Read Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling Online
Authors: Lucy Frank
Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2014 by Lucy Frank
Jacket art copyright © 2014 by Elinor Hills
Jacket art copyright © 2014 by Elinor Hills
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Schwartz & Wade Books, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
The following poems were originally published on
worldvoices.pen.org/two-girls-staring
in different form: “Bedpan”; “Morning Is the Time to Sleep”; “And In the Silence” as “And Suddenly”; “Smiley-Face Balloons” as “So Far from How”; “ ‘Let’s Talk About Happy Things’ ” as “Mom”; and “Forget” as “Not Me.”
worldvoices.pen.org/two-girls-staring
in different form: “Bedpan”; “Morning Is the Time to Sleep”; “And In the Silence” as “And Suddenly”; “Smiley-Face Balloons” as “So Far from How”; “ ‘Let’s Talk About Happy Things’ ” as “Mom”; and “Forget” as “Not Me.”
Schwartz & Wade Books and the colophon are trademarks of Random House LLC.
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randomhouse.com/teens
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,
visit us at
RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Frank, Lucy.
Two girls staring at the ceiling / Lucy Frank.—First edition.
pages cm
Summary: In this novel in verse, two very different girls bond while hospitalized for Crohn’s disease.
ISBN 978-0-307-97974-2 (hardcover)—ISBN 978-0-307-97975-9 (glb)
ISBN 978-0-307-97976-6 (ebook)
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Crohn’s disease—Fiction. 3. Hospitals—Fiction.
4. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.5.F73 Tw 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2013023236
Frank, Lucy.
Two girls staring at the ceiling / Lucy Frank.—First edition.
pages cm
Summary: In this novel in verse, two very different girls bond while hospitalized for Crohn’s disease.
ISBN 978-0-307-97974-2 (hardcover)—ISBN 978-0-307-97975-9 (glb)
ISBN 978-0-307-97976-6 (ebook)
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Crohn’s disease—Fiction. 3. Hospitals—Fiction.
4. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.5.F73 Tw 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2013023236
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.1
For Peter, again, as always
Contents
How to Read This Book
In this book, you will see a line on many pages. The line represents the curtain that separates the hospital beds of the main character, Chess, and her roommate, Shannon. The two girls talk to each other, mostly through the curtain. When the curtain is open, or Chess is no longer in the room, the line disappears.
Depending on your reading device, the appearance of the line representing the curtain will be different. On larger devices, the line will appear down the center of the page. In these cases, the story is meant to be read across each page, rather than down two separate columns. On smaller devices the line will appear to the side of the text—on the right for Chess’s narration and on the left for Shannon’s. On older devices, the line will not appear at all.
ER
T
he faces on the pain chart
he faces on the pain chart
wear numbered bow ties.
Zero has a dimwit smile.
Ten’s eyes trickle tears.
“Put ten. They’ll take us faster.”
Mom’s face
would be off the chart
if they measured fear.
A gray-faced woman cradles
her belly. A cougher fights
to catch his breath.
A baby screams.
What number?
Four Face is like: Um, is there a bathroom here?
Six ate a rancid clam.
Eight’s ice cream fell off his cone.
“Big as a grapefruit by the time
they found it,” whispers the lady beside us.
“And we’re not talking
the three-for-a-dollar kind.”
“Ow! Owww!”
a girl’s voice behind us wails.
“Owwwwww! This is getting
really bad!”
What number? Higher?
So they’ll take us sooner? Lower?
So I can be sure
they’ll let me go?
“Hey!” the girl yells.
“I’m in pain here, people!
I been sitting in this chair
since two a.m.
“And don’t be pretending
you don’t know me!
I saw that
Oh shit it’s Shannon
look
Oh shit it’s Shannon
look
before you went all blank and bland and shit!”
The gray-faced woman groans.
The baby thrashes in its mother’s arms.
Everyone moves farther
from the coughing man.
“Chess, sweetie. Let me do the paperwork.”
Mom’s cuticle is bleeding.
If I say five,
will they let me go?
“And don’t give me some little med student!
The last guy swore
those pills would work,
and look at me!”
If we don’t look, will the girl stop screaming?
Not even six a.m. I dressed for work.
If they take me next,
I might not be late.
“Yo! I’m a walking pain chart,
if I could even walk,
which I’m in too much pain,
which you would see
if you’d take the fuckin’ time
to fuckin’ LOOKIT ME!”
