My Hero Chapter Six Realization of the procedure kicks in and I feel shaky and nervous the day later. I am home now, thank goodness, and I feel safer, but there’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to keep my mind of the surgery, so I’m left thinking about them ripping my chest out. Of course, I really don’t know what they’re going to do to me. I’m just going to be on that cold operation table, knocked out and left only was a tingling sensation and my dreams flying across the sky. I feel the constant buzz from my phone in my back pocket. I pull it out, look at it, and have to smile slightly. I answer it. “Hi?” I say, although I know who it is. The voice on the other line sounds tired, worried. I wonder why. It says, “How are you?” I hesitate slightly. How am I? It’s ridiculous that I have to ask myself this question. How am I? “Oh, I’m just so dandy,” I tell him, sarcasm dripping from my words. “Uh-huh. How’d it go?” I can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “It went okay. I’m having a procedure done in two—” Sam interrupts before I can say weeks. He says, “What? Seriously? It’s that bad?” I nod slowly, although I know he can’t see. “I should warn you, I’m going to look different.” “How so?” “I’m going to be . . . flat.” How else do I explain it? I’m not going to say, ‘Yeah, I’m going to be so much hotter with a flat chest and all. You’ll see.’ He bursts out laughing, and I hold the cell phone away from my ear for a moment to save my ears from the harsh noise. Why is he laughing? I exclaim, so loud that my voice blares over his chuckling, “I’m serious!” And he clears his throat. “You know, I really could care less,” he says to me, still laughing softly. “Really?” I have to ask. He shrugs. “Of course. I care about personality, not . . . Well, you know.” I nod and say, “So, change of subject, can we hang out today?” “I don’t see why not. Desperate?” Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Maybe. What are you going to do about it?” Sam replies, “Nothing. I’m just as desperate. But I can actually admit; it it’s you who has the problem.” “Uh-huh. Meet me at my house in an hour,” I tell him. He nods. “See you later.” “Bye, Alex.” I say a quick, “It’s just Alex.” And then I hang up before he can protest. It isn’t long until I hear the rum-rum of his vehicle, and soon see the dauntingly handsome figure waltz up the porch steps and knock confidently on the front door. But perhaps he knocks a little too hard, because I now see him gripping the hand he hit it with and a pained expression showing slightly on his beautifully curved face. Before I look at him anymore, I have to stop myself for a moment. What am I doing, calling some boy beautiful, confident, and handsome? He’s only a friend, I tell myself! And besides, I’m not over what I had with Tyler. My love for him is still strong, but even though I’d like to forget him . . . He’s opening the door himself. But then I realize that I was supposed to let him in, because it appears my parents have gone out of town to eat at a restaurant. Hm. Maybe I should go downstairs— I’m downstairs before I can finish this sentence, and a warm smile follows. Before I can take this all in, though, I am suddenly being whisked to the side, an arm around my waist, as I try to loosen this person’s grip. I am turned around and I now face the criminal. I roll my eyes. “Ugh. You. You scared me, idiot! I could’ve had a heart attack!” My jaw clenches, although a part of me has to admit that I’m actually happy and kind of relieved to see a familiar face. He chuckles at this. “Yes, it’s me,” Sam mimics, trying to force his voice to rise ten degrees in pitch. His voice turns back to normal, which I’m glad of because that other voice freaks me out and makes me feel self-conscious. Does my voice really sound like that? “You don’t have to act all terrified, you know.” I cross my arms. “I am not terrified, Sam Mercy,” I say confidently, feeling the complete opposite. He makes a face that can only pass as mock astonishment. “Ooh, it’s the full name, is it? Well then, I suppose I’m going to have to use that on you, also, Alex Diamond.” Again, I find myself rolling my eyes. “Pfft. You don’t know the power the full name has, that’s all.” “Oh, but I do. My mom uses it on me all the time.” He nods. “You’re making mom jokes?” I ask. Sam replies, as serious as I’ve ever seen him, “It’s not a joke. Trust me.” “Trust you?” I pretend to scoff, ignoring the hurt on his face. “Trust a boy who broke into my house—” He shakes a finger in correction, saying, “Ah, no. I actually let myself in, as somebody here—not naming names, because you know the power that has on me—has forgotten about being polite.” I ignore this, but I know he’s right. Which I really hate. “—makes fun of me, and—” “I make observations,” he corrects yet again. “—and interrupts me!” I finally get to finish, and I release a breath. Instead of making a cocky remark, he sits down on the couch and crosses his legs, as if I’m not irritated with him; except the weird part is that I’m not irritated with him. At least not anymore. He raises an eyebrow slightly and stares at me so long I begin to feel uncomfortable until I sit down beside him and his eyes finally rest on something other than me. But now that I’m looking at his face, this is awkward. He says to me, “So, this procedure . . . It won’t kill you?” “Are you disappointed?” I reply, a bit surprised by