A sad smile on his end. He reaches into his breast pocket and withdraws a card. On it is his name, his number, and his address. “Email me. Send me a list of schools you’ll be applying to. Maybe I can help you, give you a word of recommendation if it should help.”

I accept and push past the defeat and focus on the golden pass in front of me. That’s another thing about running a business. You don’t let emotion get in the way of an opportunity and that’s exactly what this guy is offering.

“Your loss.”

He stands with me and shakes my hand. “I agree. Good luck, Abby. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing about you someday.”

Probably. On the six-o’clock news and not in the good way. “You better believe it.”

I walk out the door and in front of me is the principal, guidance counselor, and the flustered teacher. Before any of them can say a word, I flash his card. “Anyone else walk out with this? I believe it reads Harvard.”

Only the guidance counselor smiles a knowing “No.”

“Didn’t think so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

Gotta admit, all of that, including turning my back on them felt really good.

I’m down the hallway, heading toward the exit and sitting on the steps near the exit to the school is Logan. He’s resting his arms on his thighs, his hands are clasped together. The baseball cap pulled down keeps me from reading his emotions, but then again, it’s Logan and he’s always a tough read.

The urge is to go to him, to show him the card, to smile at what I accomplished while he smiled along with me. To act seventeen. To make up a story and listen as he played along. To tease him and have him tease me back. To let him hold my hand again and revel in the butterflies that hatched in my chest the moment his fingers first touched mine.

In my back pocket, my cell vibrates. Logan’s still staring at me and I’m still staring at him. Every time I see him, it’s like two paths emerge. One that calls to me...another that feels inevitable. Either path leads to someone I love. Both will hurt the other person I’m protecting and myself.

It stops vibrating, then begins again. I pull it out and sigh when I spot Linus’s number. The two paths narrow back into one as I’m reminded that any road to Logan only brings him trouble. I circle away from Logan, answer my phone and hold on to the idea that I’m at least saving my grandmother—that I’m at least dying on the inside for a good reason. “I sometimes wish a dragon would appear and eat your phone. Sometimes I wish it would eat you.”

“Stop daydreaming. We’ve got work to do today.”

Logan

The elevator doors open. I enter, then Mom, then Dad. Elevator rides after doctor visits have always sucked, especially when Mom’s in attendance and there’s no one else but the three of us in the box. Dad’s brewing, Mom’s seconds from peeling her own skin back, and I’m worried about Abby.

Dad pushes One and we begin the descent down, but not to leave, but for me to go pee in a cup. The doctor’s not happy with my glucose levels and how I haven’t been able to keep them in a healthy range.

“What if there’s something wrong with his kidney?” Mom’s skipping straight to that high-pitched tone.

“This test is normal.” I lean back against the mirrored wall and watch as the numbers count down. Every year we check for protein in my urine—check to see if my kidneys are considering shutting down.

Mom spins to face me. “This isn’t a joke, Logan. It’s your kidney. You need it.”

“I’ve got two. Consider one a backup.”

The way Mom’s mouth gapes and the utter look of horror in her eyes informs me the joke wasn’t appreciated. The door to the elevator opens, Mom bolts out and I feel like shit.

I follow her and before I can apologize, Mom’s already seeking refuge in the women’s bathroom. I shove my hands in my pockets. To this day I’m not sure how I end up being the one comforting her after every specialist appointment. She was this way even when I was a child.

Mom runs. It’s what she does. Who she is. Days like today though, I get real tired of it. I head to the water fountain, and Dad follows.

“Let me guess,” Dad says. “You’re thirsty.” Because a sign of high blood sugar is thirst.

I bend over and drink—a lot, but it’s not nearly enough and it won’t be. I straighten and Dad’s eyes are blazing. My glucose number was astronomical in the doctor’s office. Not my best moment to be scoring high in front of the doc. It’s like not brushing your teeth before heading to the dentist.

Lunch was my only opportunity to test or give myself insulin and I skipped it to spend time with Abby. Combine that with my only choice for food for lunch being a thick-crust pizza and it was a recipe for disaster.

Dad walks up beside me and I straighten when I feel him staring. “I was kidding—with Mom. Trying to lighten the mood.”

“That’s the problem, Logan. You don’t take any of this seriously. You don’t take anything seriously.”

“The doctor tests for protein every time. It’s routine. The test doesn’t mean he thinks something’s wrong. It doesn’t mean he thinks my kidneys are out of whack. These tests—these appointments—this is my normal and Mom needs to learn how to get over her fears or she needs to stop coming.”

Dad’s eyes harden. “Your blood sugar was over three hundred. Three hundred, Logan!”