M A D E L I N E
We were all about to head home from school when Denver suddenly called for a meeting. It's been a while since the last. We only ever do that when someone has an upcoming birthday, but I don't think anyone of us is about to celebrate our birthday any time soon. I wonder what the matter is.
Denver looks like he just cried. He was staring sullenly at his feet, his voice soft, when he announced that Jolo is sick and that he needs to get surgery.
I thought at first that it was just a prank. I was half-expecting to see Jolo jump on Denver's back and scold him for spreading fake news. The guys loved doing pranks on each other. There is no way Jolo is sick. He is perfect and healthy and okay.
But no Jolo jumped.
No Denver smiled.
And no prank happened.
Pat started crying and Brent left without another word.
Everyone was so confused.
How could this happen to Jolo?
I swear I just saw him last week before he flew to Canada and he was fine. He was him! Just our funny and reliable Jolo.
And now, all of a sudden, he has a brain tumor?
I held my chest and felt my heart beating wildly inside it.
Jolo has become such an important person in our lives. He was friends with the boys first, but he had no trouble befriending us, girls, too. He is friends with everyone. There is not a single soul on Planet Earth who can hate on him.
If he dies, I am a thousand percent certain someone will build a memorial for him.
But, no.
I shouldn't think about that.
I don't pray as much as everyone else, but if that's what it takes for him to get through this, then I will pray every hour of every day.
"Everything fine?" Darwin asked.
I shook my head.
"Tell me what happened."
I did.
I told him everything and by the end of my story, I was already soaking in tears and sniffing on a handful of tissues.
"Claire's Head of Neurosurgery and also board director at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. I'll talk to her."
I nodded gratefully. "Thank you."
He glanced at me, then. I probably look like a mess, with make-up all over my face, but Darwin just smiled softly — almost too softly — and whispered, "Don't cry, now."
Do people ever feel like an ice cream? Because I do, now.
I am an ice cream and Darwin is the fucking Sun.
I can feel my entire body melting just by being close to him, and I know that it's not going to do me any good.
If this goes on, I will end up as a puddle of liquid ice cream. But then, I can no longer be called an ice cream because I'm just a puddle. I no longer have any shape or form.
