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“Not a lot. Nadine lost three more pounds. She’s not allowed to give her desserts away anymore, so all the underground calorie betting has been shut down pretty hard.”
“Nuts,” I say, wrinkling my nose. Our entertainments are small but we cling to them.
“And the new girl doesn’t have a foot.”
“That’s—wait, what?” I immediately hate myself for stealing Lilly’s stock phrase but there are times when it’s appropriate.
“A foot,” Layla holds up one of hers to clarify. “She’s missing one.”
“How did that happen?”
Layla looks at me over the edge of her iPad but I push. “You asked me on my second day here what was going on with my face, so I’m guessing you went after someone’s missing appendage with equal grace.”
She tries to look offended but can’t hold on to it long. “Okay, yeah. And I got a cup of peaches off Josephine for being right about the cause before Karen shut down the illegal food swapping.”
“And the cause?”
“Not all that exciting. Nadine bet that she lost it in an accident of some sort, but I made her get more specific in case she tried to plead technicalities when it came down to parting with her sugar-free cookie.”
Layla has a point. People use the word accident for all kinds of things. Death. Betrayal. Peeing your pants. Babies.
“So she said car accident, Josephine went with bear attack—which was a stupid bet, but she said she doesn’t like peaches anyway—and I chose the obvious.”
I spin my hand in the air.
“Bad circulation,” Layla says with a shrug.
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, so like, no foot plus no good story to go with it.” Layla flips the cover shut on her tablet. “So how do you like the LVAD?”
“Like is a strong word,” I tell her, and she smiles.
“Hey, it’s keeping you alive.”
“Yep,” I say, suddenly conscious of the straps across my shoulders that hold my battery pack in place, and then even more irritated by the fact that I’ve grown so accustomed to them, I had forgotten they were there.
“You staying here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your LVAD,” she says. “If you respond well, they might let you go home until you get a heart.”
“Doubt it” is all I say as I keep my face straight, ignoring the rest of my body as it descends into panic. The flutter in my belly. A muscle jumping in my back. My throat closing up.
The last time I left my house was in the ambulance after exiting through a window. It feels like an irreversible act, something that can’t be undone simply by walking in through the front door and announcing that I am home, if I can even claim that space anymore. I try to imagine climbing the steps, stopping to catch my breath every few, and easing open my bedroom door. In my mind there is still glass on the carpet and a tree branch has grown through the unclosed hole, a leaf brushing against the strands of my hair clinging to the sill.
“No, I don’t think I’m going back,” I say.
“You have to eventually, you know.” Layla’s voice is quiet, barely louder than the combined noise of our mechanical hearts.
“Unless I die,” I tell her.
“Weird goal.”
“So what’s Brandy like?”
Layla rolls with my subject change. “She’s pretty cool. Didn’t get huffy about me asking about her foot. Oh, and she beat Nadine at chess first night here, and insisted on calling it chest instead. So she’s my new best friend. Sorry.”
