The F- It List Part 40

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CHAPTER.

4 0.

Three weeks pa.s.sed faster than any I could remember before my dad died. For so long, time stood still, dragged, or even moved backward as I focused on every negative, painful thing that hap- pened and wondered what would come next. My guard was only down the tiny bit I allowed myself, as Becca waited for the test results of her cancer treatment. Her radiation was over, and instead of us spending more time together as her health improved, we saw each other less and less. I hated to admit it was because of a guy, but Leo and I were hanging out whenever we could, watching movies, study- ing at the library, brainstorming a movie I might make someday. Not that Becca wasn't busy with her own guy. Now that she was starting to feel human again, hair growing back, weight fi lling out her sunken frame, Caleb was in the picture a lot more. They went from romantic notes between windows to sharing her twin bed most nights. I won- dered if Becca's mom knew what was going on, considering Caleb --1 was a rather large guy to hide. Maybe she was of the mind that Becca -0 -+1 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 237 105-54406_ch01_1P.indd 237 4/17/13 8:58 PM.

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went through h.e.l.l and deserved her little slice of homeschooled heaven. Or maybe she was too cracked out on G.o.d to notice.

Leo and I hung out with Becca and Caleb from time to time.

He was nice, mind- blowingly smart, but defi nitely a little pop- culture deprived. I feel like if I were homeschooled it would be impossible not to waste the day in front of the tele vi sion or computer and try to pa.s.s it off as "homework." But Caleb was all about actual learning. He did deign to come to a midnight screening of The Exorcist with us.

Leo and I disagreed on its brilliance. "I think there's way too much plot and not enough scare," I argued.

"Which makes the scary parts all the scarier. Plus, there's all that subliminal stuff ," Leo countered. We discovered on a Blu- ray of the fi lm that the director did all of these extra- creepy secret things, like inserting random, terrifying faces into scenes and playing the squeals of actual pigs being slaughtered to make the movie extra unsettling.

"I'll take a midnight show of Casablanca over this any day," was Caleb's response. Becca stared at him dreamily. It was a good look for her after so many pained ones.

And still we waited for the news of her life.

Becca began making school appearances again, not full days but enough to get some work done. One day at lunch, her phone rang.

Becca's cancer was like a get- out- of- jail- free card and allowed her to carry her cell phone in case of emergency. "Emergency" most of the time meant texting sappy I miss you texts to Caleb, but it was nearing the time of her lab results. Post chemo, post radiation, she'd soon fi nd out if the cancer was zapped, if she needed to go through h.e.l.l again, or the worst possibility: Treatment didn't work at all.

-1- When her phone rang, Becca announced, "It's my mom," which 0- it often was. When Becca was the one out of the house, her mom

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called to check in every hour or so. She admitted to wis.h.i.+ng Helen could follow Becca around school so she didn't have to worry so much. I don't think anything could have stopped her mom from wor- rying. It felt a tad more appropriate than a facial.

"h.e.l.lo?" Becca stood up and plugged one ear to hear the phone better. The lunch crew followed her expressions. Antic.i.p.ation. Dis- appointment. Aggravation.

"Mom! Stop calling me! Seriously. Unless you have news, don't call anymore. You're going to make me have a heart attack before I even fi nd out if my cancer is gone." Pause. "Yeah, love you, too.

Crazy woman," she mumbled at the end.

The following Sat.u.r.day morning I was busy slicing cuc.u.mbers at Cellar when my phone rang in my pocket. I normally didn't answer it, mostly because then I had to wash my hands for the millionth time.

Winter dryness was killing me. But all phone calls had become criti- cal. I knew any day Becca would learn of her post- chemo scans, which would basically say whether her cancer had gone away. Seven months.

That's how long I watched Becca have cancer. That's a long f.u.c.king time to be sick with anything, to have to watch and wonder what was going to happen to my best friend. Could this fi nally be the call?

I walked into the back room, away from the kitchen sc.r.a.pes and music from the stereo. "h.e.l.lo?" I answered.

I played out this phone call a billion times in my head. Sometimes it went: "I have to tell you something, Alex. The cancer's still there. And it's spread."

And when I'm feeling particularly morbid, Becca adds, --1 "They say I have one month to live."

