Dead On My Feet by Cesca Marie.pdf

Dead On My Feet by Cesca Marie

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6007656/1/

Full Summary:

Recovering from a serious illness, Edward knows what it is to be invisible but

obvious to everyone around him. Bella, who has watched a loved one die of

protracted illness, understands the tightrope-act of life in an unpredictable body.

Alienated by his disease, Edward finds a friend in Forks' newest resident. The only

problem is that she sees far more than anyone else does – including the things he

doesn't want seen.

Monday

Even sitting in the back corner of the room, in the farthest desk from student

traffic and the teacher's line of sight, it is possible to be the centre of attention.

The really curious thing about it is that I can be invisible at the same time.

No one likes to look at seriously ill people. It's awkward. It might be catching. It

might happen to you some day, and that ruins the happy reality of today. That's

the invisible bit. But every other student in this class is hyperaware that I'm here,

even if they don't look at or talk to me, because in a place they don't

acknowledge they're afraid I'm going to drop dead at any second.

Technically, I'm in remission. I say technically because I still feel like shit. Even

after the cancer is gone, there's a lot of healing to do. Napalm-strength drugs

damage practically everything, and even the most benign treatments are

physically taxing.

I lay my head down on the lab table. Class hasn't started yet, and none of my

teachers tell me to straighten up and pay attention anymore. Like lifting my head

might kill me.

Fourth period biology is my worst class. It used to be my best. Now all the

practical labs are torture; the formaldehyde-soaked samples we use smell so bad

my stomach turns every time. This class is right after lunch, too, at the time of

day when I'm sure to either feel nauseous or tired or both. That's part of the

strategic appeal of the back corner seat:

1. It's out of everyone's line of sight

2. It's right next to the window, so I can lay my head down on the table and nap

in the sun like a cat

3. There's a sink right behind me. Lunch has reappeared a few times.

4. It's farthest from the storage unit with the foul-smelling chemicals

Class starts right on the bell. We have a new student today, from Arizona. Who in

their right mind would leave the sun for a place like this?

I clear away the books I've carelessly dumped on the other side of my lab table.

It's going to be our lab table now; it's the only free seat for her.

I figure it'll be less awkward for her if we don't talk, so I don't even say hello. If I

don't look at her, she won't stare at me. Luckily, it's a lecture day, and we don't

have to work together on a lab practical. The lights go off, the overhead projector

goes on, and the class gets a series of transparencies to copy. I make an effort at

the first two, and then give up and put my head down. I'll just read the textbook

later. Maybe. If I get around to it. I'm pretty sure I'm failing this class anyway. I

haven't completed a lab practical in months.

Today is a particularly trying day, and I leave last period halfway through to go

hang out in the nurse's office. It says something when you've got your 'own' cot

in there. The nurse isn't in her office right now - probably lecturing the health

classes about hygiene or something – so I turn off the lights and make myself

comfortable. It seems too short a time later that Alice is pulling my blanket off.

That girl has a preternatural sense of when I'm having a really awful day.

"Come on," she says. "Emmett's illegally parked."

Tuesday

Tuesday morning starts off on a really annoying repetitive note. Luckily, alarm

clocks are equipped with snooze buttons.

"Don't you dare hit snooze again!" Mom yells up the stairs. Stupid morning

people with their stupid morning energy.

I drag myself out of bed and head for the bathroom. I leave the light off and turn

on the shower. I like to shower in the dark because it's like an extra five minutes

of sleep. That, and it's easier on the old ego.

This room used to be Alice's. Mine used to be down the hall, and Emmett and I

shared an adjoining bathroom. The trade was her idea. She sensed how

important it was to me to have a private bathroom when I got sick.

The mirror is fogged up by the time I get out of the shower. I don't wipe it off. I

don't need to look at myself today. I put on clothes that used to fit but are now

too big. Thank God for chilly weather. It gives me an excuse to cover up a lot of

skin. There's something distinctly odd about a person with no hair on their arms

and legs.

It's a curious thing, what hair remains and what falls out after chemotherapy. He

obvious stuff went quick: head, eyebrows, eyelashes, facial hair. I lost by body

hair in patches. The only hair that remains, like some sick joke, are the fine hairs

on my second knuckles and enough stray pubic hairs to make me look like a

thirteen year old boy.

Wigs itch like hell. Hats are a better alternative, if you're not too vain about

having hair. I've got a drawer full of toques now, mostly homemade. My crafty

little sister knit me one during my first round of chemo, and I guess she got a

kick out of being useful and creative at once, and kept churning them out. I've

got a toque in every color – and she gives me hell if I don't match the damn

things to whatever I'm wearing. Today's selection is black, because I already feel

like being an asshole and it's not even eight-o-clock. Like my hat is a fucking

mood ring.

I am feeling exactly like hell by the time I get to biology. Lunch isn't sitting well. I

hope we don't have a lab practical today. I just shut my eyes, try to remain

completely still, block out the noise of the class, and pray a little mantra in my

head that I don't vomit.

