Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
It goes on and on, all of our weekends spent together, all of the times we got into mischief, and the times he pulled me into his arms and held me so tight when he thought no one was watching.
It’s everything. Our whole world is right here in this little phone, and the fact he held on to it, that he needed it in those dark years after Linc died, speaks volumes. Noah has always been my whole world, but seeing the way I’ve been his only makes me want to fight harder.
I want that future with him, I want a life, I want to build a home and have a family with a million little Noahs running around because nothing else would make me happier.
Before I know it, there’s only two hours left of my first treatment, and I find myself sitting up in bed with a new inspiration. “What are you doing, honey?” Mom asks, looking up from her book as I pull out my laptop.
A stupid smile pulls at the corners of my mouth as I open a blank document. Warmth spreads through my chest, making me realize that no matter what, I’m going to be okay because I have Noah by my side. “Nothing,” I murmur, almost feeling shy about it. “Just wanted to write something down.”
“Okay,” she says, her gaze dropping back to her book.
Only it’s not enough for me, I can’t just move on without saying something, and I find myself handing over Noah’s old phone. “Have a look at this.”
Mom takes the phone from my hand, and as she gazes down at the screen, seeing all the incredible memories from my childhood, a fond smile stretches across her face. “Oh my. I never knew he held on to all of these,” she murmurs, scrolling through the pictures one after another, laughing and sighing at all the right times. “You were always so precious to him—the sun in his whole sky. He’s never stopped looking at you like that.”
“I know,” I say, my cheeks flushing.
“He’s going to marry you one day,” she tells me as though it’s already set in stone.
My smile widens, and not knowing how to respond to that, I focus my attention on the blank document before me and start writing.
“Zoey Erica James,” he says, not daring to take his eyes off mine as the soft spring breeze catches in my hair, blowing my chestnut locks around my face. “Will you marry me?”
45
Zoey
My gaze shifts down to my phone, reading over Hope’s text for the millionth time, not knowing how to respond.
Hope: Earth to the living dead? Are you still alive? Where have you been? I’m starting to worry about you. People are talking, wondering why you’re not here, and trust me, it’s not pretty!
It’s been over a week since I last showed my face at school, and so far, I’ve been a terrible friend to Hope. I haven’t said a word about my diagnosis or given any kind of explanation about why I haven’t been at school. Not to mention the week and a half before my diagnosis where I was nothing but a ghost wandering the school. She’s messaged me a few times during the week, checking if I was going to turn up, and I haven’t responded to a single one. I don’t know what to say, but my silence makes me feel like a shitty person.
It’s Friday afternoon, and I’ve been locked up in this clinical prison for two and a half days. Apart from when I’m actually having my chemo, it’s not been so bad. I’ve been tired and sick and sleeping on and off.
Dr. Sanchez has assured me it’s all effects of the drugs, but I wish there were some way to really know. I shouldn’t expect a miracle after only one round.
Hazel has been here since the second she got out of school. My four walls are dull and boring, but she’s made it her life’s mission to make my room welcoming. She’s brought things from home and is busy setting them up around my room, and I have to admit, her little touches are really helping. It feels less like a prison and more like a home away from home.
It would be better if I had a friend to message when things got bad. Someone who would understand and not push me when I needed time to breathe. Of course, I have Noah and my family, but having a friend would be different.
Bringing Hope into all this though . . . We’re still new friends, and this is a lot to ask of her. She didn’t sign up to be the sick girl’s friend. All she wants is to get through senior year without being someone’s chew toy. But on the other hand, even after I told her everything that went down during junior year, she stood by me, not caring if that made her an outcast as well.