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She lowers the pillow. “I figured there’d still be tickets available by the time I got my first paycheck.” She shakes her head, pouting. “My life is ruined.” She grabs the remote controller and turns on the TV. “I hope your day was better than mine. How did the doctor’s visit go?”

I know I should tell her the truth, but at the same time I wish her biggest problem in life could be a sold-out concert. “Nothing new. They ran some more tests.”

I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll accept the lie and move on.

“What do you want to watch?” she asks.

I relax. “Whatever you want.”

I’ll tell her eventually, but right now all I want to do is watch a show with my sister and act like we have forever.

We spend the next few hours watching TV and then we head to our room. Annie reads until about eleven when she finally passes out. She’s still wearing her glasses, and her book is lying open on her lap.

I tiptoe across our room to take her glasses off and set the book on the nightstand. Even in her sleep she’s frowning. I bet she’s dreaming about the concert.

My heart hurts a little. I don’t want to leave her alone. Idon’t want to imagine her face when she finds out about me. The only thing I can do is add as many good memories as I can, to try and outweigh the bad ones coming.

I’m going to get her tickets to that concert even if it’s the last thing I do.

I feel my eyes warm, and I step into the hallway. I don’t want to cry in my room. What if Annie hears me and it wakes her up?

I pass my parents’ room where Papa sits in bed watching TV, or at least he was. Papa is snoring, but I can guarantee if I walked in and turned his show off, he’d wake up and tell me he was watching it.

I walk to the kitchen for a glass of water to help clear my head. I take one of the glasses and set it under the water spout in the fridge, letting it fill up dangerously close to the brim. I hoped the ice-cold water would startle my body enough to stop the tears, but I can’t seem to get more than one sip down before my tears fall down my cheeks.

Why me? Why do I have to die?

Or if it had to be me, why couldn’t it have happened later? I’m so young, and there are so many things I’ve never done. I’ve never driven a car. I’ve never kissed a boy. I’ve never even left the country. But those things don’t matter that much. I’m more upset I won’t be around to see the day Annie eventually walks down the aisle in her dream wedding dress. I’m supposed to be up there with her as her maid of honor, holding her bouquet. We planned it years ago. I want to be next to her, cheering her on. I hate that I’ll never get to meet the cute little freckled kids she’s going to have or see the amazing person she’s going to become.

I set the glass of water down in the sink and take a deepbreath. I need to stop crying or I’ll have puffy eyes in the morning.

Looking out the window, I spy Mama on the back porch swing. She’s crying too, and it tugs at my heart. Now, I really have to stop. I have to be the strong one. I have to make sure everyone else is okay.

I wipe my eyes and pinch my cheeks. I practice my smile, and then I walk out the back door. I inch closer to the porch swing and sit down next to her.

She sees me but turns her face away, covering her mouth. I pull her into a hug and pat her back.

“I’m sorry, Margo,” she whispers. “I’m trying, but it’s hard...”

“I know.” I squeeze her tighter, forcing my own sadness down.

“I’m going to try, but I can’t pretend all the time.”

I rest my head on hers and let her keep crying. “I know.”

An idea pops into my head. If I only have a few months to live, I’m going to fix as many things as I can before I go. I’ll make sure my family is taken care of.

CHAPTER FIVE

DANIEL

It’s no secret I don’t pay attention in class. Through most of my classes, I rest my head on my desk and close my eyes to block everyone else out. My fourth period class was a little different today. There was a test, and while I don’t like doing my homework, I usually do take the quizzes and tests we have. There’s a part of me that likes to see if I actually do know the material like I think I do.

My teacher hands back the tests, starting at the other end of the room. When she gets to me, she pauses, staring at the paper. She glances at me... and then at the paper again. She opens her mouth to say something just as the bell sounds, releasing us from class.

She sets down my paper and says to the class, “Don’t forget to read pages thirty-two through thirty-five tonight.”

In big red handwriting there’s an A written at the top of my page.