this. I think I heard disappointment in his voice, but maybe that’s sarcasm. I don’t know. “I’m dead serious. Oops. Too soon?” He’s smiling now. I shake my head. “Everyone acts like that, please don’t,” I say. I’m sick of people treating me like that. “Just treat me like you usually would.” His grin widens immensely and I can see his white teeth now. “Will do,” he says, putting an arm around me. I give him a look, but then he adds, “Friendly.” And I can’t really respond to this so I just stare at him. But then I wonder . . . This doesn’t seem friendly to me. Turning my head to look him in the eye, I say, “Tell me what kinds of friends do this.” Sam gasps and exclaims, “So I’m a full friend now?” He raises his arms in the air and pretends to cheer—of course, he could be actually happy about this, but every bone in my body doubts it. “Awesome! This is a dream come true!” I ignore his little outburst with a roll of my eyes. “About the dream-come-true thing . . .” I cross my arms. “That’s a thing in the cancer program, I found. For kids who get one wish, whatever it is, before they die.” “Yes.” He nods. “They have that. Unfortunately for me, I’ve used my wish already. The first time,” he adds, as if I didn’t already know. Which I didn’t, but I know what he means. I ask him, “What did you use it on?” Clearing his throat, he looks away. He seems suddenly uncomfortable, although I don’t know why. I give him a stare down until he finally looks in my direction—not really at me—and says, “Err, I actually used my wish on . . . Um, this will sound really stupid . . .” “Tell me already!” I’m getting impatient, which is never a good thing. “Okay, okay. I used my wish on a trip to Florida,” he admits. “Okay?” A trip to Florida? Why would he waste his wish on that? Surely it must have some sentimental value that could last him a lifetime, and— But what he says next cuts my thoughts short. “I went there because of Sea World.” “Sea World?” I spit. He can’t be serious. Sea World is like the second best thing next to Disney Land, but would he really use this as his last and only wish in his lifetime? But of course he would. This is something he would do, I am certain of it. And yet I still feel the need to ask, “Why?” He shrugs, as if pushing the whole conversation, the whole situation, away. “I’ve always wanted to go there, but my parents couldn’t afford it. Besides, you know how little kids are . . . persistent.” “You’re still persistent. Nothing’s changed.” I roll my eyes. “Something must have changed. I mean,” he says, “at least now I’m persistent with a reason.” I know he’s talking about how he believes I’m trying to push him away, what with the reason I don’t allow his arm to be around me or for him to hold my hand. But it just feels, I don’t know, wrong in a way. Stupid. But maybe I’m just afraid to get my heart broken again, and can’t trust him. Maybe I’m just not ready for a new relationship, but maybe Sam doesn’t even like me that way. Perhaps this is all in my head. He continues, “You do know what that reason is?” But I don’t. I’m completely lost here. I shrug. “Um, not really,” I say slowly. What else can I say? “I really want . . .” Sam pauses a moment, as if rephrasing his words in his head. “Hey, do you have a bucket list?” “A bucket list?” I make a face. “Like things to do before you die?” He nods. “Exactly. Do you have one?” “I used to. I might still have it. I could make one . . .” I stand up and get a pen and a piece of paper, then come back to the couch and sit down, a few inches away. “Great!” He scoots closer to me. My attempt is a failure. “Okay, so here . . .” Taking the paper and pen away from me, he writes a 1 on the top of the page, and then looks at me curiously. “What’s the number one thing you want to do before you die?” I barely have to think about this, but I feel wrong saying it. “Um,” I say, feeling cautious. “I want . . . Does revenge sound wrong?” Sam grins at this. He raises an eyebrow slightly and says, “Wrong?” He clears his throat. “Oh, honey . . . I think we’ve come to an agreement.” “An agreement on what?” I haven’t even told him what my number one thing was, but maybe he’s guessed it. “I too want to get revenge on Tyler, because of how he treated you. We are alike like that, yes?” He’s smiling. Why does he want revenge on my ex-boyfriend? This doesn’t make sense. I say, “Why do you want revenge, anyway? He didn’t hurt you.” “But by hurting you, he’s hurting me,” Sam explains, not missing a beat. So does this mean he cares about me? “And this means, if someone hurts me, I’m not pausing for planning out and setting things up. I’m getting my revenge, whether my plan is thought out well enough or not.” Staring at him a moment, I let this register fully into my mind before I can speak without fumbling on my words. “Your plan? Hey. Remember that this is my ex-boyfriend we’re talking about. I’m the one with the broken heart. And I’m going to let you help me with this.” He grins. “Great. Let’s plan.” “But you said planning wasn’t your thing. For chumps,” I remind him. He tilts his head to the side slightly, saying, “Yeah, but isn’t it your thing to plan? I’d be calling you a chump if I didn’t plan with you. And then I’d be the chump. And someone like me isn’t a chump.” “Well, what do chumps look like?” “Chumps look like the adorably unique girl you are.”
Posted on: Sat, 03 Jan 2015 03:13:15 +0000
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