Five Feet Apart(47)

I sit up, pulling down the photocopy and replacing it with the framed, one-of-a-kind original.

She wants the same thing as Stella. More time.

She wants more time with me.

*

I push back from my desk, ripping out my earbuds as I go. I’ve spent the past two hours drawing, trying to shake off my confrontation with my mom.

I know I should say something. Reach out, with a call or a text, but I can’t help but still feel a little pissed. I mean, this is a two-way street, and she definitely hasn’t been doing a perfect job on her end either. If she would have just shown me she was listening, even a little . . .

I sigh, grabbing a chocolate pudding cup and my afternoon pills from off my med cart and dutifully taking them. Pulling out my phone, I sit down on the edge of my bed and aimlessly scroll through my messages on Instagram to see a bunch of birthday wishes from my old classmates.

Nothing from Stella, yet. She hasn’t sent me anything since last night, when I asked about a second date.

I give her a call on FaceTime, grinning when she picks up. “I’m free!”

“Wha—?” she starts, her eyes widening. “Oh right, happy birthday! I can’t believe I didn’t—”

I wave my hand, cutting her off. No biggie. “You busy? Wanna take a walk? Barb’s not around.”

She pans the phone over a bunch of textbooks sitting in front of her. “I can’t right now. I’m studying.”

My heart sinks. Really? “Yeah, okay. I just thought that maybe . . .”

“How about later?” she asks, the view panning back up to her.

“My friends are visiting later,” I say, shrugging sadly. “It’s cool. We’ll figure something out.” I look sheepishly at her. “I was just, you know, missing you.”

She smiles at me, her eyes warm, her face happy.

“That’s all I wanted to see! That smile.” I run my fingers through my hair. “All right. I’ll let you get back to your books.”

I hang up, lying back on my bed and chucking my phone onto my pillow.

Barely a second later it starts to ring. I grab it, answering it without even looking at the screen to see who is calling. “I knew you’d change your—”

“Hey, Will!” a voice says on the other end. It’s Jason.

“Jason! Hey,” I say, a little bummed that it isn’t Stella, but still glad to hear from him. This thing with Stella has been happening so fast, I haven’t really had a chance to catch him up.

“Something came up,” he says, but he sounds weird. “I’m sorry, man. We can’t make it over there today.”

Seriously? First Stella and now Jason and Hope? Birthdays are sort of in short supply for me. But I shake it off. “Oh, yeah, okay. I totally get it.” He starts apologizing, but I cut him off. “Seriously, dude, it’s fine! Not a big deal.”

I hang up, sighing loudly, and as I’m sitting up, my gaze falls on my nebulizer. I grab the albuterol and shake my head, mumbling, “Happy birthday to me.”

*

I jolt awake from an evening nap as my phone chirps, a message coming in. I sit up, my eyes focus on the screen, and I swipe right to read a text from Stella.

HIDE AND SEEK. You’re it. XOXO S.

I roll out of bed, confused but curious as I slide into my white Vans and throw the door open. A bright-yellow balloon almost smacks me in the face, its long string tied to the doorknob. I squint, realizing that there’s something sitting inside the balloon at the very bottom.

A note?

I double-check that the coast is clear before stomping on the balloon to pop it. A boy walking back to his room with an open bag of chips jumps about ten feet at the noise, the chips flying out of the bag and scattering on the floor. I quickly grab the rolled-up Post-it note from inside, unfurling it to see a message written in Stella’s neat handwriting.

Start where we first met.

The NICU! I sneak down the hallway, past the boy resentfully picking up his potato chips, and take the elevator up to the fifth floor. I sprint across the bridge into Building 2, dodging nurses and patients and doctors, and head through the double doors into the east entrance of the NICU. Looking around, my head flies in every direction, searching for another—there! Tied to an empty crib behind the glass is another bright-yellow balloon. I carefully tiptoe inside, fumbling with the knot on the string to untie the balloon.

Jesus, Stella. Is she a freaking sailor?

I finally get it undone, and creep back out into the hallway, looking both ways before— POP.

I unfurl the note to read the next clue.

Roses are red. Or are they?

I frown, staring at the message. “Or are they” . . . Oh! I picture her face from the other night, the white rose tucked carefully behind her ear. The vase. I head straight for the atrium, sprinting down the steps of the main lobby and into the glass-enclosed room. Pushing open the doors, I see the yellow balloon floating, its string tied tightly to the vase.

I wave to the security guard, who peers at me suspiciously as I rip the balloon off the vase, struggling to catch my breath, my lungs protesting all this running. I grin at him, popping the balloon loudly, and shrugging sheepishly in explanation. “It’s my birthday.”

I grab the message from the inside, opening it up to read:

If only I could hold my breath for this long . . .