Changing Fate (6 page)

“This has been a crazy day,” he says.

“
Agreed.” My answer is instant, but true.

“Look, I’ve been wanting to—
”

I sneeze and scramble for a tissue. I’m wiping my nose and coughing and dreading the truth. Either Jack gave me his cold or someone else did. I can’t even enjoy this moment with Kyler. A few more wretched coughs scratch their way up my throat and I take a long drink from my water bottle.

“Sorry.” My response comes out hoarse.

Kyler touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

I take a deep breath and wipe my nose again. “I think so.”

He pauses for a second. His cheeks turn a shade of red. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

I blink a few times and try to process his words. Once I do, I swallow, try to breathe, finally manage a few quick breaths and end up coughing again. When the worst passes, I shake my head.

“You don’t?” The pain in his eyes cuts to my heart. It’s like I’ve taken his favorite song and changed the notes to an off-key, distorted melody.

“No. I mean yes.” What do I mean? Yes, I’d love to? I clench my teeth and think about what’s holding me back. A few more coughs give me time to come up with the right answer. “I’m not saying no. What I’m trying to say is…” Heat creeps across my cheeks and my thoughts scatter.
Ugh
. Why can’t I think straight? My nose drips and I get another tissue. “I think I’m sick.”

A sliver of relief softens his piercing eyes. “Maybe another time?” He tilts his head and offers a small smile.

I can’t do anything but nod. I’m afraid if I talk, it’s going to have repercussions. My keys jingle as I get them out of my backpack.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” I whisper.

If I’m really sick, Mom’s going to flip. I might actually see those black belt skills if this cold doesn’t kill me first.    

It’s hard not to focus on the fact that I turned down a date with Kyler. Singing Kyler, the one whose voice melts my worries, takes me to faraway places, and makes me feel more alive than any breathing treatment. It’s exactly what I need right now, but no one wants to be near me when I’m coughing this hard.

My chest aches, my throat’s on fire, and the pounding in my head won’t go away. I call Mom the second I get home from school and tell her the bad news. Or rather, cough her ear off until she understands and hangs up. I drink water and go to my room for some treatments. Something’s better than nothing. I strap the percussion vest around my body and decide to use the nebulizer at the same time. Usually, all of this helps suppress a persistent cough.

But this time it doesn’t.

I call Mom again.

“Mom.” Cough.

“Kate, have you done your percussion therapy?”

I struggle to respond. “Yes.”

“Nebulizer?”

Another cough. “Yes.”

“Put your shoes on and wait by the front door. I’ll call the doc on my way home and we’ll go straight to his office.”

I knew she’d say something like that. You’d think I’d be used to seeing Doctor Perry by now, but I’m not. My skin tingles and my muscles twitch. What is he going to say? Infection? Collapsed lung? It’s suddenly hard to breathe…which makes the ache in my head spin. I can do this. It’s just an infection. It has to be. This isn’t one of those times I want to prepare for the worst.

Mom’s home in no time. She honks and I hurry to the car, water bottle in one hand and travel tissue pack in the other. The faint leather scent inside her car tickles my nose and I sneeze.

“Tell me your symptoms,” Mom says.

I run through the list and she nods. Mom studies cystic fibrosis and the recurring sicknesses that go with it more than I ever will. It would just give me more to think about, and dread. This time, she doesn’t tell me her prediction. Her eyes are on the road, mouth pressed tight, and arms stretched out straight. I breathe in and out. In and out.

I close my eyes and find Kyler there. I focus on his face and try to tune out the rasp that rattles my chest with each breath. His voice fills my head, it seeps through my body and calms my racing heart. I imagine him taking my hand, sliding his fingers through mine, pulling me gently down a cobbled street. A violin plays softly in the distance and a muted
clink clink
of wine glasses accompanies the soothing sound of French people chattering. My head sinks back and I can finally breathe a little better.

“We’re here.” Mom’s voice kills the image and my heart rate speeds back up.

A bead of sweat trickles down my back. I open the car door and rush to keep up with Mom’s quick steps. She’s not much taller than me, but when she’s on a mission, her strides can outpace anyone with long legs. We walk into the doc’s office and a blast of cool air chills the moisture on my back. A shiver runs through me as I take in the smell of meds, old people, cleaner, and some kind of tropical air freshener. The combination makes my stomach churn and I sit down with another round of coughs.

