Everything That Makes You(16)

Ryan's eyes rested on the house across the street. "How am I not  screwing it up? I push you to talk about things you don't want to. I  push David to ask out the girl of his dreams. I push you to do open mic  night. I push you into a surgery you don't want. I just push."

Fiona had never thought of it like this. Not at all. "I like that you're in my story."

He shook his head and kept staring across the street. "I think about it a lot-if the accident never happened. Do you?"

"Sure sometimes, but it's pointless. I'm not a poor-me kind of girl." He  looked at her then, one eyebrow raised. "Well, not usually," she said,  nudging his shoulder again and acting breezier about the whole thing  than she felt. He looked so burdened. "I was little, Ryan. There's no  way to know what I'm missing, or who I'd be otherwise. Stuff happens  every day that sets us in one direction or another."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Stupid stuff." She considered a minute then said, "You  have this killer caffeine headache but somebody else gets the last Coke  so you do awful on a final. Your class rank gets screwed. You don't go  to the right college, where Mr. Yeah Probably is waiting. So you meet  Mr. Well Maybe, instead. He talks you into switching majors so you get a  job that doesn't really do it for you but it takes you out of the  country all the time and you-"

He cut her off. "Your comparing caffeine withdrawal to a face covered in scars?"

"Half-covered." She followed Ryan's gaze back to the house across the  street. Light blazed from all the bottom floor windows. Flickering blues  of a television created the only light on top. "Anyway, plenty of  everyday things can make just as much impact. Remember how you tried  lacrosse in fourth grade? What if you'd stuck with that? You could  potentially be someone else completely."

Ryan shrugged.

"If we tried to analyze how every little thing changes us," Fiona continued, "nobody would get anything done."

Ryan tipped his head toward her and smiled. It was a small smile-a  saddish one-but a smile all the same. "I feel like it's my job to fix  it."

Now it was Fiona's turn with the sad smile. "I thought you said I wasn't broken."

He shook his head. "Not fix you. Fix it."

"What's the difference?"

He took a deep breath. "Three hundred sixty-four days of the year-I  don't know, you're Fiona. Fun and sarcastic and just you. This day, not  so much. That makes the problem an it, not a you."

"So according to this logic, we fix the scars, and my problems are solved?"

"You don't think?"

It was a nice idea, one she probably clung to herself more than she'd  like to admit. "There's some safety in it, this way," she said. "Like, I  can always blame something for all the parts of me I hate. What if I'm  just as pathetic with a full face?"

"You are the least pathetic person I know."

Fiona didn't agree with this at all, but that was a different argument.  "It's a scary idea, carrying around someone else. I'll be benefiting  from someone dying."                       
       
           



       

"You can't take responsibility for that. That person chose to donate for his own reasons. It has nothing to do with you."

"But he-she-chose it for bigger reasons probably. Something more heroic. Not so some girl could be pretty. Or regular."

"Who's to say that's not heroic? Who says it needs to be? Whoever it is  might just have checked the box with a Sure, why not?" Ryan nudged her  shoulder. She wasn't looking at him, but she knew he was smiling. "Not  everyone agonizes over every little decision, Ona."

She was pretty sure organ donation didn't fit in the  every-little-decision category, but she didn't press the point. This  back-and-forth with her brother felt too nice, even if the topic was  morbid.

A second television flicked on across the street, in the room just next  to the other TV. The lights flickered in unison, like both were tuned to  the same channel. "So you think I should have the surgery?"

A few quiet moments passed before Ryan answered. "I do."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Because you can?"

What a simple reason-no grand philosophy behind it, no gut-wrenching  self-evaluation required. It was easy and obvious and lovely.

She decided to follow her brother's lead.

She rested her head on his shoulder and said, "Okay, I'll do it."





FI


When Fi first started dating Marcus, she'd talked to a girl on her  lacrosse team who was allergic to everything-peanuts, soy, wheat. Even  though her friend joked about her hermetically sealed lunches, she'd  told Fi, no, she didn't count to fifty while washing her hands.

"So what's really wrong with you?" Fi asked Marcus, one night later on.

"It's just a weird food thing," he said. He launched into an exhaustive  scientific explanation about allergy vs. intolerance vs. sensitivity  that made her eyes glaze over.

While she still didn't understand it, she was getting better at rolling  with it. For example, a few days ago, Marcus had gotten some weird bug,  and Mrs. King had imposed a strict quarantine. Since Sunday, they had  only talked by phone. She missed his smell and his arms around her and  the feel of late afternoon stubble against her cheek, but she didn't  really mind the occasional break. She liked staying up late, curled into  her covers and snuggling with Panda, talking quietly about everything  and nothing.

"What's on your bucket list?" Marcus had asked last night, over the phone.

"Um, I don't know. I've never really thought about it. Go to Paris?"

"I want to ride a camel to the pyramids in Giza."

"A cruise would be good."

"Swim in the Dead Sea."

"Skydive, maybe?" she said.

"Have dinner with the president. A photo tour of the Arctic."

"Yours are better than mine."

He laughed. "I lie in bed a lot. I have more time to think about it."

"I want a dog," she added. "When I have my own place. Mom's allergic."

"We used to have a cat. Tanya," he said. "Dad gave her away when I started reacting to the dander."

"Oh. Never mind then. I don't need a dog."

He was quiet a minute. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Being sick. Screwing up your life."

"Because I can't have a dog?"

"It's not fair to you. We've never even been to a movie."

"We've seen plenty at your house. Or started to, at least," she joked. He didn't laugh.

"Okay, sure," she said. "It sucks we can't go to the movies or hang out  with my friends. But it sucks more that you have to drink those awful  shakes your mother makes. That you're always tired. That you can't eat  anything. That's what I really hate."

She knew that he didn't believe her, but it was true. She loved being  Marcus King's girlfriend. He made her better. Sometimes she couldn't  believe he'd picked her.

It was enough, even if it was only covert late-night phone calls.

All this morning and through school, she felt badly about the  conversation. She worried that Marcus worried about her. So this current  phone call-which came while she was digging through the  fridge-surprised her.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked playfully.

"Just got home," she said, folding salami slices into her mouth. "You sound better."

"Much better, actually. I'm sprung for the afternoon."

"What do you mean, sprung?"

"Want to go somewhere?"                       
       
           



       

She froze. This was the kind of list she'd spent hours on, not some far-flung bucket list. Even so, her mind went blank.

"I was thinking the coffee shop," Marcus said.

"Um . . ." Not her first choice. Not her eighth choice, even.

"My favorite place ever," he said. "Since I met you."

"Well, when you put it like that," she said. "You talked me into it."

"Jackson wants to come, too. Maybe you could bring Ryan? I think they'd get along."

Their first time out, and his brother was coming? She would not be snide. She would not be snide. "See you in twenty minutes."

She went to the backyard, where Trent and Ryan were playing lacrosse one-on-one. "Marcus wants to go to the coffee shop."

Both boys lowered their sticks. "Marcus wants to go?" Ryan asked.

"Got a reprieve. Jackson's gracing us with his presence, so you're both coming. I need a buffer."

"This should be interesting," said Trent.

Now here they all were-Ryan and Gwen sharing a beat-up recliner, Fi and  Marcus tucked together in the middle of the ratty futon, Trent on her  side and Jackson on his. Their first ever group outing.