Extraordinary Means (19 page)

I HADN
’
T EXPECTED
Latham without Lane to hurt as much as it did. I’d made a mistake, and I knew it as I lay in bed each night that week, alone and lonely, with no company except my own horrible thoughts. I had trouble falling asleep, so most nights I’d curl up on my side and stare out the window at the inescapable woods. I tried to see beyond them, past Whitley and the dust-covered avocado stands along PCH, all the way down the coast to Los Angeles, to home.

But I couldn’t. All I could see was Lane’s face in the gazebo, the way he’d crumpled, the way he’d stared at me like I’d torn apart the universe and handed him the shreds.

I hadn’t known it would be like that. I didn’t have experience with boys, or experience with much of anything, except having TB. But Latham House was closing down. It was like Nick had taken to saying, that these were the last days of the empire.

He was wrong, though. The sun had already set on our
little empire, which was the only one that really mattered. Our group was splintered, the energy that once made our table the center of the dining hall sucked dry. There was no empire anymore, just the ruins of a once-great civilization. Just the memories of a once-great relationship.

It took me three days to build up the courage to even sneak a glance at Lane again, and to stop pretending that whatever picture was in my fashion magazine wasn’t the most fascinating thing in the world.

And when I glanced at him, I wanted to cry. He looked the same as always, my Lane, with his floppy hair and green-brown eyes, except he wasn’t mine at all. Not anymore.

Marina knocked on my door the Thursday after I broke up with Lane. I was curled up in bed with Adele on repeat, in this little nest of electronics and books and chargers, and she snorted when she saw me.

“I see you’ve made a cave,” she said.

“I’m regressing. Next I’ll sprout gills and slither into the pond,” I said.

Marina shook her head.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want!” I said. “Except to sit in my mope cave.”

“Well, your mope cave has company.”

Marina shut the door and held up a USB stick.

“I just talked to Nick,” she said. “Have you listened to this?”

“What is it?”

“It’s . . . well, it’s Charlie’s album,” she said.

I sat up.

“Charlie made an album?”

“Before he died,” Marina said. “He finished it. Left it in a box on his bed.”

I hated talking about Charlie. It made me feel like I was back there again, standing over Charlie’s body, looking for his green light.

But this was different. This was new.

“Can we play it?” I asked.

“Nick made you a copy,” she said. “So, here. All yours. I’ve been listening to it on repeat all day.”

She tossed the stick onto my bed. I stared at it.

“Thanks,” I said.

“He was coming to find us, you know,” Marina said. “Charlie. He knew he wasn’t doing well. He was trying to say good-bye. That’s why he was in the woods. Not because we guilted him into attending a toga party.”

I stared at Marina. She smiled sadly.

“Not that it’s worth anything,” she said. “I just thought you should know.”

She shut the door behind her when she left.

I popped the stick into my laptop, and plugged in my headphones, and played it.

I’d heard Charlie’s music before, in snippets. A line, a chord progression, the acoustic version on the ukulele. But this wasn’t a rough draft. It was his finished verse. It was Charlie, back from the dead and sitting right there next to me, confessing everything about how it felt to be young and dying and terrified that there was something you still hadn’t finished, that you wouldn’t have enough time.

When the album ended, I was sobbing. Charlie had barely finished making this. And I’d been so stupid to abandon Lane. We hadn’t finished becoming anything yet, because I’d been so terrified that whatever we were was only temporary.

And I’d been so, so wrong. Being temporary doesn’t make something matter any less, because the point isn’t for how long, the point is that it happened. Like ancient Greece. Like Latham. Like Lane and me.

I tried my best to smooth my ponytail, and I put on the last of my favorite lip gloss, which I’d been saving for a special occasion, and then I bolted down the stairs and knocked on the door of Cottage 6.

It was evening, not too late, and this kid Tim opened the door, looking puzzled.

“Thanks,” I said, slipping in past him.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said, but I didn’t care.

I ran up to the third floor and down the corridor to Lane’s room.

I knocked, and his voice called, “Come in.”

“Hi,” I said.

His room was a mess. Piles of books, clothes, misery. It was so different from the pristine dorm room I’d made fun of a few weeks earlier. So much more lived in.

He stared at me like I was the last person he’d expected to show up at his door.

