More pings from Ethan’s computer. More comments from girls all over the world raving about how cute and sexy and talented he is. Ethan scrolls down to read the new ones.

I want to stay in Ethan’s room forever. Every time I leave, it feels like I’m leaving part of myself behind. Tonight, with the summer breeze drifting in the windows and the smell of dinner cooking downstairs and senior year about to start, I’m overcome by warm contentment.

I guess I’m just feeling nostalgic tonight. But also excited about the possibility of Ethan becoming a huge rock star. He’s worked so hard for this. How much time has Ethan spent in his room, in the garage practicing with his band, in jam sessions, in studios, building the dream? Enough for this to be his time.

Something tells me that the way we are right now at the end of summer, on the edge of everything, is a way we will never be again.

Something tells me our whole world is about to change.

5

[189,472 FOLLOWERS]


I breeze by the nurses’ station with my brightly colored bunch of balloons, waving to one of the nurses I know. I make sure the tissue paper sticking out of the gift bag I’m carrying isn’t crushed. Then I go in.

“Hi, Gram!”

My grandma smiles when she sees me. She always smiles when she sees me.

“There’s my girl,” she says from her bed by the windows. She was originally assigned the other bed by the door. But when I was pushing her wheelchair here from the recovery room after her heart surgery and saw that both beds were empty, I asked one of the nurses if we could take the other bed. I am so relieved she let us. This part of the room is much better. Not only does it have sunlight and views, it’s large enough for a reclining chair. A reclining chair I’ve been camping out in every day since Gram’s surgery.

“What’s all this?” Gram gestures to the gifts.

“Your balloons needed refreshing.” The bunch of three “get well soon” balloons I tied to her bed rail the first day I visited is floating halfway down. I untie them and tie the new bunch where they were. Then I bring the gift bag over to Gram.

She gestures at the bed’s control panel. This means she wants me to raise the bed so she can sit up. When we get the bed the way she wants, she looks at the gift bag.

“You shouldn’t have spent your money on me,” she says. She says this about everything. Even if you try to give her a paper clip, she will insist she is unworthy.

“I didn’t. It’s Mom’s money.”

“Oh, well. That’s different,” Gram jokes. Her hands are shaky as she takes the bag. She lifts out the sparkly blue tissue paper and reaches inside.

“It’s just something little.”

Gram takes out a deck of cards. They have pictures of Elvis on the back.

“Elvis!” she raves. Gram is a huge Elvis fan. She’s convinced he’s still alive somewhere, enjoying his peanut butter and banana sandwiches in a remote hideaway.

“Do you want to play?”

“Absolutely.”

I wheel over her bed tray. Then I sit on the side of her bed and rip the plastic wrap off the cards.

“Rummy 500?” I ask.

“What else?”

Rummy 500 is our game. We’ve been playing it since I was little, way back when Gramp was still alive. I shuffle the cards in the fancy way he taught me: dividing the deck in two, shuffling them down, then back up in a bridge. Gram grabs the pad and pencil on her nightstand to keep score.

“How’s Ethan?” Gram asks.

“Awesome. His first single is being released next week.”

“That ‘Night on Fire’ one?”

I nod, placing the pile of cards on the table for Gram to cut the deck. Gram adores Ethan. She knows all his songs, all his videos. She’s a major fan.

“That boy is going to be famous,” she proclaims.

“I know.”

“No. I mean, really famous.”

The way Gram says it, you have to believe her.

“Did Mom visit yesterday?” I deal the cards.

“She didn’t get a chance. She’s always busy, that one. Running . . . doing . . .” Gram fans out her hand of cards, trying to space them evenly.

Mom should have visited Gram before she left on another business trip. She should be here right now. With both of us. But I don’t say anything.

“Your mother works very hard,” Gram says. “She works very hard to give you everything you need.”

“I know.”

“Just because she can’t always be here doesn’t mean she loves you any less.”