The old lady holding
the girl’s hand sees Mom wince,
throws her a mortified,
scared sigh.
Paid today.
Birthday next week.
Boston trip
to look at colleges.
They could say
it was a freak, a fluke,
too much hot sauce, too many pickles,
mixing marshmallows with beer.
“Francesca Goodman?
Vomiting, diarrhea, passing blood?”
asks the nurse who takes my blood,
my temp, my pulse.
Or the thousands of raspberries I’ve been eating.
Eight and a half?
Fourteen?
Ninety-three?
“Is it a dull ache? A burning, stabbing,
cramping, searing pain?
When did it start?
Is it constant or does it come and go?”
If I don’t tell
anyone,
I can forget
it happened.
If I can forget
it happened,
I’ll never
have to tell.
“How’re you doing, Francesca?”
The doctor’s face so kind
I almost cry.
“Not too good,” I say.
“Yo! You better save me, Doc!
Cuz your ugly face
is not gonna be the last thing
on this earth I see!”
The spindle-limbed, stub-haired girl
cuts dragon eyes at me—
“Who the fuck you lookin’ at?”—
before we’re both wheeled away.
G
reen scrubs blue scrubs white coats
reen scrubs blue scrubs white coats
push park poke
ID band IV tube
toss terms
start with
C
end w/
scopy
C
end w/
scopy
CT
catheterize
colon
chronic
conservative
clinical
corticosteroids
colonoscopy
“Excuse me. Did you say steroids?
Because my performance could use
a little enhancement these days.”
Monitor Me, floating somewhere
near the ceiling, hears my voice,
too shrill, too chipper,
As peering docs
see no Me,
just belly.
“I’m a runner, you know.”
With legs lovely
as an antelope,
he said.
“I don’t want big ugly bulgy muscles, though.
Will this kind of steroids give me—”
“Don’t worry,” says the doc, whose shaved
head shimmers in the fluorescent light.
“Those are anabolic steroids.
This is a different drug entirely
to suppress inflammamma …
high dose shortest possible
to minimimimize …
“Okay then, Mom.
It’s best if you step out now.
So, Francesca, we’re just
going to insert a little tube—”
Monitor Me says run,
run fast,
run now.
Then somehow
makes me find my mom
a smile.
W
ith her last small wave
ith her last small wave
as the door closes,
Even the wings
David drew
On my hand around
his number
Seem
to fade.
“R
elax try to relax just relax.
elax try to relax just relax.
Don’t worry. I have a special trick
to make it slide
down easy does it
that’s a good girl
swallow swallow sip and swallow
relax it will be much easier
if you—
“Hold her arms for me,
will you, please, Linda.”
I beg fight beg
for breath fight
gag choke drown
as he wiggles
stuffs bores
the tube
in
up
down
my nose
Invades
me
deeper
deeper.…
Jump back
to the French café,
where just last week
the scary-smart alumna lady
said you were so bright, so poised,
impressively well prepared.
Skip past
the latte making you feel
like a woodpecker was drilling
through your stomach,
the almond croissant
you knew was not a good idea.
Forget
days curled
on the nurse’s cot,
nights hunched
on the bathroom floor.
Conjure
the sweet tang
of raspberries,
tanned arms,
dark eyes,
hair streaked
all goldy by the sun.
Flash
to Bri and Lexie
and that flushed, fizzy,
laughing-at-nothing,
something’s-about-
to-happen feeling:
“Chess, what’s up
with the sudden
interest in produce?”
“It’s not the produce
she’s interested in.
It’s the meat!”
“Shut up, Lexie!
Don’t look now, Chess!
He’s oogling you
the way you oogle
his raspberries.”
“It’s
ogle,
not
oogle.
”
ogle,
not
oogle.
”
“Uh-uh. The way Chess does it,
it’s a definite oogle.”
“Chess, how many trips
to the farm stand
are we gonna have to make
before you say hi?”
“Chess! It’s Berry Boy!
Mr. Sugar Snap!
What’s he doing at this party?”
“Don’t call him that!”
“Then go ask him his name.
Look at him there, all alone
with his guitar.”
“Chess. Remember
the Plan.”
“Aren’t you glad now
I loaned you my dress?”
“You ask him, Bri.”
“Me? Chess,
I’m not the one
he thinks is hot.”
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?
Your throat might feel a little sore
till you get used to it.”
The doctor tapes the tube
to my nose.
Tells me what a good girl I am.
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