“I don’t like guys,” she tells me, quieter this time.
I blink. “Oh…oh, Mo, I didn’t…”
She swats the hand I’m reaching out to her. “I don’t like girls either.”
“Wait, so you’re like…”
“I don’t knowwhatI am, okay? I’m figuring it out, but I’ve been pretty much screaming that for four years, and you and Ambs are so obsessed withyourown love lives that you’ve never taken the time to ask about mine. Instead, it’s just like this assumption. ‘Why don’t you ask this guy to prom?’ or ‘Would you ever hook up with him?’ or whatever else.”
“Oh, God, Mo.” I feel like the absolute worst, most selfish person on the planet. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know…”
“You don’t have to know, but people who don’t know? Ask. They don’tassume.” She gets up now, is pacing back and forth. “You actually collected yourself to come all the way to my house to accuse me of sleeping withyourpiece of shit boyfriend after I’ve been your best friend for four years.”
She takes a big breath. “I’m trying to figure out what it means. Is it that four years is not enough time, because you’ve known Amber for twelve or whatever?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, it’s something because this is…this is so…” She shakes her head and holds up a hand. “I’m done with this.”
“Mo, please,” I say, getting up too.
“I’m serious. You don’t trust me? Then don’t act like you’re my friend. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Just leave me alone.”
And then she goes inside her house and slams the door.
I go to her front door and call her name. “Mo? Mo, come on! I’m sorry! Mo?”
The curtains are pulled shut.
I knock. “Mo, please. I’m so sorry.”
My phone starts ringing, and I want to hurl it across Mo’s front lawn.
“Give me a break,” I groan, because it’s probably my mother for the twentieth time today. But when I check my screen, it says Mrs.R. Jason’s mom.
My heart drops.
I know it’s big news immediately. Life-changing news.
I call her back. “Hi, Mrs.R! Is he awake?”
“Zadie, you need to get here as soon as you can,” she says. She is not laughing through her tears, not rejoicing, not squealing.
I stop breathing. “Is…is everything okay? Is Jason…”
“Please,” she says, and then she hangs up.
I look over at Mo’s door, and then I run for my car.
I rush all the way to the hospital.
Park in a spot I’m pretty sure is reserved for physicians. I run all the way to Unit 4C.
There’s a commotion outside Jason’s room when I arrive. His parents are looking in through the glass as several nurses and a doctor work on him. They’re using a defibrillator.
Mr.R is staring at his son in horror, his face red. Mrs.R’s hands are clasped over her mouth, and she’s crying.
“What’s going on?” Nobody answers as I head for Jason’s door, but another nurse stops me and then I’m standing next to Mrs.R, my palm on the glass separating us from Jason. I watch as his lifeless body jumps at each shock, and I’m crying too.