New Girl sits down next to me. Jeez, does she have to jostle the table like that?

"You okay?"

"Fine." Fuck off.

"Here." I crack an eyelid and she slides a few papers across the table. She's

typed up yesterday's notes.

"I saw you didn't finish writing, so…"

"Thanks."

"I'm Bella."

I turn and hurl into the sink. It feels like more comes back up than I swallowed

today at lunch. How is that even possible?

The class shuts up faster than fucking Jonas Brothers tickets sell out. People

swivel in their seats to see what's going on, like they can't figure it out.

New Girl hands me a Kleenex and turns on the faucet.

"Isn't this just fascinating?" she says brightly, and the other cretins all turn back

to their own affairs. Fuckers.

"Peas?" she guesses.

"Lime Jell-O." Who the hell asks a question like that?

This class isn't a lab practical, but I nearly wish it were. We're given our term

assignments. We have to work in pairs over the next few weeks, so I can't ignore

the girl who just watched me puke and then tried to talk about it.

We're replicating Mendel's pea plant experiment. This is going to be fucking dull.

Contrary to what Alice thinks, it is totally possible to tell when she's gone off her

Ritalin. She can barely sit still and fiddles with her seatbelt on the ride home.

"So guess what?"

"Forty-two," Emmett says. I suspect he might have cracked a book sometime in

the past fortnight. Or it could just be a coincidence.

"Student Council picked a date for the spring dance." Alice is practically vibrating

in the front seat. Should I tell her there's a RedBull in the glove box? She starts

talking a mile a minute about themes and colors and stuff, so Emmett turns on

the radio. She makes a valiant attempt to talk over it, even when he maxes out

the volume. The second we get home she puts on her hard-done-by whine and

says, "Momeeee, Em's being mean to me!"

"She's lying!"

"If nobody's bleeding, I don't want to know," Mom calls from the second floor.

Gotta love her parenting style. She thinks conflict is character building.

Wednesday

Lunch is always pretty boring. I sit with Alice most days, on the edge of her little

group of friends. I don't talk much. We didn't move here long before I got sick,

and I didn't meet a lot of people before treatment kept me out of school and I

became the elephant in the room.

At the moment, I survive on water, fruit juice, yogurt and Jell-O. Everything else

upsets my stomach and tastes like bitter cough syrup. Everything tasted like

metal during chemo, and now that it's over everything tastes too bitter or too

sweet, so I can't eat much without feeling nauseated.

I sit there and contemplate which Jell-O cup to open first: cherry or lime?

"Just eat the cherry first, you know you want to," Alice says. If she didn't sound

annoyed, she might sound like Satan in a tempting mood.

"Not hungry."

She tries to swipe my cherry Jell-O and I snatch it back. Her bullshit radar is

entirely too good.

"I'll make milkshakes when we get home," she says. That makes me smile and

takes the bitter edge off the Jell-O. Alice figured out a kick-ass mix for juice and

yogurt milkshakes during my second round of napalm, and made an addict out of

me. She uses them to bargain with me like I'm an unruly child. And I'm stupid

enough to keep falling for it.

"I don't mind doing most of the work," Arizona says. We're divvying up the

workload for our term project. "But you're not allowed to be a jerk."

"Oh, anything but that." I really shouldn't push my luck with sarcasm. I'm lucky

enough not to have a grade-grubbing lab partner who would bitch about me not

pulling my weight. She's compassionate enough to take my fatigue into account.

But it still feels lousy to be given an easy ride because she feels sorry for me.

"You're doing it again."

"You'd be in a bad mood too if you felt like shit."

"You have the worst attitude." I hate it when strangers pretend to know me. I

start to write stuff down on our lab sheet as she sets up the plant jars and other

equipment. I don't believe she's really from Arizona. She doesn't even have a hint

of a tan.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Does it bother you?"

"Depends why you're staring."

"You're not really from Arizona, are you?"

"You don't really have cancer, do you?" That makes me smile, which throws her

off.

"Actually, I don't."

She sizes me up like she thinks I'm full of shit. I can't tell by her face if she

decides I am or not, but she smiles sweetly and tells me she likes my hat.

"I like your hair."

"You're trying to make this awkward on purpose, aren't you?"

"What gave you that idea?"

She dumps a Ziploc of potting soil in front of me and tells me to start measuring.

Thursday

Biology is starting to become a weird part of the day. I still feel tired and sick and

cranky at the end of lunch, but my lab partner is the only person besides Alice

who talks to me at school. It's kind of nice, except for the fact that I can't stand

her.

"You look better today."

"Do I?" Like I give a fuck what she thinks. "Why do you say that?"

"You're sitting up, for one."

"Har har." Bitch.

Arizona starts to set up the microscope. We're taking cross sections of bean

seeds today and looking at the cell tissue as compared to dried peas. I just sit

there and let her do all the work of setting up. She doesn't ask for help.

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