The stiff fabric beneath me doesn’t give. It doesn’t comfort or help me relax one bit. Mom checks me in and the nurse shows up a minute later.

As we follow her back, I walk with stiff legs so my feet don’t tremble. We pause at a scale and the nurse gestures for me to step on the low, black box. Even with all my clothes, I weigh less than the last time I was at the doc’s. I cough into my handful of tissues and grab the water bottle from my mom to take a drink. We proceed down the hall and turn into a room: small counter with a sink, containers filled with med supplies, upper cupboard next to a rectangular window. I’ve never been to prison, but it’s like I’ve just walked into a cell. Again. My mom settles in the only chair and the nurse turns to me.

“Why don’t you have a seat on the bed and I’ll take your blood pressure.”

I place my foot on the pull-out step and hoist my body onto the bed. The paper cover crinkles beneath me and I hold still. The way my heart’s racing, they’re sure to admit me into the hospital for something. The nurse fastens the blood pressure cuff around my bicep and places her stethoscope on the crook of my arm. Air pushes the fabric against my skin until I think my arm might pop. Then it releases a little at a time. My pulse beats a steady rhythm.
Pump pump pump
against the cool metal circle.  

When it’s finished, the nurse pulls back with a flat expression. Everything is going so slow. Why can’t she move faster? I can’t breathe right. She grabs a PFT reader from the counter and sticks it in my mouth to test my lung function levels. Once I’ve breathed on the device three times, she takes it out and records the results.

My body wracks with another cough and it seems like ten more minutes before Doctor Perry finally shows up.

He presses his pointer fingers together and says, “Tell me how you feel.”

I repeat my symptoms and he nods once before checking my file.

“I’m guessing it’s just an infection,” he says. “But with your recent history, that can be dangerous in itself.”

I swallow hard and glance at Mom. Her eyes are locked on the doc and her knee bounces up and down quickly.

Doc Perry adjusts his glasses. “I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic similar to the one that treated your last infection.” He turns back a few pages. Yes, my file is
that
long. Almost like its own book of diseases—a record of all the things that are slowly killing my body. “Looks like it’s worked a few times before.”

Mom sighs. “How do you want her to take it?”

“I’m going to prescribe an inhaler.” The doc turns back to us and folds his arms over his rounded belly. “Before you pick it up, I want you to stop by the hospital for a chest x-ray.”

I
flinch. “But I thought you said it was just an infection.” An uneasy feeling seeps through me. I don’t want to go to the hospital, even if it’s just a short visit.

“We can’t tell for sure until some tests are done. Infection would be best case scenario at this point. We have to make sure your lungs are at full capacity and check to see if there is a collapse in one of the bronchioles. We also need to draw some blood for a few tests.”

I cringe and close my eyes. Needles, x-rays, tests—it reminds me too much of my last stay in the hospital. I thought I wouldn’t be afraid anymore, but the truth is, I’m petrified. I just act tough so I can push it away and live a somewhat normal life. As much as I hated going to that party with Giana, I’d much rather face that group of kids than go to the hospital. Even if I had to kiss every single one of those boys. At least I’d know I’d come out alive. Every time I go to the hospital, I’m afraid it will be the last time.

“Thank you, Dr. Perry,” Mom says. She’s all business. This is what happens whenever we get a diagnosis. If she cuts herself off emotionally, she won’t have to think about the details. It’s all about focus. Focus on fixing the problem, getting the right medicine, making sure I don’t die.

Mom leads me to the car and we hurry to the hospital. It takes all my will-power to walk inside. The minute I do, I completely shut down. I guess, like Mom, it’s my way of surviving the flat x-ray table, the prick of a needle, the waiting line for the inhaler, the exhaustion…life. This is how I survive. Fight or flight. I’m constantly fighting, but sometimes my brain takes flight so it can’t focus on what’s happening.

Even though this is just another infection, and even though the x-ray and blood tests come back normal, it’s only normal for now. Every infection breaks me down, pulls me apart, makes me realize why I didn’t want to connect with Giana and Kyler. And makes me even more upset that I already have.

