What Are You Hiding, Tory? (9781771275347) Read online

  “I kind of wondered,” Zoe said.

  You did? That surprised me.

  “I never noticed,” Nicolle said.

  “Me neither,” said Lily. That was good to hear. If most of my friends had never noticed, maybe other people hadn’t noticed either.

  “When will you get better?” Shayna asked. Diana answered before I had a chance, and I realized she knew a lot about CF.

  “She won’t,” Diana told Shayna. Shayna’s eyes got big.

  “There’s no cure. Yet,” I told Shayna, “But hopefully one day soon there will be.” I tried to smile so Shayna would know I was okay. She looked kind of upset.

  “So, do you all promise to keep this a secret?” Kelly asked. I could tell she felt bad her plan had not worked, and my secret had come out at her party.

  Everyone promised.

  “But, Tory,” Zoe asked, “how come you never told us before?”

  “I…I just didn’t want anyone to think I was weird or different. I don’t want to be treated like I’m sick.”

  “We won’t do that, Tory,” Diana said. I hoped she was right.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We stayed up extra late telling ghost stories. Mr. Conrad finally came downstairs and told us we had to go to sleep, or he would call our parents and send us all home. We slept late on Sunday morning, and when I woke up I went upstairs to find Kelly’s mom so she could do my therapy. I didn’t see any reason for waiting until I got home, now that the rest of the girls knew my secret. Zoe and Diana came upstairs with us, but the rest of the girls stayed in the basement with Kelly and watched a movie.

  At noon, Mrs. Conrad served us cereal for breakfast. Since it was the weekend, I ate the chocolate flakes she set on the table. After we ate, everyone else went home. I stayed at Kelly’s house for a while, but I was tired from staying up so late the night before. I walked home while it was still light out and took a nice long nap before dinner.

  On Monday morning, Mom had to dig out my winter jacket for me. The temperature had dropped quite a bit and it was cold outside. That’s when I was sure I would not be scootering again until the spring. On the way to school Kelly said she was sorry for what happened at her party.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “I had a great time, and things worked out pretty well, I think.”

  “Yeah, it was an awesome party, wasn’t it?” Kelly smiled.

  “It really was,” I assured her. I had thought about things a lot on Sunday night. Maybe it won’t be so bad that my friends know. It was hard keeping the secret. I hated it because I always felt like I was lying about something important about myself. And now that they knew, the girls said they wouldn’t treat me differently. So maybe nothing would change. I even started to wonder if I ever should have kept my CF a secret in the first place.

  * * * *

  At school, Mrs. Jason announced that this year sixth, seventh, and eighth graders would have a Winter Dance.

  “It will be the Friday evening school gets out for winter break,” she told us. A dance? That sounded like a lot of fun.

  “From now until the end of the semester you will be learning different dances in gym class.” This time there were several groans from the back of the room. Mrs. Jason pretended that she didn’t hear them. Kelly and I gave each other a quick glance. Kelly raised her eyebrow at me. We had never been to a dance before.

  Kelly and I were eating lunch in the school cafeteria with Zoe and Diana one day the next week. Kelly’s mom had finally given in, and Kelly was allowed to buy her lunch in the cafeteria instead of bringing it in a brown bag. I had no such luck with my mom. I was eating a turkey sandwich with mustard and lettuce and a little bag of carrots. I got up to get another carton of chocolate milk. When I got back to the table Potter Murphy, Ryan Polonsky, Jimmy Cullin, and Scott Ross had joined Kelly, Zoe, and Diana. Potter and Ryan were sitting at one corner of the table, and they were whispering to each other. Kelly was giggling, and I wondered what was going on. I heard the word “dance,” and then Ryan said, “Ask her yourself.” Potter gave Ryan a playful shove, and I tried to figure out whom Potter wanted to ask to the dance. My guess was that he wanted to ask Zoe.

  “Tory, Potter wants to ask you something?”

  Me?

  “What?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t noticed the whispering.

  “Go on.” Ryan nudged Potter again. Potter’s face was bright red. “Potter wants to know...” Ryan started.

