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Really me. Still in the hospital.

I won’t ask if ur ok b/c I know ur not but I am so so so sorry about what we said. U don’t even know.

I didn’t throw myself out the window because of my friends, but if Brooke wants to keep apologizing for it, I’m going to let her. I take a pic of my busted face with the webcam, closing my eyes. I send it to her without a caption.

FUCK

I rest my fingers for a little bit so that she can stare at what’s left of me before I let her off the hook.

You would love it here. Lots of stitches and open wounds.

Ha ha. Really Sash we’re so sorry, we set up a thing at school and people have been giving money.

I glance at the cardiac center pamphlet. It’s going to take more than a bunch of kids giving up their lunch change to even make a dent in that bill, insurance or not.

Isaac stopped me in the hall and gave me some money and it smelled like cigarettes and is probably from drugs but whatever. I washed it and put it in the jar.

Isaac’s name in black and white sends a jolt through my system, a tiny stutter on my heart monitor.

That’s nice of you. Thanks.

Np. I feel really bad.

Not your fault.

Can I call u?

Don’t have my phone.

When are you coming home?

My heart stumbles through another beat, not liking the answer any more than I do.

I’m not. I have to go to live in this cardiac center where they can keep an eye on me until a transplant becomes available.

That’s how the doctor had put it to me when we talked earlier, after Mom and Dad broke the news to me about my new living arrangements. Transplanted hearts don’t come into use because of a traumatic accident that ended someone else’s life; they become available, like a hotel room when someone else checks out. There’s a whole language used here that I have to get used to, words that they use so that it never sounds like you’re weighing one life against another.

Cardiac center???? Transplant????!?!? WTF??????

They found out I have a heart condition and I need a new one.

There’s a long pause before she answers me, and I imagine Brooke composing more apologies. What I get is:

Do they let u keep the old one & can I see it?

It’s so Brooke that I laugh, and my breathing tube pops out of my nose. I leave it lying on my chest, a cool whiff of oxygen hitting my chin.

I don’t think so, but if they do it’s all yours.

She answers with a smiley face and a thumbs-up.

Do you still have your old phone?

Yeah. Why?

I need you to do me a favor.

After talking to Brooke I open up a blank document and stare at it for a few minutes, not knowing how to start the conversation. I settle for something simple, and close the laptop. It whirs at me as I settle into bed, rolling onto my side so that my stitches are faceup, the prickly new hairs of my scalp not rubbing against the pillowcase. I can just see my outline in the window, a white smear with black holes where my eyes and mouth belong. I reach toward myself, the hand coming into detail, the IV cord trailing behind.