Five Feet Apart(60)
When I exhale, though, I feel something else. A need to keep all those years safe.
I tighten my jaw, and even though everything in me wants to fight it, I know exactly what I have to do.
*
I look around the room at the small army I’ve assembled. Barb, Julie, Jason, Hope, Mya, Camila, Stella’s parents. It’s the most ragtag crew I’ve ever seen, standing there, staring at the boxes laid out on my bed, each of them with a separate but important role. I hold up my drawing, showing the intricate plan I spent most of the morning working on, every detail perfectly accounted for and coinciding with a different person and a task.
Stella would be proud.
I hear my mom’s voice from the hallway, loud and firm and getting stuff done as she does her part.
I shiver, thinking about when she uses that tone on me.
“So,” I say, looking up at all of them. “We have to do this together.”
My eyes land on Hope, who wipes away a tear as Jason hugs her close. I look away, at Julie, at Camila and Mya, at Stella’s parents.
“Is everyone in?”
Julie nods enthusiastically, and there’s a chorus of agreement. Then everyone looks at Barb, who is dead silent.
“Oh, hell yes! I’m in. I’m definitely in,” she says, smiling, the two of us on the same page for the first time probably ever.
“How long will Stella be sedated?” I ask her.
She glances down at her watch. “Probably a few more hours.” Her eyes scan all the boxes, the list of each of our tasks. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
Perfect.
I start handing out the boxes, pairing each person with their job. “All right, Camila and Mya,” I say, giving them their task list and joint box. “You two are going to be working with Jason and Hope on the—”
My mom ends her call, poking her head back in the room. “It’s done. They said yes.”
YES! I knew she could do it. I shake my head. “You really are scary sometimes, you know that?”
She smiles back at me. “I’ve had some good practice.”
I hand out the rest of the boxes, and everyone heads out into the hallway to start getting everything ready. My mom lingers back, peeking her head inside the doorway. “You need anything?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be there soon. There’s just one more thing I need to do first.”
The door closes, and I turn to my desk, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and taking out my colored pencils. I’ve been stuck on the same drawing. A drawing of Stella, spinning around on that icy pond, moments before I told her I loved her.
I keep trying to get every small detail right. The moonlight shining off her face. Her hair trailing behind her as she spins. Pure joy filling every feature.
Tears fill my eyes as I stare at the drawing, and I brush them away with my arm, knowing that for once, I’m doing the absolute right thing.
*
I stand in Stella’s doorway again, watching the steady rise and fall of her bandaged chest, her new lungs working perfectly. The now-dry panda is tucked safely under her arm, her face peaceful as she sleeps.
I love her.
I used to always be searching for something. Searching from every rooftop for something that would give me a purpose.
And now I’ve found it.
“She’s waking up,” her dad says as Stella begins to stir.
I look up as her mom crosses the room, her eyes beginning to water as she looks at me. “Thank you, Will.”
I nod as I reach into my bag with a gloved hand and pull out a wrapped package. “Give this to her when she wakes up?”
Her mom takes it and gives me a small, sad smile.
Then I look at Stella one more time as her eyelids start to flutter. I want to stay. I want to stay in that doorway, and right by her side. Even if it’s always five feet away.
Six feet, even.
But for exactly that reason, I exhale, and with everything in me, I turn and walk away.
CHAPTER 29
STELLA
I open my eyes.
I stare at the ceiling, everything coming into focus, the pain from the surgery radiating across my entire body.
Will.
I try to look around, but I’m too weak. There’s people here, but I don’t see him. I try to speak but can’t because of the ventilator.
My eyes land on my mother’s face and she holds up a package. “Honey?” my mom whispers, holding it out to me. “This is for you.”
A present? That’s odd.
I struggle to rip open the paper, but my body is weak. She leans over to help me unveil a black sketchbook inside, the words on the front reading “FIVE FEET APART.”
It’s from Will.
I flip through the pages, looking at cartoon after cartoon of our story, the colors jumping out at me. Me holding the panda, the two of us standing on either side of the pool cue, us floating underwater, the filled table at his birthday party, me spinning around and around on the icy pond.
Then, on the last page, the two of us. In my small cartoon hand is a balloon, the top bursting, and hundreds of stars pouring out of it, rolling across the page to Will.
He’s holding a scroll and quill, the words “Will’s Master List” written on it.
And below, a single item.
“#1: Love Stella Forever.”