  Potter covered Ryan’s mouth with his hand and said, “I’ll ask her myself! Tory? Will you, uh…”

  His face was so red I felt sorry for him.

  “I mean, would you like to go to the Winter Dance with me?”

  My face felt hot. I hoped it wasn’t as red as Potter’s was. What a couple we would make, with our flaming red cheeks.

  Potter was asking me to be his date. I had never had a date with a boy before. I didn’t even know Potter liked me. He’s pretty cute. He has deep, dark brown eyes that make me think of chocolate. And Potter is taller than me. I guess that’s one of the good things about being short—all the boys in my class are all taller than I am. Potter looked anxious as he waited for my answer.

  “I would like that,” I said, sounding more formal than I’d meant to. I should have just said, “Sure!” Wow! My first date!

  A few days later, I woke up with such a terrible headache I didn’t want to do my therapy. The only problem with that, though, is that I was having a hard time breathing, and I was coughing so hard I threw up twice. I felt so bad I could hardly move. Mom took my temperature. My fever was high. I did my nebulizer while Mom called Dr. Mallers.

  “Dr. Mallers wants you in the hospital as soon as we can get there.” I felt too sick to protest. Mom packed some clothes and some pajamas. She and Dad helped me to the car. I could barely walk it was so hard to breathe.

  “What’s happening to me?” I asked my mom.

  “You’re just sick, honey. You’ll be okay once Dr. Mallers gets some medicine into you.” Still, I was scared. Dad drove us to the hospital and Mom kept saying, “Slow down, Ed.” I guess Dad was scared, too.

  Then it hit me. If Dad was scared, what would Potter Murphy think? I was sure this would change everything.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The hospital looked different from what I remembered. The last time I was there I was seven. I think it was repainted or redecorated or something. Dr. Mallers checked me into a room on the ninth floor. That’s the floor for kids who have breathing problems, like CF and asthma. There are kids on the floor who are just sick with other stuff too, but I don’t know what.

  If I hadn’t felt so sick I would have been excited to see who my roommate was.

  “Hi, Tory. Long time no see.” It was Jessica Fuller. I see her almost every time I go to the clinic. She’s thirteen.

  “Tory is feeling pretty crummy,” Mom told Jessica. “I think we ought to give her some time to get settled.”

  “Sure,” Jessica said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, Tory, we’ll have you feeling wonderful in no time. You should have seen me when I came in.” Jessica stuck her tongue way out and sagged her eyes, “I was sick as a dog.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A week. They’re keeping me another week, so I’m definitely happy you’re here.”

  I wasn’t so thrilled to be there, but I was definitely glad Jessica was going to be my roommate, and I told her so.

  Mom asked if I wanted her to stay. I did, but I didn’t see Jessica’s mom there. I didn’t want Jessica to think I was a baby.

  “I’ll be okay,” I told Mom.

  Right before Mom and Dad left to go home that night, they kissed me and promised to be back in the morning.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said, “would you call Mrs. Frank for me. I’m supposed to babysit Liza and Cara Lynn this Friday night.”

  Mom said she would.

  I fell asleep wondering whom Mrs. Frank would get to babysit.

  Chapter Seventeen<
br />
  I slept a lot the first few days I was in the hospital. On the fourth day, I was feeling well enough to get out of bed and get some exercise.

  “Let’s go for a walk around the floor,” Jessica suggested.

  “What about our IVs?” Jessica and I both had an IV in our arm, so we could get stronger doses of medicine than if we took it by mouth.

  “I’ll call Katie,” Jessica said. She reached for the little red button on the side of her bed. Katie was our nurse. I liked her a lot. She wasn’t old and bossy like some of the nurses. She was pretty, too. She usually wore pink scrubs, and she always wore her hair in a ponytail.

  Katie stuck her head in the room. “What’s up, girls?”

  “Tory and I want to walk around the floor. Can you set up some oxygen for me and fix up Tory’s IV pole?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Katie laughed.

