Everything That Makes You(38)

       
           



       

Fiona laughed at first, going along with it. A little giddy from the  idea, but then her reality came knocking. "You know, maybe we should do  it another day. Not Friday."

He gave her a careful look. "Why?"

"That day's not a great one for me."

"Right. So we give you something to look forward to-a light at the other end of the performance tunnel."

She shook her head. "It's not that, really. It's . . . well, this will  sound stupid, but the date? February twenty-seventh? It's historically a  bad one for me."

"You have an unlucky date?"

Fiona nodded, feeling silly.

"That's intriguing," he said. "Is this part of the Fiona Puzzle?"

"Like I said, it's stupid. But maybe another day?"

Jackson stopped, his expression suspicious. "Look, if you don't want to-"

"No, I do," she said quickly. She looked at the sky, now covered in  sheets of clouds. "It's just . . . I'm usually-always-cranky that day.  Like . . . bitchy. I'm trying to save you. By Saturday I should be  fine."

"Tell me why."

She took a breath. They were still stalled there, blocking the path as  all the other people who'd had the same great idea fled the weather  change, too. "It was the day I had the accident." She gestured toward  her face, in case he needed clarification. "I hardly remember it-the  accident, I mean. And theoretically this year should be different-you  know, since I'm all fixed. But-"

Jackson studied her a minute then gestured to the path, getting them  both walking again. "Let's keep it Friday. If the day really is  terrible, I'll grant you permission to postpone till Saturday."

"You'll grant me?"

"You're welcome."

She laughed. "I really hate it. I wish I'd just get over it already."

He nudged her shoulder, staying closer than ever once the nudge was  over. "You got some weird hang-ups, girl. Audiences and calendars-oh,  the horror!"

"You sound like Lucy. And Ryan."

"What you need is some Good Day Replacement Therapy."

"Which is?"

"Balance it out. If you're destined to have this sucky day, designate a  really good one, too. The day you'll always wake up ridiculously happy."  He shrugged and looked over at her, smiling lopsided. "So, what's the  good day?"

"I don't know. Maybe May eighteenth?"

"What happened then?" he said, frowning.

She gestured to her face again. "The surgery. Seems appropriate, if the goal is balance."

Jackson stopped again, eyeing her differently than before. After a  breath, he pulled her off the path with him, getting them out of the way  of the others en route to countless places. He narrowed his eyes,  asking carefully, "So . . . what was the surgery?"

She touched her cheek, feeling it more in her fingertips than on her  face. She had felt Jackson's touch on the beach, hadn't she? "A deep  tissue skin graft."

"Which is?"

"It's pretty technical."

His brow arched upward. "Said the artist to the engineer."

Fiona sighed. "It was a transplant. They took out all my bad skin and replaced it."

His eyes traveled to her face, following the line of scar circling her eye. Slowly he asked, "Replaced it with what?"

"Uh, new skin."

"Which came from?"

"Oh-an organ donor." It was odd, how easily she let this information  out. When had she become so blasé about wearing someone else? She  hunched further over, feeling the cold more and more. Trying to get them  back on the path, she said, "I'm freezing. Let's head back."

Fiona turned back to the path, but Jackson didn't follow. She pointed  her head toward their dorm a few times, but Jackson stayed put, his eyes  locked on her face. Even so, he had a faraway look.

"What did you say the date was again?" he asked.

"May eighteenth." She stomped her feet. "Seriously, let's go."

He shook his head, still focused on her but not at all. "What time?"

"What?"

"What time was your surgery?" His tone was so weird. Like a strangled yell, as if the words forced their way out on their own.

The clusters of people passing looked over their shoulders at him-and  she gawked right along with them. "What the heck is wrong with you?"

"TELL ME THE GODDAMN TIME!"

She recoiled back. "Afternoon. I don't know! I got there at three maybe. Why are you yelling at me?"                       
       
           



       

"When did you get the call?"

More people were looking now, whispering to each other about this  one-sided public argument. Fiona wished they'd clue her in. She had no  idea what was going on. "What call?"

"That there was a donor! When did you get the call?!"

Fiona stared at this boy who'd replaced funny, easygoing, sarcastic  Jackson. This boy looked like he was drowning, right here on the snowy  path. Like some great burden was pushing him under a waterline no one  else could see. Like some horror, some awful thing, was suffocating him.

And suddenly, she couldn't breathe either.

She began backing away. "We shouldn't talk about this . . . we can't . . ."

In two steps he closed the distance and grabbed her hand, holding her  still. Quieter now, like he was forcing himself to stay calm, he said  through clenched jaw, "When did you get the call?"

Eyes wide, Fiona shook her head back and forth. She felt the tears-only  on the one cheek, though she was certain both were damp. "There are  rules," she choked out. "We're not supposed to know."

Jackson let her go. His eyes did not leave the right side of her face as  he began walking backward. Fiona stayed in place, watching him retreat  farther and farther until he eventually turned and walked away.





FI


Trent jogged into the lobby, rounding the corner less than a minute  after Fi gave her name to the check-in counter guy. His wet hair had  dripped a dark ring along the collar of his shirt, which clung to him  unevenly. Even so, he grabbed Fi up into a damp hug. "I thought you'd  bail."

Fi hugged him back. She couldn't remember the last time she'd really  leaned into someone. This proximity to skin and smell, body and life,  was a surprising comfort.

He let go first, and Fi pulled back quickly, embarrassed by her clinginess. She gestured to herself. "I even showered."

He took a step back, getting a bigger view. "Yes, you did." Then Trent  grabbed her hand, dragging her behind him as they went upstairs.

In the common room on his floor, mostly guys, a few girls-including  Lindsey-sat on battered couches or perched on beat-up coffee tables.  Plastic cups and an assortment of glass bottles littered the few open  spaces.

As Fi and Trent passed the gathering, maybe half looked up. Pausing in  the hallway, Trent gestured to Fi with his free hand. "Y'all, this is  Fi, a friend from home."

There were a few "Hey, Fi's," and she waved in response before Trent  pulled her onward to his room. She sat on his bed as he rubbed a towel  through his hair and frowned at his dampened shirt. "I was still getting  dressed when you got here," he said, pulling his shirt over his head  and tossing it on the bed before rummaging in his closet for a fresh  one.

Fi looked away from Trent's half-nakedness. She'd seen it a million times before-even so, it felt weird all of a sudden.

He'd buttoned up by the time she turned back. The mattress dipped from  his weight as he sat beside her to pull on socks and shoes.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked.

Still bent over his feet, Trent gestured back toward the common room  with his head. "We can hang in the lounge if you want. You can meet some  people. There are a couple of parties later."

"How much later are we talking?"

Trent raised a single eyebrow. "You going to turn into a pumpkin or something?"

"She didn't turn into a pumpkin, her carriage did." Fi looked at her  watch. "I just don't know how late I want to drive home. Highway and all  that."

Trent looked at her with a long, steady eye before saying, "Just see how it goes. We can always come back."

"All right." Fi stood and straightened her top-one that Caroline Doyle  had picked, no less. When she left the house, her mother actually froze  for a second, as if seeing Fi in cute clothes-with makeup! And  blow-dried hair!-caused her temporary paralysis.

Trent smiled and stood. Standing just in front of her, he actually  leaned in and kissed her head before pulling back with a confused frown.  "Did you get taller?"

Fi held up her right foot, showing off her boots. "Two-inch heels."

"The world's gone lopsided," Trent replied with a laugh. "Come on," he said, grabbing her hand again.