“Hi,” he said cautiously.

I closed the door and stood there, staring at him, wondering what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to break up with you.”

“You didn’t?” he asked, like he didn’t quite believe me.

“No. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, and I brought tie-dyed shorts to summer camp, so that’s saying something.”

“I remember those shorts,” Lane said, grinning.

And then he wrapped me in a hug. He squeezed me so tightly that I could almost feel the holes in my lungs, the missing parts that TB had pressed out of me, and how being with Lane made me feel like I was whole.

“I remember your braces,” I teased.

“I remember your purple rubber bands.”

“I remember your red sunglasses.”

“I remember staring at you when we swam in the lake, thinking how beautiful you were.”

“You did not!” I said.

“Okay,” Lane said guiltily, “but I should have. And I should have told you a long time ago that I love you.”

I stared up at him in shock, and he grinned down at me, all eyelashes and jawline, making me feel shivery.

“Even after I broke up with you?” I asked.

“Oh, wait, now that you mention it,” he joked.

“Hey,” I said, pretending to be mad. But I threw my arms around him and stood on my toes to kiss him, and right before I did, I said, “And I love you, too.”

And then I kissed him like I wanted to make both of our med sensors explode.

“Whoa,” Lane said after we pulled apart.

I smiled at him.

“We don’t have to stop,” I said.

“Um, we probably do.” He motioned toward his silicone bracelet. “I’m pretty sure any more of that would set off nuclear warheads.”

“Yoga breaths,” I told him. “Nice and slow. In and out.”

“Who knew Wellness would be good for something?” he joked.

“Shush, I’m trying to kiss you,” I complained.

And then my lips met his and we didn’t say anything at all.

FRIDAY WAS THE
next collection, and of course Nick backed out at the last minute. Lane said he’d come with me, but I told him it was okay, I’d rather go on my own.

I hadn’t been in the woods since the night of the toga party. I’d been avoiding them, the way I’d avoided everyone. But Charlie wouldn’t have wanted to ruin the woods for me. So I squelched my nerves down into a tiny, manageable little ball, and set out that Friday night with my backpack and knit cap, walking the familiar path with my flashlight illuminating the trees. I was trying to make peace with the woods, and to say good-bye to them.

It was almost December, and a lot of the trees were skeletons now. It was easier to see the sky through the branches, and I could even make out some stars. I read once that we’re all just dead stars looking back up at the sky, because everything we’re made of, even the hemoglobin in our blood, comes from the moment before a star dies.

I don’t know why I was thinking about that, but it made a lot of sense right then that stars glow so brightly in their instant of death, and that Charlie’s music was him glowing, and that the stars in the sky would one day burn out and become atoms inside of people who were sick with diseases we couldn’t yet imagine.

Michael was waiting for me in the clearing, hunched inside a heavy coat, even though it wasn’t that cold out.

“Hey,” I said, waving my flashlight beam up and down in greeting.

He turned, and there was a strange expression on his face.

“Just you?” he asked.

“Nick is the worst business partner ever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Which is particularly ironic, since he’ll probably wind up
running
a business.”

Michael coughed then, and it didn’t sound good.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Sick.”

“Cold season, huh?” I asked.

He stared at me, and I realized that he didn’t have any bags with him. He hadn’t brought our stuff.

“TB, actually,” he said, with this unsettling half smile.

We stared at each other in the dark, and I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t know why I felt so nervous all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“You’re sorry?” Michael laughed in a way that scared me. “Sorry? What does sorry do? Can it get my
job
back? Can it pay my
rent
? Or my
child support
?”

“No, I—” I broke off, unsure what I was going to say.

“
What?
” he said, raising his voice. “No
what?
”

“No, it can’t, but there’s a new medication,” I said.

“Oh, that’s right, the so-called protocillin. If that’s even real,” he spat, taking a step toward me. “But it doesn’t matter if the medicine is real or not. They’re not giving it to people like me for
months
. I have to sit and wait. I could die before they have enough.”

Michael was really frightening me. He didn’t look
scared, he looked furious. And then he took another step toward me.

“
You
did this!” he accused. “
You
gave this to me! My life is over. I can’t see my kid. I lost my job. I’m not supposed to leave my
house
. And I’m going to die from this! I’m going to die
alone
!”

