Invincible by Amy Reed Page A

happiness was so easy, when it was just there all the time, hovering around us, waiting to be picked like fruit.
    â€œOh, Evie,” Kasey says. “I wish you could have been there.”
    â€œMe too.”
    She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œIt must be terrible for you to hear about the fun stuff I do without you.”
    I shrug. Maybe I should be upset. Maybe I should be jealous and heartbroken and yearning to be back in that world with her. But right now I’m too busy worrying about Stella. I’m worried about her getting weaker. I’m worried about what’s going to happen to us for last night, what kind of punishment we have in store.
    I want my morphine back.
    â€œWhat’s going on with you?” Kasey says.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œIt’s like every time I see you, you’re further away. And now you run off with that girl in the middle of the night, when you’re so sick, when everything is so . . . fragile? It’s not like you, Evie.”
    â€œIt was eight o’clock, not the middle of the night,” I say. “And all we did was walk around the neighborhood. I’m sick of being in here. I’m tired.” My default line. No one can argue with a cancer kid who says she’s tired.
    So we say nothing. We sit there staring at the bagel neither of us is going to eat. There was a time not too long ago when we could talk on the phone for hours and never run out of things to say. Now we struggle to have a conversation longer than five minutes. And soon we won’t be able to have a conversation at all.
    â€œHey, bitches!” Stella’s voice breaks the silence, and I take a big breath of relief. Even Kasey looks grateful for the diversion, and I know she can’t stand Stella.
    Stella’s in the doorway with Caleb behind her. But she’s in a wheelchair. Stella’s never in a wheelchair. At least she’s still wearing real clothes and her signature red lipstick. But even all that color isn’t enough to hide how frail she is, how unlike herself.
    â€œLike my new ride?” she says.
    I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
    â€œHi, Kasey,” Caleb says.
    â€œHi, Caleb.” Then, after a pause, like she has to talk herself into saying it: “Hi, Stella.”
    â€œPep Squad,” Stella says. “So good to see you.”
    Kasey doesn’t try to hide her suspicion.
    â€œLet’s get Evie into her chariot.”
    Caleb gets one of the medical assistants to help me into a wheelchair. It’s not nearly as difficult as it has been. I woke up this morning and it felt like my arms suddenly decided they have muscles; I’m actually able to help hoist myself up out of bed. But that’s not all of it. It’s like last night changed something even deeper, like everything inside me has been turned upside down, or like the balance of the universe is off somehow. Whatever it is, I am not the same person.
    â€œGirl, you’re a machine,” Stella says.
    â€œYeah,” agrees Caleb. “You look really strong today.”
    Kasey looks at them, and then at me, trying to see what they saw so easily.
    As Kasey and Caleb roll us into the hallway, I whisper to Stella, “Have you heard anything?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œThey’re still in there?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œGod, what could they be talking about?”
    â€œProbably how they’re going to give us extra cancer as punishment.”
    â€œAt least Dan’s with them, though. Right? He’ll be on our side.”
    â€œI hope so.”
    â€œDid you hear from Cole? Did he get away all right?”
    â€œHe’s fine.”
    â€œWhat are you guys whispering about?” Kasey says.
    â€œNothing,” we say in unison.
    We pass by five-year-old Shanti’s room. She’s been in and out of here her whole life with sickle cell anemia. Her