I inch over, and sit on the chair by her bed. She pulls open a drawer and brings out a stack of letters bound with pink ribbon. She unties it slowly, and rifles through them before settling on a single letter and handing it to me.

“Read that, will you?”

“Out-Outloud?”

“If you want.”

I glance down at it and clear my throat.

“Dear Sophia - ”

It suddenly hits me – these are the letters she and Jack send each other. This is Jack’s wide, impeccably even handwriting. I glance up at her nervously, but she just smiles and waves me on. Is this some kind of sick trick? Why does she want me to read her boyfriend’s letters to her? I search for any resentment in her eyes, but there is none, just a cool, sweet passivity.

Does she really hate me?

I only knew her for two weeks. And we were only ‘friends’ because we were the only teenagers in the hospital. We hung out – texted each other and showed each other stupid cat pictures from the internet and talked about music but do I really know her? I don’t. I don’t know who Tallie is. I don’t know why she screamed like that last night. I don’t know what her disease is. I don’t know anything about her.

I look back down at the letter.

“I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in a week. There is no excuse, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope this longer letter gives you more comfort than two shorter ones would’ve.

I’m doing well. Mom has been painting again – horses, mostly. She loves them. She said she was painting one for you, for your birthday. July is so far. But she says a masterpiece will take time. I can only hope she doesn’t paint you an entire hospital wall worth of ponies.

I snort, and instantly regret it. Sophia’s eyes are locked on me, and the pressure they exert is crushing. Gently crushing. Crushing like a quaint spring breeze. From a typhoon. I read again.

“By then, you’ll be done with your surgery. You can choose – I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. The sea? My grandfather’s beach house in California is empty for most of the year. We could go there for the summer. Just you and I. The warmth would be good for you, I think.”

It’s so bizarre – this isn’t the Jack I know. I mean, I barely know him, but a cold, sneering douchebag with a savior complex and a penchant for cheating on his girlfriend shouldn’t sound this…gentle. This kind. It doesn’t make any sense. It does, though, because he loves Sophia, but if he loved her this much, why would he kiss me?

“There’s a new student in my class; an annoying gnat that constantly buzzes around my skull. Can’t keep her mouth shut. She annoys the teachers, the principal, practically everyone with functioning eardrums finds themselves instantly repelled by her idiocy. I’d tell you her name, but it’s a plant - Ivy or Iris or some nonsense like that. I can’t be bothered to remember. She spread some stupid rumor because I politely let her friend know I wasn’t interested at a party last week. She punched me. It didn’t hurt. Much. Anyway, she spread the rumor we kissed in juvenile retaliation.”

My voice wavers. I did? I don’t even remember –

The party. The smell of spilled pepsi and the sound of drunken laughter. Avery’s house. A grand chandelier with cocktail wieners stuck in it. Kayla. Kayla and I talking for the first time, Jack walking in for the first time and the crowd parting around him and Kayla working up all her meager courage to talk to him, his jaded, bored words as he ripped into her, and my punch – straight, true, blood coming from his nose –

The memories dart up like sprouts after a long winter. I read frantically. This is my past. These are the things I can’t remember, here, in this letter.

“It was so annoying, Sophia. God, I wanted to strangle every idiot that kept asking me about it. Finally I debunked it. I had to kiss her in front of the entire school. I’m sorry. You understand, I hope. It was disgusting and sloppy and she’s –”

My voice catches as I process what the next words are. They don’t sting. They just ache. Ache like everything does when I see people who are better than me at love, who know more, who’ve had more real, soft, true experiences.

“- inexperienced to the extreme.”

I look up, and Sophia smiles wanly and rubs my back.

“I’m sorry he’s so mean about this, Isis. I just wanted you to know the truth.”

“Like I care what he thinks,” I scoff. “This is the truth. I gotta know it. Let me keep reading.”

Sophia nods. “If you’re sure.”

“I nearly threw up in my mouth. No more rumors about kissing though. I’m telling you this for honesty’s sake – I apologize. It won’t happen again. Some idiots just need to be silenced before they become worse.”

I snort. He’s the idiot. The king of ‘em, actually. Someone should inform him he’s won the crown. I read the next few lines to myself and feel my cheeks start to warm.

‘I want to kiss you, Sophia. Every day. You and only you.

I’ll come visit soon.

Yours,

Jack.’

“Uh, nevermind. I think I got the gist. That last part is, uh, private.”

Sophia giggles and takes the letter back. “He is quite the silly romantic.”

“Yeah. So. Thanks. Now I know.”

“Now you know,” she agrees.

“He kissed me to get me to shut up.” I nod. “Not bad. It’s the one thing that would probably shock me into silence.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you know. Guy like that kissing a girl like me. Unnatural. Not right. Unequal, really. Hell, any guy standing my close-up face long enough to kiss me just plain goes against the laws of nature. I mean, there are lots of other girls out there. Like you! And Kayla! And like, everyone! Choosing me to mack on? That’s like choosing plain yogurt over a bunch of awesome cakes for dessert!”

I laugh. Sophia is quiet, her hair shading half her face. I can’t see the other half. She doesn’t speak for a good minute, and I nervously shuffle. Me? Nervous? I shake it off and put my hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Soapy, are you –”

“You’re disgusting.”

The contempt in her voice freezes my insides. It’s the voice I heard last night. The other Sophia. She tilts her head, the hair sliding off her face and her eyes heavy-lidded.

“Do you really think anyone is falling for that?”

“What do you –”

“Those depressive little comparisons you make. The way you pan off any worth of yours. You’re a sick, masochistic bitch who likes playing ‘modest’ to make people like her. To make people feel sorry for her.”

The words hit hard. Harder than the impact when Leo threw me against the wall.

“Is that what you really think of me?” I ask. “You think I – you think I say these things so people will like me?”

Sophia laughs, full and rich and downright dark.

“Don’t play innocent. I’ve done the same thing countless times. You and I are exactly alike, Isis. That’s why I understand you. Neither of us are our real selves around other people. Because that would scare them. So we pretend. We don’t say what we mean. We don’t say what we really think, and everyone else believes us normal. Harmless. But that’s far from the truth.”