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She grinned. “Maybe I just have faith in my own abilities.”
I close my eyes and listen to the gentle swish of the pool water, the soft hum of the creepy pool suction thing as it makes its way across the bottom, cleaning off all the dirt. I take deep breaths and exhale slowly, trying to yoga my way into being peaceful and open to the spiritual realm. If Sasha tries to reach out to me from her afterlife, I want to be able to feel it.
Several moments pass and nothing happens.
I keep my eyes closed, grateful that for once since I woke up today, I’m not crying. I picture Sasha as an angel, her long, dark hair back and flowing in waves around her shoulders. I get all theatrical with it, picturing her smiling at me from atop her heavenly cloud, her bright new angel wings enormous and perfect.
Then my mind wanders into more practical daydreams. Maybe she’s not an angel yet because she’s stuck in some queue of dead people waiting to get inside the pearly gates of heaven. There’s no doubt that’s where she’s going. Sasha was pure and good and didn’t have an evil bone in her body.
The back door swings open, and the sound of flip-flops patters across the concrete. I smell his cologne before he says anything and force my eyes to open for the first time in what feels like hours.
“Zack?”
He sits next to me, kicking off his flip-flops and dunking his feet in the water.
Zack is the very definition of an on-again, off-again boyfriend. I had a huge crush on him in junior high and even though we had a few classes together, he never seemed to notice me. Finally, freshman year, while standing in the pizza line in the cafeteria, I pulled off the ballsiest move of my life and handed him a note that said I thought he was cute. We’ve kind of been a thing ever since then.
The breaking up and getting back together drama started way before Sasha got sick, but lately we’ve been off, off and off. There’s no time for a boyfriend when your best friend is dying.
“Hey, babe.” He wraps his arm around me, tugs me into his shoulder. He’s wearing board shorts and a T-shirt, which, if he were anyone else, would make me wonder if he even went to school today, but Zack dresses like this all the time. His short blond hair and full-body tan make him seem more like a surfer guy than a video game addict — the former is what made me like him all those years ago, and the latter is what he actually is.
I look at him, taking in the concern on his face. It’s so much nicer than the scowls and annoyance he showed the last few times I saw him.
“I’m sorry about Sasha.”
“Thanks.” The word is out of my mouth before I really think it over. Are you supposed to thank someone in this kind of situation?
I’m so sorry to hear that your friend is dead.
Why, thank you for the acknowledgment, good sir.
Ugh.
“So I guess everyone knows?” I ask, looking back at the water. The creepy pool brush is now in the deep end.
“Yeah,” he says, kicking at the water with his toes. “The principal made an announcement this morning. ‘Sasha Cade has lost her battle with cancer.’ Pretty much everyone was crying all day. Once I heard that, I knew you’d be staying home.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll go to school for the rest of this week. I’m not in the mood for being pitied by a b
unch of idiots who only liked me because I was friends with Sasha.”
“Don’t be bitter, babe.” Zack takes my face in his hands and kisses my forehead. Once, that gesture would have made my heart swoon, but I’m not sure I’ll ever feel that way again. About anyone. Or anything. “You should try to look on the bright side.”
Since he’s holding both sides of my head, I’m kind of forced to look at him. I lift an eyebrow. Then my teeth grit together as anger rockets through me and I shove his hands away. “Where the hell can you find a bright side to my best friend dying?”
My outburst doesn’t startle him. He runs his hands through my short hair, making it stick up at the ends. “Well, for starters, you can let your hair grow out again.”
He wiggles his eyebrows and I pull away, my chest tight. He can’t seem to go one day without mentioning how much he hates my hair. How he fell in love with the girl who had light brown locks going down her back, and that when I shaved it all off, I should have consulted him first. It’s been four months since I handed Sasha the razor and told her to make me bald. I don’t regret it, not for a second.
She’d lost all of her hair from the chemo, and it was the right thing for me to do. Plus, it was kind of fun. A few years ago, I would have balked at the idea, but once you realize that people all over the world are dying and you’re still alive, several inches of hair doesn’t mean much.
“You shave your head all the time,” I say, flicking my hand over his super short hair. “Why can’t I?”
He rolls his eyes. “Because you’re a girl. You’re supposed to be my princess, not look like you’re about to go on the front lines of war.”
“I’m not some princess, Zachary. I’m tough. I’ve delivered five baby calves and I stitched up that lady’s Chihuahua, remember?” And I survived my best friend’s death.
He laughs and pats my back. “Yeah, yeah, okay. You’re tough. Still, I’m ready for your hair to be back. And now you can work at the animal clinic again, right?”
