Coming February 2019
Janelle and Alyssa used to be
friends.
Best friends. They knew each
other's deepest secrets and went through the hardest times together. But that
was then.
Now? Their status is somewhere
between frenemies and full-on rivals. Janelle is all about making a difference
in her community, while Alyssa reigns over the shallowest girls in school.
Until the day Alyssa collapses and
is rushed to the hospital. Suddenly, everyone knows about her declining health
and race against time. And, in a stunning twist of fate, the only person who
might be able to save Alyssa's life -- is Janelle. But will the girls' bitter
past get in the way of their futures?
With a fresh, unforgettable voice,
Jaime Reed spins a riveting and empowering story of female friendship and how
the difficult choices we make -- or don't make -- can change our lives.
EXCERPT
If I had to sit down with a shrink
and explain my relationship with Alyssa Weaver, I’d probably get diagnosed with
something incurable and hard to spell. We were those grouchy old neighbors that
showed affection by trashing each other’s lawn displays at Christmas. I’d driven around town, pitting the reason
why I should visit against reasons why I shouldn’t. It was a tie.
Alyssa took her time answering the
door. Word on the street was she’d just gotten out of the hospital today, so
she was probably stiff and groggy. She emerged through the opened door
and—Yeesh! It was worse than I thought. No makeup, hair giving me Medusa teas
with sunken eyes glaring at me like this train wreck was my fault.
Giving up that warm, southern
welcome, she asked, “What do you want?”
“An apology for you coming to the
door looking like Cynthia from Rugrats,”
I replied. “Also, I wanted to… I don’t
know, hang out and stuff.”
Squinting, Alyssa stretched her neck
closer until her nose was an inch from mine. “You’ve been crying. What
happened?”
Another reason for driving around
town was the crying jag that occurred out of nowhere. All my fears, memories
and emotions were beyond suppression. Alyssa didn’t need to know all that, so I
said, “People getting on my nerves.”
She rolled her eyes. “What else is
new? You’ll have to use the chair or the floor.” She lumbered back into the
house and down the hallway.
I closed the door behind me, still
blown away by the transformation. The interior walls were white. The carpet was
tan. Their furniture was… There was furniture! Two couches—one against the wall
the other under the front window with a glass coffee table between them. Two
giant bookshelves flanked a TV stand and the 50-inch flat-screen dominated
the center.
When I reached Alyssa’s room, she’d
crawled back into bed, her lilac covers tucked under her chin. A humidifier
pumped steam into the room. It was seventy degrees outside. She had on flannel
pajamas and she was still cold?
The bed and the butterfly chair were
the only viable seating options in the room. The chair now operated as a
hamper, so I’d have to make do with the floor. I checked the closet for a
blanket to sit on. I was shocked to find
the old purple sleeping bag crammed against her shoe rack. That thing had seen
some wild nights of make-overs and pizza parties. There was still a pepperoni
stain on the zipper that wouldn’t come out.
“You sure you okay with me crashing
here for a bit?’ I asked Alyssa.
Channel surfing at rapid speed, she
said, “I would’ve slammed the door in your face if I wasn’t.”
Seeing her point, I fluffed the bag a
few times until it draped evenly on the floor.
After kicking off my shoes, I sat
with my legs crossed and stared up at her. “I can’t believe you still have this
thing. I’m surprised you haven’t burned it.”
“Yeah, I have an issue with letting
stuff go.”
My stare dropped to my lap and stayed
there for several of the most awkward minutes of my life. What could I say to
that? I wasn’t reading into things, but neither of us had the strength to
unpack the baggage between us. Alyssa sure didn’t.
What in the world was she gonna do
about school? She was due back next week, but she clearly wasn’t ready. Her mom
had mentioned pulling her out of school altogether, but it was still up in the
air. Her whole life had been up in the air since she was a kid. Her family, her
coin, her diet, her treatments, her energy—everything was managed, but never
resolved. An unending cycle of modified schedules, the additional steps needed
to start the day.
Glancing around the room, I realized
this was hoarding of another kind—the hoarding of procedures. Medical stuff was
piled to the ceiling, and every inch of wiggle room had to be squeezed through
just to get out the door. Day in and day out: sanitized incisions, fresh
bandages, new needles. Beeping machines, daily records in journal pages.
Nutritional fact labels with each bite of food tasting like a percentage. I
looked at Alyssa’s thinning hair, the translucent white skin that hadn’t felt
the sun in days.
It was her childhood battle with
insulin all over again, times a thousand. The sick little white girl up the
road with the junky house. The business partner who sold cookies and lemonade
each year and refused to sample any of it. When would it end? One way or
another, it had to.
I cleared my throat; let the air dry
my eyes then asked, “So, you wanna—”
“Okay, the first rule of this hangout
is that you do not talk about my condition or anything sappy. I just gotten
through dialysis. I’m totally drained, my head is killing me, and I’m ready to
blow chunks.”
“I was gonna ask you if you wanna Netflix and
chill.” I clarified.
“You are not a hot Korean
guy with a sexy raspy voice, so no. I politely decline your offer. Plus, I
don’t have Netflix anymore. Mama considers it a luxury expense. Cutbacks.” She
said this last part with a crook of her upper lip.
What? Miss Shop-’till-you-drop
finally got that credit card cut up? Say it ain’t so. I couldn’t kick the poor
dear while she was down—not from my angle on the floor anyway. This was her
being civil, and what better way to call off a two-and-a-half-year feud than by
presenting a peace offering?
Her eyes, droopy and dead to the world,
sparked like flickering embers when I said, “You can use my password.”
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