Last Summer Alive

Disclaimer: I don't own the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants or anything related. This is for my own amusement.

Chapter One: Make It Count

I opened my eyes that bright summer morning, wishing I had something to look forward to than just another day of roaming around the town.

I sat up in bed, pushing aside the needlework I had been doing last night, and winced as dull pain throbbed in my leg. Ouch. It was probably another bruise.

My name is Bailey Graffman. I'm twelve years old, about to embark on yet another exciting summer day.

After getting dressed (in long pants—I did have another bruise on my leg) and traipsed down the stairs for breakfast.

"Good morning, Bailey. You're up early," my mom commented as a greeting. She raised her eyebrows at my long pants.

"Another bruise? Bailey, I told you to be careful! You don't want to end up in the hospital again anytime soon," she said, her voice rising as she got upset.

My mom always treats me like I'm going to fall over and shatter into a million pieces. I can't say I blame her for it; if I was in her situation I would probably be worse.

I'm an only child, and I was diagnosed with leukemia at age seven. I spent most of my childhood so far at a treatment center in Houston. We've tried everything we could, but it just keeps coming back.

The doctors say there's nothing else we can do. So I want to make my last days on earth special. I've got to make them count.

I just don't know how yet. But I'll find some way.

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Later on, I was walking to Wallman's. It's this random convenience store near to where I live.

There wasn't anything to do there, but I made it my first stop anyway because you never know what extraordinary thing you will find in an ordinary place.

I entered the store and the bell above the door jingled. My eyes hurt from the fluorescent lighting, and I looked down so I wouldn't get dizzy.

I walked around the store. Nothing so exciting so far. There were a few people milling around, a teenage girl with blonde hair who was snapping her gum irritably, and a girl who looked like she was thirteen shelving things.

That confused me. I thought you had to be at least fifteen to work here. Then again, it was possible that she just looked small for her age. I know I did; most people thought I was nine or ten.

I continued wandering around the store. I had to stop when I got to the anti-per spirant display, which wasn't stacked very neatly.

My vision was swimmy, and my head throbbed. What was going on? I tried to think, but that just made my head hurt worse.

The last thing I remember seeing is the girl who looked like she was thirteen by me, not paying me any attention, just stacking boxes on the shelf in a way that suggested she would like to be anywhere but here.

Then everything went black.

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When I woke up, I heard an ambulance siren and saw a paramedic looking over at me concernedly.

Someone was holding my hand, and I squeezed it. I looked over to see whose hand it was, and a wave of confusion washed over me.

I opened my mouth and the words spilled out, like my mouth had a mind of its own. "Why is the girl from Wallman's holding my hand?"

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Just the first book written in Bailey's point of view. Review, please, and tell me if I should continue this or not.