Maybe One Day. Melissa Kantor

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      Still, I wasn’t. And it wasn’t just because he’d teased me about Jackson. There was something about Calvin—the way every girl at school drooled over him, the way the school newspaper ran his picture on the sports page every five seconds, the way he was too important to bother to acknowledge me. Even his whole I’m-so-helpful-let-me-be-your-chauffeur-and-delivery-boy routine, which the Grecos were clearly falling for, rubbed me the wrong way.

      Was I the only one who could see that he was a self-satisfied ass?

      The door opened again. This time my mom walked in. “Hi, guys,” she said quietly, and then she used the Purell dispenser. I was surprised that she knew she had to do that.

      Olivia’s mom stood up and went over to my mom. They hugged and then started talking quietly, too quietly for me to hear what they were saying. Over by the window, Calvin and Jake talked. Olivia’s dad typed on his BlackBerry. Even though there were almost half a dozen people in the room with us, I felt like we were suddenly alone together.

      Olivia must have felt the same way because when she started talking, it was clear that she was talking just to me. “I really think I’m going to be okay,” she said. Her eyes had purplish circles under them. How long had they been there? How had I not noticed? “I was freaking out before, but … I don’t know, I just sense that I’m going to be okay.”

      Immediately I said, “Of course you’re going to be okay.” Then I regretted saying it. I hoped I didn’t sound too much like her mom.

      The door to the room opened again, and this time a woman in a white lab coat came in. She was short, with gray streaks in her brown curly hair.

      “Hello!” She gave a wave to the room, then pressed the Purell dispenser and rubbed her hands together. “I’m glad to see Olivia has so much company.”

      “We don’t want to tire her out, Dr. Maxwell,” said Mrs. Greco quickly.

      “If you think it’s better for everyone to go, we’ll send them all home,” said Mr. Greco, getting to his feet.

      The way Mr. Greco—who was a big partner at his law firm and who talked to pretty much everybody as if they were his employees—spoke to Dr. Maxwell, I could tell she was important.

      Dr. Maxwell smiled at Olivia. “Are you tired?”

      Olivia gave a little shrug. “I’m okay.”

      “Good.” Her round tortoiseshell glasses caught the light and made it seem as if her eyes were sparkling. Under her lab coat she had on a pretty silk blouse. She came over to the bed. “You must be Zoe,” she said, and when I nodded, she went on. “Olivia told me about you. She’s really going to need her friends right now.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, like, Just to be clear, having cancer is not something good.

      “Of course,” I said.

      Dr. Maxwell slipped up the sleeve of Olivia’s hospital gown, checked something on Olivia’s chest briefly, then nodded. “It all looks good.” She glanced over her shoulder at the IV line hanging from the pole. “How are you feeling? Are you nauseated?” Her tone was the same as it had been when she’d told me Olivia would need her friends, and I started to get the sense she was just matter-of-fact about everything.

      Olivia shook her head. “Not yet. I have a funny taste in my mouth.” Livvie ran her tongue along her teeth and made a face. “It’s weird.”

      “Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that, but if it’s making you nauseous, let me know. Like I said before, it’s hard to get the horse back in the barn once he’s out.”

      I had no idea what she was talking about, but Olivia must have because she nodded. Dr. Maxwell looked around the room. “Everything seems okay for now,” she said. “Olivia’s off to a good start.”

      I hadn’t noticed how quiet the room had gotten while Dr. Maxwell was examining Olivia, but as soon as she gave her assessment, the buzz of conversation that started up again made me feel the silence her presence had generated. It reminded me of how it had been in a dance class when Martin Hicks, the NYBC director, would pay one of his occasional visits. You didn’t realize how tightly you’d been holding everything in—how high you’d been lifting your leg, how far you’d extended your arms—until he left and you felt the collective tension seep out of the room as everyone literally gave a sigh of relief.

      Now people went back to their conversations. Dr. Maxwell stood next to the bed. “So,” she said, “Olivia and her family and I had a long talk earlier, but she asked me to come back and explain some things about her illness to you.”

      I looked at Olivia. “Really? You wanted her to explain everything to me, too?”

      Livvie nodded. I loved her so much right at that instant I almost cried.

      “Now, what do you know about leukemia?” asked Dr. Maxwell.

      “It’s got something to do with Olivia’s blood,” I answered, purposely not using the word cancer.

      “Good,” said Dr. Maxwell, and even though we were talking about a deadly disease that my best friend had, I felt glad to have gotten the answer right. “It does have to do with blood. Specifically, it’s a cancer of the blood.”

      “Actually, I was trying to avoid the c word,” I explained.

      Olivia laughed, and even Dr. Maxwell cracked a smile. “We use the c word a lot around here,” Dr. Maxwell assured me. “Now, there are different types of leukemia. Most children and teens get something called acute lymphoblastic leukemia, or ALL. Olivia has acute myeloid leukemia, or AML. It’s a cancer more commonly associated with males in their sixties.”

      Livvie turned to me. “I have old-man cancer. Isn’t that so humiliating?”

      “It is, actually. But I won’t tell anyone,” I promised.

      Dr. Maxwell was shaking her head. I couldn’t tell if she was amused or irritated by the way we were talking. “In a healthy person,” she went on, “blood is formed inside the soft, spongy part of the big bones in your body, such as your femur. You know what your femur is?” I nodded. Our first year at NYBC, a girl in our class had had a skiing accident and broken her femur. I still remembered when one of the worst dancers in our class had pulled us aside to tell us about the accident. She may never dance again. Her face had been bright pink with the drama of the moment.

      “Your femur’s here.” I hit my thigh as I said it.

      “Correct,” Dr. Maxwell said. “So blood is born—formed—in the bone marrow. There, immature cells called blasts grow into mature blood cells: white blood cells, red blood cells, or platelets. Think of bone marrow as a school. Or a house. The kids grow up, learn a trade, then leave home and go to work at a job.

      “But leukemia stops blood cells from doing that. In a person with AML, instead of making normal blasts, which grow into normal blood cells, the bone marrow starts making cancerous cells. They divide quickly and uncontrollably. They don’t do their jobs. And they fill up the bone marrow so that there’s no room for normal, healthy cells to be made or to grow. The immature cells are strong and hard to kill. They’re like child soldiers.”

      Dr. Maxwell pointed behind her at the СКАЧАТЬ