I stumbled back, trying to get away. But he lunged toward me, his fist connecting with my rib cage so hard that I couldn’t breathe, and everything seemed to shatter. I felt myself fly backward, and there was a sharp crack against the back of my head, and something sticky, like sap, but which probably wasn’t sap.

And then pain. So much pain. Everywhere, like, I was drowning in it. Like galaxies were collapsing inside of me, the stars burning out, even though they were already dead. I was filled with twice-dead stars, and everything began to go black around the edges, and I tried to say something, anything, but all I could do was curl up on my side and cough in violent, gut-wrenching spasms. I could hear Michael saying, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” and the
beep-beep-beep beeeeeep!
of my med sensor on high alert, and then darkness.

SADIE SAID TO
meet her in the gazebo after the collection, but it was getting late and she still wasn’t back. I waited, wondering where she was, and wishing we had cell phones, so I could have texted.

I didn’t know what would happen if she missed lights-out. She could probably figure out some excuse. I just hoped she was okay. She’d seemed more tired lately, and more pale than usual, but I was probably imagining things, because of Charlie.

I was scaring myself, because I was alone in the dark and it was late and starting to get cold. Sadie would be back any minute, with that silly red cap on her head, her backpack heavy with contraband, rolling her eyes over how that black market guy hadn’t shown up on time. And then she’d tuck her chin against my jacket and grin up at me, and we’d share a quick good-night kiss before dashing inside with barely
enough time before the nurse check to climb under the covers still dressed.

I was listening to this playlist I’d made for her, headphones clamped over my ears. It was the story of us in music, except it wasn’t finished yet. I had this plan that I’d add a new song every month, so that the playlist would keep going as long as we did. It was sort of an electronic version of adopting a tree, which I’d done in the Carbon Footprint Awareness Club, but only because it had looked good, not because I’d actually wanted to. Keeping a playlist alive sounded much more me.

I stared across the quad, at the clock tower. Five minutes until lights-out. And as much as I didn’t want to, I knew I should go inside. But I didn’t budge.

Come on, Sadie, I thought, fiddling with my iPod.

Sadie will be back before this song ends, I thought.

And then: Sadie will be back before this next one ends.

But she wasn’t.

The song was halfway through when the nurses came running out of the cottages. They raced toward the woods, their expressions grim. I glanced back at the dorms, at all the windows lit, with everyone watching. At the kids spilled out onto the porches in their pajamas.

And then I took off my headphones and heard that dark and terrible alarm.

Beep-beep-beep beeeeep! Beep-beep-beep beeeeep!

It was coming from the woods. And I knew, beyond a doubt, that it was coming from Sadie.

Everything stopped cold, except time somehow marched grimly forward, because my heart was hammering, and there was a pounding in my ears and my head, and I knew, I just knew, that something was deeply wrong with Sadie. Panic rolled over me, a dense fog of it, choking me, and blanketing everything.

I scrambled to my feet in the moonlight, desperate for that horrible beeping to stop, even though what I really wanted was for it never to have happened in the first place.

The nurses raced into the woods. Nurse Jim clicked on a flashlight, and I didn’t even think before I plunged in after them.

I didn’t have a compass, but I remembered the general direction, the clearing she’d pointing out to me. I didn’t know if she’d be there, but I had to try.

“Wait!” I called.

Nurse Jim turned.

“Lane, get back inside!” he said, as a tall, brunette nurse crashed into the woods behind me.

“I can’t get a read on this location,” she said, shaking her head. “Signal’s too weak out here.”

“None of us can,” Nurse Jim said. “We’ll have to spread out and hurry.”

He glared at me.

“Back inside, now!” he insisted.

“I know where she went!” I said desperately. “Please! I can show you.”

I didn’t want for them to say that I couldn’t. I just started running. My lungs burned, and my chest ached, and I didn’t realize how painful it would be until I’d already begun. I put my hand against a tree, catching myself, and taking a ragged breath.

“It’s this way,” I said, pushing forward and willing myself to keep going as I raced toward that terrible beeping.

I knew something was wrong. And I wanted to kick myself for not realizing it earlier. For not going with her. For not insisting. And God, I wanted to kill Nick.

“Sadie!” I called. “Sadie!”

But part of me knew she wouldn’t answer.

