. Jazz spends lunch hour with Cameron as usual, and I hang out with Max, who buys me a chicken wiener in the cafeteria. When we finish eating, I go with him to Mr. Brewster’s lab to help him set up for an experiment. I like that. It isn’t Disney World—or even Canada’s Wonderland-exciting for my second-last day at school—but it’s nice. I don’t even see Vanessa or any of her followers.

Then, a few minutes before dismissal, the intercom snaps on. “Your attention, please. Would Paige Barta and Max Liu report to the front office?”

Sitting next to me, Jazz turns my way and raises her eyebrows.

I shrug. This is a new one on me, too. So much changes just because I ate that hamburger with Max on Monday. “Probably a slipup on attendance,” I explain as I stand up. The teacher watches as I head off. I’m curious but not really worried.

Till I sit with Max across from Mrs. Norr and she slaps down the Photoshopped picture of the intertwined cadavers. She pushes it toward us over the expanse of desk and papers.

“Who do you think is responsible for this?” Mrs. Norr asks.

“Not us,” Max sputters.

“You were spotted taking photos in Body Worlds. Did you know that pictures were not permitted?”

Not saying a word, Max lowers his head and nods.

“Paige, did you know Max was taking photos?”

“Yes.” I don’t add anything like “I told him not to.” I don’t want to get him into even more trouble.

“Did he post this photo on Facebook?”

“No, of course not.”

“Did he post any of the Body Worlds photos on Facebook?”

I glance at Max and feel my skin get hot. He isn’t the one who put Cameron’s and Jazz’s heads on the passionate dead couple. He doesn’t have any reason to make fun of them. But who are his other Facebook friends?