Midnight Sun(49)

“Full house. Boom. Aces over jacks.”

Everybody groans. Jessica shakes her head and throws down her junk hand.

“I had only one pair,” she says. “And they were twos! I’m out of chips.”

Morgan sweeps the entire pot over to me. “You are officially banned from my casino, Katie.”



The six of us reconvene every couple of nights for the next few weeks. We play cards, watch movies, ask one another questions from my old Would You Rather…? book and generally just have a good time. It’s awesome to see my dad so relaxed and having someone other than me to hang out with, even though I’m not quite sure what his deal is with Jessica.

And so, one night after everyone’s gone home and it’s just my dad and me in front of the TV, I get up the courage to ask him. “So, like… are you guys hooking up, or is she friendzoning you?”

My dad gives me a curious look. “I don’t even know what language you’re speaking, Katie.”

I laugh and try again. “I mean, are you guys romantically involved or just friends or what?”

“What,” he says.

“You heard me,” I tell him, trying to be stern. I really, really want to know. “Your dying daughter deserves an answer.”

“And I told you; my answer is what,” he says. “As in I don’t have an answer yet, Katie. She’s just coming off a divorce. I haven’t dated in twenty years. So we’re taking it slowly. Seeing what happens.”

My mouth falls open. “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t even kissed her yet? Three weeks of dates and she doesn’t even merit a peck good night?”

My dad’s cheeks turn light pink. “I’m being a gentleman!”

“Like Nike says, just do it,” I tell him, closing my eyes. I’m tired all the time lately. “I like her, Dad. You like her. I want you to be happy. Mom would want you to be happy.”

Before I nod off, I hear him say, “You know what? She kind of reminds me of your mom. Maybe you’re right.”



A few days later, Morgan, Dad, and I are hanging out watching a baseball game. I’m lying on the couch covered in my favorite blanket, my feet draped over Morgan’s legs. My dad sits on the armrest, stroking my hair. Ever since my shakiness got more pronounced and it’s gotten hard to swallow, he won’t leave my side. He’s even set up a blow-up mattress next to my bed in case I need something when I’m sleeping, which is more and more often these days.

During the seventh-inning stretch, Charlie bursts through the door, full of energy.

“Laptop, I need a laptop!” he hoots.

My dad points to the dining room table, where he was working earlier. Charlie pauses to kiss the top of my head, then runs to get it. He plops down on the floor in front of the couch and starts typing.

“Check… this… out!”

He puts the laptop on the coffee table so we can all see what’s gotten him so hyped up. He hits the return key with a flourish. On comes a YouTube video. It’s of me, singing “Charlie’s Song” at the recording studio.

I have to admit, I sound good. Really, really good. I even look pretty good, too.

Morgan gasps. “Oh my God! What is this? You’re amazing, Katie!”

Charlie grins and shrugs. “It’s footage from her recording session.”

My pulse quickens and I feel brighter, lighter than I have in days.

“You sound incredible,” my dad tells me. “You’re so beautiful, Katie. You always have been. Inside and out.”

I ignore how cheesy that sounds and give him a smile.

“Look at these comments!” Morgan exclaims. “I’m obsessed with this. I love her voice. She’s so hot—Whoops, sorry, Mr. P.”

I am smiling so hard now I feel like my face might explode from happiness.

“Wait, what’s that one?” It’s the only comment out of, like, a zillion that has a thumbs-down.

“Oh that? That’s nothing,” Morgan says as she tries to scroll by it. I reach out to stop her.

“I have to get used to critics if my songs are going to be out there for everyone to hear,” I say. “I can handle it. Every singer I’ve ever loved has haters, too.”

“Fine,” Morgan says with a sigh. “It says People only like this song because they feel sorry for the dying girl singing it. Which you know is total bullshit, right, Katie? Sorry for swearing, Mr. P, but it’s true.”

Despite what I said about wanting to hear the negative feedback, it still feels like a punch in the gut. I wonder if it’s true. Are people only listening to my song because they pity me? How would they even know I was a dying girl to begin with?

“Please,” Charlie says. “Did you see the screen name of who wrote that?”

I shake my head. Morgan scrolls back to it, then grins and shows it to me. 2LIT4U. I think back to where I’ve seen it before. Right. Zoe’s license plate.

“Ha, that flaming crotch rot just won’t give it up, will she?” Morgan crows. “Obviously, you can disregard anything she has to say, Katie. She’s just jealous.”

“Yeah, and look what else is happening,” Charlie says, excitement lighting up his eyes.

He clicks a link on the side and opens a new video. It’s a webcam video of a teenage girl playing guitar in her bedroom. She starts strumming, then singing. “Charlie’s Song”!