  Katie brought back a small green oxygen tank on a cart that had wheels and a handle. She hooked one end of a long, clear plastic tube to a flow meter, which looked kind of like a big thermometer. The flow meter controls how much oxygen goes through the tubing. She handed the other end to Jessica, who wrapped it around her ears and positioned the prongs under her nose. I knew the tube with the prongs was called a nasal cannula. I wore one the first three days I was in the hospital.

  Katie unplugged my IV pump from the wall and wrapped the cord around the pole. “You’re all set,” she said. “Your IV will run on a battery for a while, but if it starts to beep you’ll have to come back to your room and plug it back into the wall.”

  I got out of bed slowly. I was still feeling a little bit weak.

  “Don’t be gone too long,” Katie said. “You both have therapy at ten.”

  In the hospital, if the therapist does it by hand, the old-fashioned way, it takes about forty-five minutes. We get to choose between having a therapist pound us or using the machine that hooks up to the vest, like I have at home. When I feel really sick, I prefer the pounding therapy over the vest because even though all the thumping and vibrating of the vest does a good job at shaking all the junk out of my lungs, it makes me feel sick to my stomach. Some kids think the vest is better, while others think the pounding works better.

  When I feel a little better I sometimes still ask for the pounding. If we choose the old-fashioned pounding, we get to mess with the bed controls. The hospital beds had controls so the foot of the bed can go way higher than the head. The respiratory therapists moved my bed into that position when they pounded my sides and lower back. They told me the lungs drain better that way. It feels weird, though, because all the blood rushes to my head. Also, I cough more when my head is down lower than my feet, but I guess that’s the idea. If we pick the machine, we get to help the therapist set the dials for how hard and how fast we get thumped. It’s funny if you talk or try to sing during the machine treatment because you sound like you’re under water. There was also one more nebulizer medicine I didn’t always take at home. Plus an antibiotic to fight the infection in my lungs.

  “Who is my respiratory therapist today?” Jessica asked.

  “I’m not sure who’s working,” Katie said.

  “I hope it’s not that weird guy, Albert. He gives me the creeps.”

  I didn’t know who Albert was, but I hoped he wouldn’t be my therapist either. I hoped Kelly’s mom was working.

  Jessica and I walked down the hall very slowly. I was nervous about my IV. There wasn’t an actual needle in my arm, but there was still a plastic thing in there, and if it got pulled out accidentally I bet it would hurt a lot. The darn thing had come out once already. I truly hate needles, and I completely hate having them put into my arm. I was going to be as careful as possible to make sure my IV stayed exactly where it belonged.

  “Guess who’s here?” Jessica asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Matt,” Jessica said.

  Matt Weinstein has CF, too, and he’s thirteen like Jessica. I’ve always thought he was kind of cute. Not as cute as Potter Murphy and definitely not as cute as Jake McMahon, but cute.

  “Guess who else?” Jessica said.

  “What is this?” I asked. “A CF convention?”

  Jessica laughed. “I think everyone just wants to get it out of the way before the holidays.”

  The holidays. I wonder if I’ll still be here on Thanksgiving.

  “Get what out of the way?”

  “Their tune-ups,” Jessica said, as if I were dumb.

  “We sound like cars,” I said.

  “You haven’t guessed who else is here,” Jessica complained.

  “Okay, um, Alicia DiMarco?” I guessed.

  Jessica got a funny look on her face when I said Alicia’s name.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you hear about Alicia?”

  Obviously I hadn’t. “No.”

  “She ….” Jessica looked away and didn’t finish what she was about to say. “She got too sick…”

  What she didn’t say was what I had already figured out. Alicia had died.

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. So I just asked, “When?” I felt close to Alicia. She was nice to me, and it was cool that she was talented at art. She used to draw awesome pictures for me when I was little.

  “Last month. She was on the waiting list for a lung transplant, but she just got so sick. She couldn’t wait anymore.”

