Invincible by Amy Reed Page B

door is open and we can see her tiny figure wrapped up in blankets, attached to a bag of blood.
    â€œHey, Evie,” Kasey says in a thin, desperate voice. “Remember that time we toilet-papered David Halloway’s house in fifth grade? And your mom made us go over there and apologize and clean it up?”
    â€œYeah?” I say.
    â€œThat was hilarious,” she says, but her voice trails off almost before she finishes.
    â€œThat sounds really funny,” Caleb says, and I wish I had some of his sweetness right now. I wish I could at least try.
    We pass eleven-year-old Leo’s room. He just got out of the surgery that removed his right arm below the elbow. On the other side of the curtain is his roommate Jonathan, four years old and here for his first round of chemo.
    And now we’ve reached the end of the hall. We’re face-to-face with a too-cheerful painting of monkeys hanging from a tree under a smiling sun. There’s nothing to do but turn around.
    â€œWe could go down to the teen lounge,” Caleb says. “They’re doing crafts in there right now.”
    Stella sighs as Caleb and Kasey face our chairs the other way. “Remember my hair, Evie?” Stella says.
    â€œYeah. You could have sold it for someone’s cancer wig,” I say, and we all laugh at the irony. Everyone except Kasey.
    â€œI stored all my power in my hair,” Stella says dreamily. I only now notice something off about her, something slow and hazy. She has the pain-meds look. She has the look of being half-gone. “Now I keep all my power in my hat.”
    â€œIt’s a good place for it,” I say.
    â€œBut you can take a hat off,” she says, and I know there’s some hidden meaning there, but I don’t want to think about what it is.
    â€œSo where do we want to go?” Caleb says. “Cafeteria? Teen lounge?”
    â€œOr how about the teen lounge?” Stella says. “Or maybe the cafeteria?”
    This is a joke we say multiple times a day. It has never been funny.
    â€œLet’s race,” I say. “Whoever makes it to the nurses’ station first wins.”
    â€œNow you’re talking,” Stella says.
    â€œI don’t know,” says Caleb.
    â€œAre you crazy?” Kasey says behind me. I almost forgot she was there.
    â€œCome on,” Stella says. “Live a little.” Another cancer ward joke that is not funny.
    â€œNo,” says Kasey.
    â€œOkay,” Caleb says. “But we can’t go too fast.”
    â€œThree out of four is a good start,” Stella says. “Pep Squad, what do we have to do to convince you?”
    â€œNo,” Kasey says again. She steps out from behind my wheelchair and faces me, furious. “I’m not doing it. You could get hurt.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” I say, with a laugh in my voice that is much crueler than it should be. “We’re already in a hospital.”
    She practically stamps her foot. “I’m not going to help you be so reckless. You have to be careful. Your leg. It’s fragile.” Her voice is shaking; her hands are fists by her side; her eyes are full of fear. I forgot she’s not like us; she can’t laugh this world away. She’s still holding on. She still thinks there’s some way for us to control it.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say, taking Kasey’s hand and squeezing it. She relaxes a little. “No racing. You’re right.”
    â€œThank you,” she says. We hold each other’s eyes for a moment and our shared past comes rushing back to me. It fills me up with a warm, thick sadness, and I realize I miss Kasey. I miss us. Even though she’ll never be able to fully understand the Cancer Kid world, she was my world for far longer than I’ll spend in here.
    Stella starts coughing. Deep, cavernous coughs that shake her whole body.
    â€œStella?” Caleb says.
    Stella shudders so hard