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I also have the other conversation, where Becca screams at the top of her lungs, "The cancer's gone!!!" We dance, and I hug who- ever's closest to me, preferably not some sub- slinging douche.

"h.e.l.lo?" This wasn't in my head. This was the real deal. The phone call that determined our future. My hands shook as I answered.

I hadn't realized how terrifi ed I was.

There was no dramatic pause. Instead, unlike any of my pre- enactments, Becca blurted out, "I'm clear. No cancer spots. Normal blood." She was breathlessly quiet.

"That's good, right? I mean, it sounds good. I just never know if there's something else coming."

"Eighty- fi ve percent full remission rate. That's really good. I go back again in three months. And three months after that." I let the tears of relief tumble down my cheeks.

"That's a lot of waiting," I told her.

"It's not waiting, Alex. It's living. For the next three months, I'm going to live like we're gonna die young!" she screamed.

"That was Ke$ha, wasn't it?" I wiped my eyes with my palm.

"Brilliant woman, she is."

"Doesn't she have the words 'suck it' tattooed inside her lip?" I asked.

"Don't you have a tattoo of a dead guy smiley on your leg?" She got me.

"Brilliant woman, she is," I concurred.

I exhaled at the realization that, indeed, for the next three months there was no more cancer. We could end our se nior year like normal teenagers. Or, at the very least, like normal teenagers with a s.h.i.+tload -1- of baggage.

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CHAPTER.

41.

"Do we have to do this?" I asked, bundled in twelve layers of clothes and still freezing my a.s.s off at Baynes Beach.

"Bucket list, remember?" Becca still held that f.u.c.k- It List over my head, as if the fact that I started it with her made me obligated to fi nish it, too.

"I believe we decided it was a f.u.c.k- It List, and that is what I'd like to declare right now. f.u.c.k it. It's too cold out, Becca!" Becca used her cancer card to convince me, Caleb, and Leo to fulfi ll number 13: Sleep on a beach to watch the sunset and sunrise.

"I'm calling a technicality. It doesn't actually say we have to sleep here. Let's just watch the sun set and then get up really early for the sunrise." Leo was my glowing voice of reason.

"Yes! Excellent idea." I clapped.

"You guys can leave after sunset. We're staying." Becca linked her arm through Caleb's ma.s.sive one. He was scoutly prepared with --1 a tent, heater, and probably a bearskin rug he skinned himself.

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The four of us sat on a blanket in the cold sand. Caleb pa.s.sed out hot chocolate made from cacao beans he grew in his green house.

Probably. As miserable as the late March temperature was, nothing could really make the moment bad. Here we were, together, happy, alive. So little else mattered.

Still, the instant Caleb marked the sunset with his Swiss Army watch, Leo and I were out of there. "Call me if you stop feeling your toes," I yelled from my car. Leo and I sat inside as the engine attempted to warm up.

"Just drive. We'll be back at my house in fi ve minutes. We can warm up there."

In the time Leo and I had been back on speaking terms, closer than when it was merely physical, we hadn't yet had s.e.x. At fi rst, we held out so as not to make things too intense too quickly. But as the weeks pa.s.sed- the long, yearning, painful weeks- I didn't think I could hold out much longer. It surprised me, that while getting emo- tionally close to someone I could feel even more attracted to him than when I barely knew anything about him. I knew that sounded stupid, but I had never experienced anything diff erent. The physical and the emotional never went together. Maybe because I had never had the emotional before.

We got back to Leo's house in record time and shot straight up to his bedroom. We kicked off our shoes and dove under the covers together, still wearing all eight million layers of clothing. As we huddled up, our s.h.i.+vers stopped and we somehow fell asleep. When I awoke an hour later, I was thick with sweat.

"Gross." I sat up and began to peel off my coat, then my hoodie.

-1- Underneath were three more s.h.i.+rts and long underwear. When all 0- that was left was my t-s.h.i.+rt, I nudged Leo awake. His forehead and

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hairline were coated in sweat. "You need to get out of your clothes,"

I told him.

"Yes, ma'am," he said sleepily. I helped him unzip his coat and pulled layer after layer over his head. When it was time to stop, when he, too, was left with only a black t-s.h.i.+rt, I pulled that off , too.

In return, he yanked my s.h.i.+rt over my head. "Just to be fair," he explained.

"Well, if you're going to be that way," I said, and unhooked my bra.