I’m okay with dying…I
thought
I was okay with dying. I’m glad that for now, I just have an infection. I get to live another day, another moment listening to Kyler, dreaming about what could be. 

My finger pushes down on the inhaler and I breathe in the meds. The doc says to call back if I
’m not doing better within a few days. And he says to go to the hospital if I get any worse. I won’t feel worse. I can’t.

I’ve been stuck in the house for twenty-four hours and have to get outside before mom comes home from work. I stumble out of bed, throw on a coat and hat, and grab my inhaler. A chilly breeze greets me as I walk out the front door and head to a nearby park. The sun’s warmth battles the winter air and seeps into my skin. I breathe in, willing the fresh air to clean my lungs—to kill this infection and give me a chance to finish high school.

A chance to go on a real date with Kyler, not just another fake one in my head.

It’s only a few blocks to the park, but a cough attack hits me halfway there and I consider going back. Sure, I’ve got my French pictures in my room, not to mention a handful of documentaries I haven’t seen in a while, but I need
this
. To be outside in the fresh air.

A dog barks close
by and I turn the corner. Once the park is in sight, a black lab runs away from me, back to its owner. Past them sits the playground with a few green slides, a swaying bridge, and three swings. I zip my coat higher and head toward the swings. Their simple, gentle movement usually relaxes me and tends to encourage my imagination.  

I snuggle onto the cool seat and close my eyes. I
inhale deeply, letting the air pierce my lungs. It stings my throat on the way out, but I do it again. In and out, back and forth. My fingers tighten around the inhaler, keeping it safe as I lift higher into the air. I lean back and push forward, the air rushes across my face.

The Sainte Chapelle fills my head, the colorful stained glass swirling with elaborate patterns, the spires piercing the sky above. I’m walking through it, staring at the arches, listening to Kyler’s voice whisper in my ear. Instead of turning toward him, I face forward and continue my even breaths. In, out, back and forth. If I look at him, he might not actually be there. Or maybe the way I imagine his face won’t be close enough to the real thing. His voice, I could never get wrong. So I listen, and breathe, and somewhere inside, I know I’m really on a swing, slowing down, grasping onto the one thing that will save me if I start coughing too hard.

“Kate?”

That’s funny. Of all the times I’ve imagined Kyler, he’s never said my name. Especially with so much clarity. But I don’t want to lose that, so I close my eyes tighter.

“Kate.”

His voice sounds so real.

“Are you okay?”

My eyes fly open and I almost fall out of the swing. Kyler’s standing in front of me, almost as if my dreams had become reality.

“How long have you been there?” I ask.

“Not that long.”

“Oh.” My mind’s frantic, trying to snap back to real life. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

Kyler sits on a swing and turns toward me. “Free period. How about you?”

“Sick.”

“Shouldn’t you be inside?”

I shrug. “Inside can get boring real fast. But you’re right. I should probably head back soon.” I cough a few times in my arm and an ache flares in my chest.

“You need a ride?” Kyler asks.

“No.” I clear my throat. “I don’t live very far.” I glance toward my house then look back at Kyler. He has a playful smile and his curly hair is ruffled by the wind…just like my insides are ruffled by him being here. “What are you doing at the park anyway?”

He focuses on
his feet as they push through the bark chips. “I come here every once in a while.”

I
face him, our toes a few inches apart. “Why?”

He shrugs and closes his mouth. The silence leaves me hanging, wanting to know more about this
boy who has worry lines across his forehead.

The lines deepen and I clench my teeth to keep quiet. Kyler finally looks up and stares past me, toward the play set. His voice is quiet when he says, “My mom used to bring me here when I was a little boy.”

And he keeps coming back so he can remember her. My chest tightens and the ache seems to grow. Kyler came here to think of his mom and instead he’s talking to me. It’s almost like I’m intruding on their personal time. I turn away and lean forward to stand up.

“Where are you going?”

“I just…I thought maybe you’d like to be alone.”

Kyler moves his leg closer and taps my foot with his. “Don’t go.”

The energy racing up my leg soars through my heart and steals my words. I blink twice and manage to say, “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sick of being alone. Sometimes it’s nice to have people around me.”

I chuckle.

The pain in Kyler’s face eases and his eyes light up. “Did I say something funny?”

