Sharing Sam (3 page)

“Until you’re in remission, then.”

“Until I’m worm food,” Izzy said. She chewed on a thumbnail. “Although one textbook I read said three months, four at the outside. Statistically speaking, that seems to be the norm. It varies a lot, of course. I’m just assuming the worst.”

“Shut up, Izzy. Shut up. This is not about statistics. This is you. You are not going to die, not tomorrow, not in four months or six months or six years.” I took her hand and held it so hard she winced. “Doctors can be wrong, they’re wrong all the time. They tell people this crap and then their patients end up outliving them.”

Izzy sighed. “Al, that happened on
The Young and the Restless
last summer.”

“Still, you can’t know this for sure,” I said. “They have to do biopsies. You don’t even know if it’s malignant yet.”

“True. But judging from what I know so far … I’m just saying it’s likely that the prognosis isn’t all that promising.”

The air was wet and thick. My breath came in gasps. “What is the matter with you?” I struggled to my feet, gesturing wildly. “You’re acting like this is a done deal, like it’s over.”

“It’s just that I’ve had a while to let it sink in. A couple of weeks ago, they told us this was likely. Today was just the grand finale. Give it time.”

“No, I will not give it time!” I was screaming.

“The problem is,” Izzy continued philosophically, “nobody talks about dying. I mean, let’s face it, it’s a bummer. I’d rather talk about Congress, or Eddie Vedder, or those sandals at Dillard’s—you know, the black ones that cost about two thousand bucks?” She lay back in the sand. In the waning light, her dark hair could have been a pool of water. “We pretend we’re immortal because it’s easier.”

“We
are
immortal, Izzy, we’re juniors.”

She smiled.

I tried again. “They’re doing all that gene research. You could get into one of those experimental drug projects.”

“Yeah, I asked my doc about it. I’m going to Miami for more tests. Maybe I’ll ask there. Of course, even if I did get into one, there’s no guarantee it’d work.” She rolled onto her side. “But I’d like to feel … you know, like I’d done my part for science and all that. I would rather have found the cure for cancer myself, but hey, I’ll be a guinea pig if I have to.”

I dropped to my knees. The sand was already cool, but the sky still simmered with color.

“That’s the only thing that pisses me off,” Izzy said softly. “I wanted to do … well, great things.”

I sat beside her. “Iz, you
are
great things already.”

“You can do the great things for both of us,” Izzy said. “Don’t forget the twin guys in Paris, okay?”

“You are not gone. You are here. You are going to get better.”

“Also, the skydiving. No, let’s make the skydiving optional. The twins are enough pressure.”

“I want to start this day over,” I said. “I want to backspace it out of existence.”

Suddenly I thought of Sam. He had been part of this day too, this day I wanted to erase. I tried to remember his quiet smile or the feel of my arms around his waist, but all I could remember was his bike flying through the air in a beautiful, deadly arc.

The moon was getting braver, taking on color and light. Izzy pointed to the spot where the turtles had hatched the summer before. “Think they’ll come back?”

“They always do. Late spring they start laying, remember?”

Izzy nodded. “Think I’ll see them hatch?”

“You’ll see them.”

“If I don’t,” Izzy whispered, “you can do it for me, Al. The twins, the skydiving, the turtles. Don’t forget, okay? Especially the twins.”

“You’ll be here. You can do it yourself.”

“Maybe you’re right. You couldn’t handle twins.”

“Please, Izzy. Hope. For me. It’s way too soon to stop hoping.”

Izzy sat up. She shook sand out of her hair. We watched the moon trip lightly along the water. I cried softly. Izzy just hugged her knees, swaying slightly. I could feel her watching me.

“When do the turtles hatch?” she asked.

“Mid- or late summer.”

“Sooner, ever?”

“Not usually.”

Izzy nodded, as if she’d come to a decision. “Okay, then,” she said. “Okay, Al. I’ll be here.”

W
ITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS
, everyone at school knew about Izzy. Rumors about Iz replaced rumors about Sam. She had three weeks to live, she really had AIDS, her cancer was catching—you name it, we heard it. It was so completely horrible it was almost funny.

