Beast(32)

We go slow enough that I can push with only one hand at a time and not go crooked. When we come to the ramp, I let go and grip the wheels as I use my left foot as a brake, skidding against the brick incline. At the bottom, I look at her and she looks at me.

Our hands snap back together. Hers is still warm.

“This is good,” she says.

I nod in agreement.

“Maybe this can be us for now,” she says.

“Okay.” I frown. If it were up to me, we’d be full-on embarrassing the bandstand because I really want to kiss her. A lot. I sneak a look at Jamie. Her gaze studies the four trees ahead set up like a square, like she’s deciding which corner to stand on. It dawns on me, I will stand with her wherever she chooses. And maybe standing together for a little while is okay.

“I hope you don’t mind if I tell you that I like you, Dylan,” she says carefully.

I could pop. “Of course not! Why would I? I like you too.”

“Yeah?” She sounds delighted. Almost surprised. I wish she weren’t. I’m the one who needs to hang what she just said on a wall in a gilded frame with a commemorative plaque and everything. “I hope you don’t think I’m a total dork if we go slow.”

If it means more of our nightly phone calls that’ve become a welcome habit before bed and more texts in between classes at school, then I’m all for it. I don’t want her to be terrified, not by me or anyone else. I can wait. She is worth it all. “Dork is the absolute last thing that comes to mind. I’m too busy thinking how lucky I am.” I squeeze her hand and she squeezes back.

We stare at row after row of sleeping roses. They will bloom when they’re ready.





FOURTEEN


I am flying high and with good reason. My doctor switched me out from a wheelchair to crutches, and while I’ll miss being low enough to hear what everyone is saying, moving around is a heck of a lot easier. While that’s awesome, the biggest news is the best news of all. I went in for a checkup after the operation, and Dr. Jensen took a look at my chart and said the most magic words I’ve ever heard in my life. “I’d like to refer you to an endocrinologist and get you tested for acromegaly.”

Acromegaly. Gigantism. Meaning there might actually be a reason why I’m so big, meaning there might actually be a way to stop it. True, my mom is already freaking out because there’s a possibility for brain surgery to noodle with my pituitary gland in case there’s a tumor on it or something, but I’m like, Sign me up. Here’s a butter knife; go get that benign beauty. My dad was filled to the brim with tumors like the ultimate cancer pi?ata, so who knows if he had acromegaly too? Maybe that was the start, like a domino effect or something.

It’s making me feel like I have a chance to nip it all in the bud. The only thing that’s bumming me out is I have to wait a million years for my appointment. I had no idea endocrinologists got so backlogged.

Another day ends and another bell rings. School lets out, and JP and I leave at the same time, surrounded by the same guys who generally follow us around.

JP’s girlfriend of the week stops by. Bailey is like all the others. She’s nice, with long hair, and instantly all smiles once she meets up with him. Which for Bailey is weird. Every class I’ve ever had with her, and we share plenty, she’s like her very own TED Talk. Lots of thoughts about what happens if you can’t break through a cellular wall, and how hard it would be to trawl the giant plastic patch in the Pacific Ocean and recycle it. What if? What then? How come? Bailey can brainstorm forever. Under JP’s arm, she smiles in proud silence. He’s hers. For now.

“Oh man, I almost stepped on that dead banana slug,” he says. “Nasty.”

“Ew…,” Bailey moans.

On the sidewalk, a dried-up slug from last night’s rain shower lies shriveled up from the surprise afternoon sunshine. Confused silvery trails twist all over the pavement until they come to a stop under the dead snail without a shell. JP nudges it with his toe, mushing its corpse. “Why do they even bother?”

“Rain forces them out,” I say. “Not his fault the sun got him.”

JP scrapes his foot on a low brick wall. “Now there’s gunk stuck on the bottom of my shoe. He should’ve saved time and died at home.”

“That’s nature. You can’t expect something that wants to live to give up just because you think it’s gross.”

“Slugs can be cool sometimes,” Bailey says. “They have retractable eyes! And—”

JP snorts. “Who cares? It’s not a bug you can use and actually get something out of, like a bee or Venus flytrap or whatever. If that slug had accepted its fate and died like it was supposed to, then it wouldn’t have ended up on my shoe.”

“All it wanted was to live a happy life. You can’t blame someone for trying,” I say.

“Shoe,” JP reiterates.

“But you were the one who stepped on it,” I say.

“Whatever.” He stops and stares past my shoulder. “Oh my god, who is this?”

I pivot. “Jamie!”

“Hi!” she calls back. Jamie coasts down into our school’s drop-off zone on a shiny pink bicycle, scarf billowing behind her, hair flying. Like she’s descending from on high and gracing us with her presence. I feel warm all over.