“You always have people around you.” Unlike me, but that’s my choice.        

“They’re just people. Ever since my mom passed away, it’s been hard to connect with them. Most of them don’t know what it’s like to lose someone. They go through life taking so much for granted. It’s really frustrating sometimes.”

I nod, stuck somewhere between losing someone and taking everything for granted. I’ve always pushed people away because of myself. Kyler’s
really
trying to fit in, but it isn’t working. So why does he want to be friends with me? Can he tell I’m different? Maybe he knows I have a secret since I isolate myself and scare people away instead of trying to fit in. Maybe he likes a good challenge—that’s why he wants to be friends so bad. Not that I’m complaining.

“Hey,” Kyler says, making me focus. “Let’s do something fun.”

I cough in response. Yeah, it’s totally hot. “Like what? I can’t stay out much longer.”

He stands up and comes behind me. “Let’s live in this moment. Like we’re still little kids.”

He grabs my swing and I cling to the chains to keep steady. He pushes me forward and I feel like I’m living a dream. I laugh, and cough, and listen to Kyler’s voice as he sings a nursery rhyme about money, and getting ready, and go. He pushes me hard and I’m flying. And coughing again. I need to stop, to get a good breath, but Kyler keeps pushing. I wrap my arms around the chains and try to hold still long enough to use my inhaler. Between the swing moving and the cough shaking my body, I can’t get it to work.

“Stop,” I scream, my voice hoarse.     

Kyler stops me so hard, I almost land on my face. I lean back and shove the inhaler in my mouth. I push the button on top and suck the medicine in. Kyler’s apologizing and rubbing my back. Once the medicine is in me, I can finally breathe.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again.

“It’s not your fault. I should really get home, though. I’ll be lucky if my mom lets me go to school tomorrow.”

Kyler reaches down and gives me a hand. “Is it that bad?”

Bad? How can anything be bad when his hand is in mine? I shake my head and think of France, happy times, being a kid…anything but the fact that I’m already standing and he still has my fingers in his grip.

A small cough escapes and reminds me that I have a reason to push everyone away. I’d hate to make a connection. I let go and hold my inhaler between both hands. 

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” he offers again.

“
Yeah…thanks though.”

“Can I walk you home?”

I should say no, but what’s another five minutes together? I try not to look too happy as I say, “I guess.”

Maybe I’ll get another offer for that date I turned down.

Or maybe not. Kyler does most of the talking—telling me about his childhood. The only time he mentions his mom is when he talks about the way his dad acted after she died. “He wanted to move,” Kyler says. “He needed a fresh start and didn’t want to be reminded of her every time he turned a corner.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“I told him I didn’t want to go.” He lifts his hands with the short explanation and lets them fall. “I
couldn’t
go.”

We’re in front of my house now so I stop. “But it’s so hard for you to be around your friends and everything. Do you think it would’ve been better in the long run?”

Kyler’s gaze roams my face and he presses his lips together. I hold my breath and hope this moment doesn’t get ruined by another cough attack.

“No.” He shakes his head, but his eyes never leave mine. “Definitely not.”

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because if I had left, I wouldn’t be able to visit the park. I need those memories. I don’t want to lose her
—don’t want to forget. You know?”

I nod, even though I’m not quite sure I really know. I don’t have memories of my dad. Nothing reminds me of him except for my fear of relationships, and that’s something I’d like to forget.

“Besides,” Kyler says. “If I’d moved, we wouldn’t have played at the park together.”

I laugh and his soft chuckle makes everything seem like it won’t be so bad. “Thanks, Kyler. I’m feeling better already.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

The hope in his voice is so intense
; it wraps around my nerves and squeezes them until I give the right answer. “Sure.”

His face relaxes. “Good. Now go rest. If you’re not there tomorrow, I might stop by since I know where you live now.”

I stare at him, trying to decide if he’s serious. Giana coming to my house is one thing, but Kyler? I’m not sure I can handle that yet.

“Bye,” I say. I walk backward and watch Kyler as he stands there, keeping an eye on me until I close my front door. As much as I want to peek through the window, I don’t. Instead, I lean against the door and hold onto the hope coursing through me. If Kyler wants me to be at school tomorrow, I’ll make my sickness go away so I can be there.