Izzy’s parents arranged for her to have surgery at a medical center in Miami. The surgeon came highly recommended and was doing some interesting work with brain tumors, Izzy told me brightly. Iz actually seemed excited about getting to hang out at such a swell facility. She was even hoping to get a tour of their lab. I wondered if maybe she was in denial. While the rest of us were so frantic, she was … well, just Iz.

Wednesday, Izzy insisted on coming to school, even though she and her parents had a four
P.M
. flight to Miami. She had a physics test that morning she didn’t want to miss. Afterward we sat under a palm tree, having lunch. Neither of us was very hungry.

“Are you nervous?” I asked her.

“Nervous? Just ’cause some stranger’s going to drill a hole in my head and scoop out a handful of brain? Nah, I’m not nervous. Now, if I were having a nose job,
then
I’d be nervous.”

Izzy brushed a long wisp of hair out of her eyes. When she came back from Miami, all her hair would be gone. I thought she would still look beautiful, and I told her so.

“Just promise me this, Al. If I come out of surgery a cauliflower, make them yank the plug.” She tossed her lunch into the trash. “I told my parents the same thing, but you know how attached parents can get to their kids. I mean it. If I come out drooling—or if suddenly I start watching lame reality shows or something—put me out of my misery.”

I managed something between choking and laughter.

“No, I’m serious,” she insisted. “Promise.”

“I promise.” I was glad we were both wearing shades. I didn’t want to see her eyes.

Izzy leaned close. “Dark, brooding semistranger at three o’clock.”

I followed her gaze. Sam. It was the first time I’d seen him since that afternoon in the grove. He’d probably been cutting classes again.

I hadn’t even mentioned him to Izzy. Somehow all those new, amazing feelings about Sam had gotten lost in all the worry about Iz.

He was leaning against the spiny trunk of a nearby palm, maybe looking at us, maybe not. He was wearing sunglasses too.

The damp breeze played with his hair.

“Bad Boy Sam,” Izzy said. She pushed down her sunglasses. “You know, I kind of like the look of that guy.”

“Sam?” I asked neutrally. “How come?”

“Well, when you’re freakishly tall, it sort of limits your options, Al. He has the definite advantage of being over six feet.” She repositioned her glasses and turned onto her side. “And he’s got one of those great smiles. Like he knows some really juicy secret but he’s not going to let you in on it. Plus,” she added, “there’s that Harley. Guaranteed to piss off Mom.”

“I think his Harley is out of commission.” As soon as I said the words I wanted to swallow them. This was a stupid time to bring up my infatuation with Sam. I wanted to discuss it with Izzy, but not just then, not that day of all days.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

I plucked at a piece of grass. “I saw him crash it. In that grove where I go riding. It was totaled, pretty much.”

“You’re kidding. Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Well …” I paused. “It was Monday.”

“Oh.” Izzy nodded. “So what happened?”

“He bled on my T-shirt.”

“Very
Rescue 911
. Is that it?” She grinned. “No mouth-to-mouth? No CPR on that smooth, firm young chest?”

“Nothing life-threatening.”

She cast me a questioning look. “Do I take it sparks flew?”

“No sparks, Iz,” I lied. “He came, he crashed, he bled. That’s it.”

“Good, because I’m thinking maybe I’ll just saunter on over there and ask him out. ‘Hey, baybee, I know your Harley’s dead, but maybe you could still take me for a ride.’ ”

“Yeah, right.”

“Too much?” She shrugged. “What do I care, anyway? You know, I believe the specter of death is liberating. What’s the
worst that could happen? I ask him out, he says no, I die. I ask him out, he says yes, I die. Either way, the rejection part is sort of small potatoes in the grand picture, no?”

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore, Al.”

She lay back on the grass and sighed. “You think I’ll die a virgin?”

“Yeah, I’d lay odds on it. But I’m figuring you’ll be about ninety.”

Izzy laughed. “You’re such an optimist.”

“I
am
an optimist. And I wish you’d see the light and convert.”

“I wish I could. It must be nice to assume that if you just think good thoughts and say the right things, everything will turn out peachy keen.”

The edge of sarcasm hurt. “You make me sound like some New Age Marcia Brady,” I said.

“Quiet, Marcia.” Izzy nudged me. “Look who’s limping over.”

Sam was slowly making his way across the lawn. I wondered if he’d ever seen a doctor. The cut on his forehead was a thin black line. I felt this wild rush of hope as he approached. I don’t know what I was hoping for, exactly. Unless maybe it was the insane fantasy that he’d swoop me into his arms and tell me that his life had been forever changed since that moment we’d first touched in the orange grove.