Gram is totally right. It’s not like I’m being neglected or anything. Plus I’m leaving for college soon. It really doesn’t matter anymore. I used to be super lonely. Even with having friends over all the time and my yoga and cooking classes and activities over the years, those nights when Mom was away on business trips felt so empty. Gram would come over to keep me company and spend the night. She lives down the street. But she hasn’t been feeling well, so she doesn’t come over as much anymore. Ethan is usually over if my friends aren’t. It’s not that I’m alone. It’s just that sometimes it’s lonely without Mom around.

But that’s okay. Who wants their parents around all the time? Having my friends and Ethan over whenever I want is awesome. And being strong and independent like Gram is badass. Gram has always been there for me. She’s the only one in my family whom I can count on. Which is why it’s so important for me to be here for her.

“I still can’t get over your hair,” Gram says.

The color was so dark when I dyed it black. I thought it needed something to break up the darkness. That’s why I had the jade streak put in a little while after. My natural color is light brown. It’s never really worked for me. Even when I tried a purple streak in it for a while last year. The first time I dyed my hair was the summer before tenth grade. I wanted it to come out a pretty blonde like my friend Marisa’s. But the blonde I ended up with wasn’t pretty. I dyed it back to brown that April.

Gram reaches for my jade streak. I lean forward so she can touch it. “It’s so soft,” she says. “I remember when my hair was soft like that.”

The part of Gram’s oxygen tube that goes into her nose is sticking out on one side. I reach over and gently press it back in.

“Thank you,” she says. She quickly looks back down at her cards. But not before I see her eyes fill with tears.

Gram hates being like this. She doesn’t like having to rely on anyone to take care of her. Taking care of people is her thing. She’s been a strong, independent woman her whole life. But for a few months leading up to her angioplasty and now in the hospital recovering, a lot of her freedom has been snatched away. Depending on other people to help her with the simplest things is killing her. I can’t think about what this is doing to her. If I think about it, I will start bawling and will never be able to stop.

So I stay strong. Or I try to. I visit Gram every day. I make sure she has everything she needs. I try to make her room look as cheerful as possible. Fresh balloons. The floral bedspread I brought from her house. A bouquet of roses that’s barely masking the smell of hospital disinfectant. At least they’re pretty to look at.

Appearances can make a huge difference. Making Gram’s hospital room more comfortable is the only thing about her situation I can control. I keep hoping that if everything looks happy on the outside, maybe the rest will be okay.

6

[206,887 FOLLOWERS]


The Invincibles have a show tonight at The Space, this all-ages venue near New Haven. They’ve played a bunch of local venues over the past three years. This is the biggest one. The Space printed huge posters with THE INVINCIBLES all big as the headliner. The posters are everywhere—out in front of The Space, on parking meters, in café windows. It’s so freaking exciting.

We got here this afternoon for sound check. Then Ethan and I spent a few hours walking around New Haven. We’ve both been here a bunch of times. New Haven is our closest city. I like seeing all the familiar places again. The yoga shop where I got my yoga mat. The Italian district with the best pizza. The toy store where Ethan kissed me next to the finger paint. The boy is so hot he can even make me melt in a toy store.

I wanted to get back to The Space early to scope out the scene. The crowd is usually just Yale students and locals. But it seems like everyone is here tonight. A few kids from school are even here. The Invincibles go on in half an hour. It’s hard to believe Ethan was playing to an empty room at this random arts center three years ago and tonight he’s headlining at a packed club.

Sunset Victim is the opening act. The crowd is way into them. Which is impressive, considering that almost everyone is here for Ethan. They’re a cool band for being older. Their lead singer/guitarist sounds a lot like Morrissey from The Smiths. He has a sweet emo vibe with his shabby-chic tie and ratty Converses. The bassist is rocking a teal theme. His pants, shoelaces, watch, and earplugs are all teal. I wonder why he has to wear earplugs. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re over thirty and still in a band.

Georgia wanted to come tonight. She had to go to her cousin’s wedding. I wish she were here. I could really use my best friend to help me chill. Ethan and the guys are backstage getting ready while I’m trying to blend in with the crowd. But blending in is hard to do when no one else is alone.

“Are you a Sunset Victim fan?” a girl yells to me over the music. She’s wearing horn-rimmed glasses, a tee that says INITECH, and looks like she’s in her midtwenties.