James said that you'd agreed to let him-change you. Before you got mad at him. Is that right?"
Poppy's eyebrows lifted. "I'm mad at him," she confirmed, as if this was the only part of the question she'd processed. "And you know why I like you? Because you've always hated him. Now we both hate him."
Phil thought for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Okay. But when you weren't mad at him, back then, did you want to turn into-what he is?"
Suddenly a gleam of rationality showed in Poppy's eyes. "I just didn't want to die, " she said. "I was so scared-and I wanted to live. If the doctors could do anything for me, I'd try that. But they can't." She was sitting up now, staring into space as if she saw something terrible there. "You don't know what it feels like to know you're going to die," she whispered.
Waves of chills washed over Phillip. No, he didn't know that, but he did know-he could suddenly pic ture vividly-what it was going to be like for him after Poppy died. How empty the world was going to be without her.
For a long time they both sat in silence.
Then Poppy fell back onto the pillows again. Phillip could see pastel blue smudges under her eyes, as if the conversation had exhausted her. "I don't think it matters," she said in a faint but frighteningly cheerful voice. "I'm not going to die anyway. Doctors don't know everything."
So that's how she's dealing with it, Phillip thought. Total denial.
He had all the information he needed, though. He had a clear view of the situation. And he knew what he had to do now.
"I'll leave so you can get some rest," he said to Poppy, and patted her hand. It felt very cool and fragile, full of tiny bones like a bird's wing. "See you later."
He slipped out of the house without telling anyone where he was going. Once on the road, he drove very fast. It only took ten minutes to reach the apart ment building.
He'd never been to James's apartment before.
James answered the door with a cold, "What are you doing here?"
"Can I come in? I've got something to say."
James stood back expressionlessly to let him in.
The "place was roomy and bare. There was a single chair beside a very cluttered table, an equally clut tered desk, and a square unbeautiful couch. Card board boxes full of books and CDs were stacked in the corners. A door led to a spartan bedroom.
"What do you want?"
"First of all, I have to explain something. I know you can't help being what you are-but I can't help how I feel about it, either. You can't change, and neither can I. I need you to understand that from the beginning."
James crossed his arms over his chest, wary and defiant. "You can skip the lecture."
"I just need to make sure you understand, okay?" "What do you want, Phil?"
Phil swallowed. It took two or three tries before he could get the words out past the blockage of his pride.
"I want you to help my sister."
CHAPTER 9
Poppy shifted on her bed.
She was unhappy. It was a hot, restless unhappi ness that seemed to swarm underneath her skin. Coming from her body instead of from her mind. If she hadn't been so weak, she would have gotten up and tried to run the feeling off. But she had spaghetti for muscles now and she wasn't running anywhere.
Her mind was simply cloudy. She didn't try to think much anymore. She was happiest when she was asleep.
But tonight she couldn't sleep. She could still taste the wild cherry Popsicle in the corners of her mouth. She would have tried to wash the taste away, but the thought of water made her feel vaguely nauseated.
Water's no good. Not what I need.
Poppy turned over and pressed her face into the pillow. She didn't know what she needed, but she knew she wasn't getting it.
A soft sound came from the hallway. Footsteps. The footsteps of at least two people. It didn't sound like her mother and Cliff, and anyway they'd gone to bed.
There was the lightest of knocks at her door, then a fan of light opened on the floor as the door cracked. Phil whispered,
Poppy's eyebrows lifted. "I'm mad at him," she confirmed, as if this was the only part of the question she'd processed. "And you know why I like you? Because you've always hated him. Now we both hate him."
Phil thought for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Okay. But when you weren't mad at him, back then, did you want to turn into-what he is?"
Suddenly a gleam of rationality showed in Poppy's eyes. "I just didn't want to die, " she said. "I was so scared-and I wanted to live. If the doctors could do anything for me, I'd try that. But they can't." She was sitting up now, staring into space as if she saw something terrible there. "You don't know what it feels like to know you're going to die," she whispered.
Waves of chills washed over Phillip. No, he didn't know that, but he did know-he could suddenly pic ture vividly-what it was going to be like for him after Poppy died. How empty the world was going to be without her.
For a long time they both sat in silence.
Then Poppy fell back onto the pillows again. Phillip could see pastel blue smudges under her eyes, as if the conversation had exhausted her. "I don't think it matters," she said in a faint but frighteningly cheerful voice. "I'm not going to die anyway. Doctors don't know everything."
So that's how she's dealing with it, Phillip thought. Total denial.
He had all the information he needed, though. He had a clear view of the situation. And he knew what he had to do now.
"I'll leave so you can get some rest," he said to Poppy, and patted her hand. It felt very cool and fragile, full of tiny bones like a bird's wing. "See you later."
He slipped out of the house without telling anyone where he was going. Once on the road, he drove very fast. It only took ten minutes to reach the apart ment building.
He'd never been to James's apartment before.
James answered the door with a cold, "What are you doing here?"
"Can I come in? I've got something to say."
James stood back expressionlessly to let him in.
The "place was roomy and bare. There was a single chair beside a very cluttered table, an equally clut tered desk, and a square unbeautiful couch. Card board boxes full of books and CDs were stacked in the corners. A door led to a spartan bedroom.
"What do you want?"
"First of all, I have to explain something. I know you can't help being what you are-but I can't help how I feel about it, either. You can't change, and neither can I. I need you to understand that from the beginning."
James crossed his arms over his chest, wary and defiant. "You can skip the lecture."
"I just need to make sure you understand, okay?" "What do you want, Phil?"
Phil swallowed. It took two or three tries before he could get the words out past the blockage of his pride.
"I want you to help my sister."
CHAPTER 9
Poppy shifted on her bed.
She was unhappy. It was a hot, restless unhappi ness that seemed to swarm underneath her skin. Coming from her body instead of from her mind. If she hadn't been so weak, she would have gotten up and tried to run the feeling off. But she had spaghetti for muscles now and she wasn't running anywhere.
Her mind was simply cloudy. She didn't try to think much anymore. She was happiest when she was asleep.
But tonight she couldn't sleep. She could still taste the wild cherry Popsicle in the corners of her mouth. She would have tried to wash the taste away, but the thought of water made her feel vaguely nauseated.
Water's no good. Not what I need.
Poppy turned over and pressed her face into the pillow. She didn't know what she needed, but she knew she wasn't getting it.
A soft sound came from the hallway. Footsteps. The footsteps of at least two people. It didn't sound like her mother and Cliff, and anyway they'd gone to bed.
There was the lightest of knocks at her door, then a fan of light opened on the floor as the door cracked. Phil whispered,
Similar Books
