Five Feet Apart(16)

His blue eyes light up in a way that makes my stomach flip-flop. “You ever see Paris from a roof, Stella? Or Rome? Or here, even? It’s the only thing that makes all this treatment crap seem small.”

“?‘Treatment crap’?” I ask, taking two steps toward him. Six feet apart. The limit. “That treatment crap is what keeps us alive.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “That treatment crap is what stops us from being down there and actually living.”

My blood begins to boil. “Do you even know how lucky you are to be in this drug trial? But you just take it for granted. A spoiled, privileged brat.”

“Wait, how do you know about the trial? You been asking about me?”

I ignore his questions, pushing on. “If you don’t care, then leave,” I fire back. “Let someone else take your spot in the trial. Someone who wants to live.”

I look up at him, watching as the snow falls in the space between us, disappearing as it lands in the dusting under our feet. We stare at each other in silence, and then he shrugs, his expression unreadable. He takes a step backward, toward the edge again. “You’re right. I mean, I’m dying anyway.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He wouldn’t. Right?

Another step back. And another, his footsteps crunching in the freshly fallen snow. His eyes are locked on mine, daring me to say something, to stop him. Challenging me to call out to him.

Closer. Almost to the edge.

I inhale sharply, the cold scraping at the inside of my lungs.

He dangles one foot off the end, and the open air makes my throat tighten up. He can’t— “Will! No! Stop!” I shout, taking a step closer to him, my heart pounding in my ears.

He stops, leg floating off the edge. One more step and he would have fallen. One more step and he would have . . .

We stare at each other in silence, his blue eyes curious, interested. And then he starts to laugh, loud and deep and wild, in a way so familiar, it feels like pressing on a bruise.

“Oh my god. The look on your face was priceless.” He mimics my voice, “Will! No! Stop!”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why would you do that? Falling to your death isn’t a joke!” I can feel my whole body shaking. I dig my fingernails into my palm, trying to stop the trembling as I turn away from him.

“Oh, come on, Stella!” he calls after me. “I was only fooling around.”

I pull open the rooftop door and step over the wallet, wanting to put as much space as possible between us. Why did I even bother? Why did I climb four stories to see if he was okay? I start running down the first few steps, reaching up to realize . . . I forgot to put on my face mask.

I never forget my face mask.

I slow down and then stop completely as an idea pops into my head. Climbing back up to the door, I slowly pull the dollar bill off the alarm switch, pocketing it as I fly back down to the third floor of the hospital.

Leaning against the brick wall, I catch my breath before pulling off my jacket and scarf, opening the door, and strolling to my room, as if I’ve just been off at the NICU. Somewhere in the distance, the roof alarm goes off as Will opens the door to get back inside, distant but blaring as it echoes down the stairwell, reverberating in the hallway.

I can’t help but smile.

Julie tosses a blue patient folder onto the desk behind the nurses’ station, shaking her head and murmuring to herself, “The roof, Will? Really?”

Good to know I’m not the only one he’s driving crazy.

*

I gaze out the window, watching the snow fall in the fluorescent glow of the courtyard lights, the hallway finally dead silent after Will’s hour-long reprimanding. Glancing over at the clock, I see it’s only eight p.m., which gives me plenty of time to work on number 14 on my to-do list, “Prepare app for beta testing,” and number 15, “Complete dosage table for diabetes,” before I go to bed tonight.

I check my Facebook quickly before getting started, a red notification for an invite to a Senior Trip Beach Blast this Friday night in Cabo popping up. I click on the page and see that they used the description I’d drafted back when I was still organizing this, and I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. I scroll through the list of people going, seeing Camila’s and Mya’s pictures, and Mason’s (now sans Brooke), followed by pictures of a half dozen other people from my school who have already replied with a yes.

My iPad begins to ring, and I see a FaceTime call coming in from Camila. It’s like they knew I was thinking about them. I smile and swipe right to accept the call, almost getting blinded when the bright sunshine of whatever pristine beach they’re sitting on bursts through the screen of my iPad.

“Okay, I’m officially jealous!” I say as Camila’s sunburnt face comes into view.

Mya lunges to stick her face over Camila’s shoulder, her curly hair bouncing into the frame. She’s wearing the polka-dot one-piece I helped her pick out, but she clearly doesn’t have time for pleasantries. “Are there any cute guys there? And don’t you dare say—”

“Just Poe,” we say at the same time.

Camila shrugs, fixing her glasses. “Poe counts. He is CUTE!”

Mya snorts, nudging Camila. “Poe is a thousand percent not interested in you, Camila.”

Camila punches her playfully in the arm, and then freezes, squinting at me. “Oh my god. Is there? Stella, is there a cute guy there?”