  I had heard about lung transplants at CF clinic. Since there is no cure, some of the older kids get lung transplants when their own get so bad that they just can’t breathe anymore. Before they can get onto the transplant waiting list, they have to do a lot of tests in the hospital. Even when they get onto the list, some people still have to wait a long time. Alicia’s wait must have been awfully long. Since we only go to CF clinic every three months, it’s kind of hard to keep up with everything that’s going on with everyone.

  “Maria DiMarco is here, though,” Jessica said. Maria is Alicia’s little sister. There are six DiMarco kids altogether. Well, five now. Besides Alicia, her sister Maria, who is my age, also has CF, and so does her brother, Tony. The other DiMarco kids, Sal, Vinny, and Christina don’t have it. I can’t imagine what it would be like if Jenny or Alec had CF too. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why my parents didn’t have any more kids after me. But I’ve never asked.

  “What should I say to Maria?” I asked Jessica. “I mean….” I felt like I was going to cry. I didn’t want to, though. Not in front of Jessica, anyway. So I bit my bottom lip a little. Thinking about how Maria must feel made me feel terrible.

  “I don’t know, just act normal, I guess,” Jessica suggested.

  I wished my mom had stayed at the hospital with me. If I told her about Alicia, she would talk to me and tell me what to say to Maria. She would make me feel better, too. I wanted to see Jenny, as well. I can’t imagine what it would be like if my big sister died.

  “I’m getting tired,” I told Jessica.

  “Do you want me to walk back to our room with you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine by myself.” I needed to be alone for a few minutes. “Go on and visit Matt. Tell him I said hi, and I’ll see him later.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a bit.” Jessica turned the corner to Matt’s room.

  Back in my room, I sat down on my bed. I couldn’t think about anything but Alicia. I reached for the phone and called home.

  “Hello?” It was Jenny.

  “Hi, Jenny. It’s me.”

  “Hey! How are you feeling?”

  “Good.”

  “Are you all right? You sound like you’re crying.”

  “I’m...fine. I just wanted…” I was crying. Jenny waited. “I just wanted to say ‘hi,’ and I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Jenny said.

  I do love my sister.

  * * * *

  Our respiratory therapist that day turned out to be a guy named Chris. He came in pulling the machine behind him.

  “Good morning, girls
,” Chris said, cheerfully. He was cute. I was glad we didn’t have Albert, the weird guy. Jessica was glad, too. I could tell. “I brought you the machine. I thought we could try it out on your roommate here, now that she’s feeling a little better.”

  Jessica said, “I love this way of doing therapy. It’s cool because it doesn’t take another person to help you.”

  Chris plugged the machine into the wall and handed Jessica the white plastic vest. She put it on and fastened it shut in the front with two clips. Chris gave Jessica the two long plastic tubes that were about as big around as a cardboard paper towel roll but loose and floppy. The tubes were also attached to the machine. Jessica hooked her ends to the vest. Chris turned the machine on and set the dials. He set the timer for five minutes and started the machine. The vest started filling with air, and the machine made a loud pumping noise. It pumped and shook Jessica until the timer rang.

  Chris stopped the machine and reset the dials to pump harder and faster. The vest deflated. Jessica took a deep breath, opened her mouth and forced an exhale.

  “That’s called a huff,” Chris informed me.

  Jessica coughed as hard as she could. I had never seen anyone cough up as much stuff as Jessica did during that therapy. It was icky and green. Chris reset the dial and set the timer for another five minutes.

  “You having fun?” I asked.

  “Su-uu-ure I-I-I aaaaam,” Jessica said, and I laughed.

  “You sound like you’re under water!” I giggled.

  “III-III kno-o-ow!” Jessica said, laughing at herself.

  “What do you think?” Chris asked me. “Do you want to try this instead of having me pound on you?”

  “Okay, sure.” Maybe he was tired and not in the mood to pound today.

  When Jessica was done with her therapy, Chris unwrapped a clean white vest for me and helped me put it on. There were six cycles altogether, and each cycle pumped and shook me a little harder than the one before. Between each cycle, Chris taught me to do a huff, just like Jessica did. That was hard because I had to try to take in a lot of air and then really force my breath out. That would take me some time to learn.