It was so dark in the woods, even with the thin, white beams of the nurses’ flashlights. I could hear other nurses shouting to each other about how they couldn’t get enough reception to track the signal as the nightmarish beeping continued, getting louder and louder until the woods were pulsing in alarm.

The clearing Sadie had told me about was just ahead, and I hurried toward it.

“Sadie?” I called again.

And then I saw her. She was curled on the ground at the base of a tree, an empty backpack next to her. At first
I thought she was sleeping, but then the beam of Nurse Jim’s flashlight passed over her, and I saw that the back of her head was matted with blood. It wasn’t the bright red of arterial blood. This was a different kind, darker and more urgent.

“No,” I whispered, sinking to the ground next to her.

There was a deep gash on her scalp, like she’d been thrown against the tree, and she was so pale that her skin was almost translucent.

I cradled her in my arms. She was so cold, and her breathing was so shallow, but she was still alive.

“Sadie,” I said. “It’s me. Please. Sadie.”

I was gasping for breath, and my heart had never beat so fast or so loud or so close in my ears.

Softly, Sadie moaned.

“You have to step back,” one of the nurses said, but he couldn’t have meant me. And then his hands were on my shoulders, and he was lifting me away from her, and I was crying and screaming, and I couldn’t catch my breath, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except Sadie being okay and not dead.

“What was she doing out here?” one of the nurses wondered.

Everything was starting to spin, and I leaned one hand against a tree and pressed the other against my hammering heart, struggling to breathe.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked. “Please? Anyone?”

“You’ve got to calm down,” a nurse told me. “Here, this will help.”

I felt a puncture, and then the whole world melted away.

I WOKE IN
a hospital room in Latham’s medical building. It was just after four in the morning and eerily quiet. Something itched at my noise, and I reached up and unclipped an oxygen tube.

I was still woozy from the sedative, and it took an embarrassing amount of effort to push myself out of bed and stand without swaying. My brain was so foggy that I couldn’t quite remember why I was there, or where there was. And then the fog cleared, and the events of that night hit me full force.

Sadie, lying on the ground in the woods. That gash on the back of her head. Her shallow breaths. The way the nurses had surrounded her like she wasn’t a girl anymore but an emergency.

I had to find her. I had to make sure she was okay.

I shuffled into the quiet hallway. The nurse’s station was at the far end, and a television played softly, flickering through the glass barrier.

I’d never been upstairs in the medical building before. It was a small ward, not a full hospital, and I found Sadie’s name scribbled on the door plaque two rooms down from mine.

I tiptoed in, hoping desperately that I’d find her awake. I pictured her laughing at my terrible bedhead, then smiling sleepily and asking if I wanted to snuggle in with her until the nurses caught us.

But of course that didn’t happen.

She was asleep, or unconscious, I’m not sure which. She looked so small in the hospital bed, and so delicate, with a collection of wires and tubes disappearing under the blanket. She looked nothing at all like the red-lipped girl in the knit cap who’d tramped through the woods at night with a backpack full of contraband.

“Hi,” I whispered, but she didn’t respond.

I reached for her hand, wanting to hold at least that much of her. I remembered writing my phone number across the back of it, and feeling her fingers flutter across my jaw as we kissed in the woods. I remembered twisting around on the swing ride at the Fall Fest, reaching toward her as she held out her hand, daring me to grab it and get a medium-soda-sized wish.

I could have used that wish now. But something told me it wouldn’t have been big enough.

I don’t know how long I sat there before Sadie moaned softly and opened her eyes.

“Hey, you’re awake,” I said, squeezing her hand.

She winced, her face pale and drawn.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“Medical building.”

She closed her eyes again.

“Everything hurts,” she whispered. “I think I’m actually made of pain.”

I looked around for something that would help, and then I spotted it.

“Morphine pump,” I said, guiding her hand over the button. “Nick would be so jealous.”

I waited for her to say something else, but a nurse came in. She was young and brunette and pretty, and she smiled when she saw that Sadie was awake.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said, and then she spotted me and frowned at my hospital gown.

“Out,” she insisted, daring me to argue. I staggered to my feet, still a bit unsteady from the sedative.

“I’ll be back,” I promised Sadie, glancing over my shoulder, but her eyes were closed again, and I couldn’t tell if she’d heard me.