Five Feet Apart(12)
Poe laughs midsip of his milk shake, but he sputters and begins to choke. His vital monitors start beeping on the other side of the laptop as he struggles for breath.
Oh my god. No, no, no. I jump up. “Poe!”
I push aside the laptop and run into the hallway as an alarm sounds at the nurses’ station, fear in every pore of my body. Somewhere a voice shouts out, “Room 310! Blood oxygen level is in free fall. He’s desatting!”
Desatting. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. “He’s choking! Poe’s choking!” I shout out, tears filling my eyes as I fly down the hallway behind Julie, pulling on a face mask as I go. She bursts through the door ahead of me and goes to check the beeping monitor. I’m scared to look. I’m scared to see Poe suffering. I’m scared to see Poe . . .
Fine.
He’s fine, sitting in his chair like nothing happened.
Relief floods through me and I break out in a cold sweat as he looks from me to Julie, a sheepish expression on his face as he holds up his fingertip sensor. “Sorry! It came unplugged. I didn’t tape it back down after my shower.”
I exhale slowly, realizing I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. Which is pretty hard to do when you have lungs that barely work.
Julie leans against the wall, looking just as shocked as I am. “Poe. Jeez. When your O2 drops like that . . .” She shakes her head. “Just put it back on.”
“I don’t need it anymore, Jules,” he says, looking up at her. “Let me take it off.”
“Absolutely not. Your lung function sucks right now. We’ve gotta keep an eye on you, so you need to keep that damn thing on.” She takes a deep breath, holding out a piece of tape so he can tape the sensor back on. “Please.”
He sighs loudly but reattaches the fingertip sensor to the blood-oxygen sensor worn on his wrist.
I nod, finally catching my breath. “I agree, Poe. Keep it on.”
He glances up at me as he tapes the sensor onto his middle finger, holding it up to me and grinning.
I roll my eyes at him, glancing down the hallway to the asshole’s room: 315. The door is tightly closed despite the commotion, a light shining out from under it. He’s not even going to poke his head out to make sure everybody’s okay? This was practically a floor roll call, as everyone opened their door to double-check that everything was fine. I fidget and smooth my hair down, looking back over at Poe in time to see him raise his eyebrows at me.
“What, you trying to look good for someone?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I glare at him and Julie as they shoot curious looks in my direction. I point at his food. “You’re about to waste some perfectly good truffles on a bunch of cold eggs,” I say, before hurrying off down the hallway to finish our breakfast chat. The more space between room 315 and me the better.
CHAPTER 4
WILL
I rub my eyes sleepily, clicking on another video, my half-eaten tray of eggs and bacon sitting cold on the table next to me. I’ve been up all night watching her videos, one after the other. It’s been a Stella Grant marathon, even with the lame CF content.
Scanning the sidebar, I click on the next one.
This one’s from last year, the lighting ridiculously dark, except for the bright flash of her phone’s camera. It looks like a fundraising event, held at a dimly lit bar. There’s a huge banner dangling over a stage reading: SAVE THE PLANET—SUPPORT EARTH DAY.
The camera focuses on a man playing an acoustic guitar, sitting casually on a wooden stool, while a curly-brown-haired girl sings. I recognize them both from all the videos I’ve watched.
Stella’s dad and her sister, Abby.
The view spins onto Stella, a big smile on her face, her teeth as white and even as I predicted. She’s wearing makeup, and I cough in surprise at how different she looks. It’s not the makeup, though. She’s happier. Calmer. Not like she’s been in person.
Even the nose cannula looks good on her when she smiles like that.
“Dad and Abby! Stealing the show! If I die before I’m twenty-one, at least I’ve been in a bar.” She swings the camera to show an older woman with the same long brown hair sitting next to her in a bright-red booth. “Say hi, Mom!”
The woman waves, giving the camera a big grin.
A waitress passes by their table and Stella waves her down. “Ah, yes. I’ll take a bourbon, please. Neat.”
I snort as her mom’s voice screams out a “No, she won’t!”
“Ahh, nice try, Stella,” I say, laughing as a bright light comes on, illuminating their faces.
The song in the background ends and Stella begins clapping manically, turning the camera to show her sister, Abby, smiling at her from the stage.
“So, my little sister, Stella, is here tonight,” she says, pointing directly at Stella. “As if fighting for her own life isn’t enough, she’s going to save the planet, too! Come show ’em whatcha got, Stella!”
Stella’s voice comes through my speakers, confused and shocked. “Uh, did you guys plan this?”
The camera swings back to her mom, who grins. Yep.
“Go on, baby. I’ll film it!” her mom says, and everything swings out of focus as Stella hands over the phone.
Everyone in the room cheers as she pulls her portable oxygen concentrator onto the stage, her sister, Abby, helping her maneuver up the steps and into the spotlight. She adjusts her cannula nervously as her dad hands her a microphone, before she turns to the crowd and speaks. “This is a first for me. In front of a crowd, anyway. Don’t laugh!”