“Hi,” he said.

So much for the fantasy.

“Hi,” I said.

“I believe that would be my cue,” Izzy said. She grinned. “Hi.”

“You’re Izzy, right? French fourth period?”

She took off her sunglasses. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m surprised you remember. You’re not there much.”

He smiled, then fell serious. “I heard about your tumor.”

It was the word, so ugly and bare, that everyone else had been studiously avoiding. Izzy wasn’t fazed. “Yeah, well, I’d been meaning to get my hair cut, anyway.”

Sam laughed, but his eyes were pained. “Life has a way of sucking sometimes,” he said. “You having surgery?”

“Monday. Tests first.”

“That’s tough.”

We settled into an awkward silence. “I hear your bike got totaled,” Izzy said. “Speaking of tough.”

Sam reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved a five-dollar bill. “Here,” he said, looking at me for the first time. I felt my cheeks blaze. “What’s that?” I asked, frowning at the bill.

“For your shirt. A down payment,” Sam said.

“Please.” I laughed. “It was just an old T-shirt.”

He hesitated, then stuffed the bill back in his pocket.

“Well, anyway, thanks again for your help,” he said.

I listened for something to hang on to—a throaty catch in his voice, eye contact that lingered just a second too long—something, anything I could take as a sign he felt the same way I did. But Sam just turned back to Izzy and took off his sunglasses. “Good luck,” he said softly, and then he was limping away.

“Damn,” Izzy said. “I blew my big chance.”

I wondered if Izzy was serious, and if she was, what I would do about it. She was always talking that way about guys but
rarely followed through. I think she felt as shy and inadequate as I did around them, which was crazy. She had a
CosmoGirl!
cover face, an IQ in the stratosphere, and she was even, as my grandmother liked to put it, amply endowed.

Most of the time, though, Izzy was so immersed in her own little world that she didn’t quite follow what was going on in the real one. A guy would flirt with her, and about four days later she’d realize it. Whereas I, on the other hand, was attuned to every nuance, every look, every word, every word implied between words. A guy would accidentally run into me in the hall and that evening I’d be picking out bridesmaids’ dresses.

Izzy sighed. “Did you sense anything there between us? A sort of fatalistic bond? Or was that just pity? Who cares, I’ll take what I can get. Maybe if I’m back in school in time for Valentine’s Day, I could ask him to the dance. Would that be tacky?”

“No,” I said, looking away. “It would be very feminist of you.”

“I’m halfway serious, you realize.”

“Plan on it, Iz. Definitely. It’d give you something to—”

“Don’t say ‘to live for.’ ”

“I … I was just going to say that it would give you something to look forward to, that’s all.”

“Maybe. We’ll see. Do you think he likes the gangly, bald, puking type?”

“You forgot brilliant.”

“If the radiation treatments make me nauseated, we can discuss quantum mechanics while I pray to the toilet.”

“Is this what they call gallows humor?”

“I’m getting on your nerves, right?”

I touched her shoulder. “I just want you to think positively, okay? For me?”

“I am.” Izzy jumped to her feet. “I’m thinking positively about the slinky black number I’ll be able to fit into for my big date, what with not being able to keep down food. How’s that?”

“It’s a start,” I said. I stood, brushed off my jeans, and grabbed my backpack. “Are you serious?” I asked—casually, I hoped. “About Sam?”

Izzy gave a short laugh. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. You sounded—”

“Please, you know me. I talk the talk, but I can’t walk the walk. Or is it the other way around?” We fell into step together. “Besides, I’ve got other things to think about.” A look of weariness settled over her lovely face. “Explain to me again how this optimism stuff works.”

My heart was in my throat later that afternoon as I walked Izzy through the crowded halls to the lobby. Her parents were waiting stiffly in the car.

I pulled two crumpled packages out of my backpack.

“I should have known you’d make an event out of this,” Izzy groaned. She signaled to her parents and we sat on the wooden bench by the door. The vice-principal, Mr. Lutz, was standing at the entrance to the administrative offices, watching us. He’d already given Izzy a big pep talk— “The prayers of the school are with you,” “Don’t worry about falling behind,” that sort of thing.