On Monday, we talked to Mrs. Leydecker and she agreed we could do our presentation on Friday. Not only did that give us a little more time to practice, it meant I had a whole week to dread it too. I'm not super comfortable in front of a crowd, but knowing I wouldn't be up there by myself helped a little.

Cassie was being kind of bitchy at lunch which meant she and her boyfriend Terry were fighting. Normally I would listen and sympathize, but it seemed like they did this every couple of weeks, and I didn't have any patience for it at the moment. Mostly I was still worried about mom. With dad it had been a quick head-on collision, and while that was pretty awful, at least it was fast. With mom, we panicked and went through chemo and things were betting better, but it was the slooooowness of it all that just wore me down.

So when Cassie went into the third 'totally shitty thing that butt-head SAID," I just shook my head and patted her arm before picking up my tray and heading out of the cafeteria. I found a quiet spot in the alcove by the drinking fountain, sat down, and it just sort of hit me all over again.

I loved my dad. I loved my mom. And right now, I was tired of being a grown-up. I was tired of being tired. So I pulled my hoodie down and cried.

It . . . felt good to let it out, let the sobs wash over me and carry some of the pain away. Not all of it, but like a release valve, a good cry can let off some of that dangerous overload. I was caught up in wiping my face and feeling the heat in my eyes when I heard a voice.

"Fi? Shit, Fi are you . . . okay, man?"

Damn it. I didn't want to look up, but there he was staring down at me with those worried brown eyes, his mouth kind of twisting. Eddie squatted down to gaze at me.

"I'm fine," I snuffled, wiping my face.

"Yeeeeeah. Because people always cry their eyes out when things are goin' great. Talk to me."

I hugged my knees, not saying anything. Eddie slid down the wall and sat down next to me. In the quiet, we could hear the distant voices from the cafeteria.

I gave a slow, deflating sigh.

"She's still not eating. I'm making every meal she's ever liked, and she's barely touching them," I mumbled. "My mom's lost fifteen pounds since starting chemo, and I don't know what to do, Eddie. I . . . I don't want her to die."

He looked straight ahead, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him swallow. "I've got an . . . idea," he told me in a soft little voice, barely over a whisper. "But it's . . . kind of out there."

"At this point," I sighed, "I'll take anything."

"Weed."

"What?" I stared at his profile. He was still looking at the wall across from us. His shoulder was pressed to mine and it felt good.

"One of the effects is getting the munchies," he spoke slowly. "It . . . wakes up your appetite."

I sucked in a breath. "Yeah?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think it's because it lets you . . . relax. Like, weed unclenches everything. And when you're not in pain and feeling all loose, that boosts feeling hungry."

"I thought . . . I thought the munchies were made up," I confessed. "Just part of the BS about marijuana."

"No. Speaking from experience, it's true. But I don't know like, how you'd convince her," Eddie murmured. "According to the First Lady, we're in the middle of a War on Drugs. Given where your mom works, it could be trouble for ALL of us."

"I'd never rat you out," I assured him. "Never."

He shot me a quick smile, a real one.

"I know that, but your mom . . . she's the one who has to decide. That is, if you're gonna suggest it."

I didn't say anything for a minute as I thought about it. Mom was a good nurse, but she wasn't above bending a rule or two . . . I shifted myself to face Eddie, keeping my voice low because we only had a few minutes until lunch was over.

"Okay, I'm going to suggest it and we'll see. If Mom freaks out I'll drop the whole idea but . . . my mom is a realist, so fingers crossed."

Eddie nodded. "You got, uh, supplies?"

I looked at him; he was trying not to laugh. "Rolling papers? A grinder? Or am I speaking French here?"

"I don't . . . know how to roll a joint," I confessed. The bell rang and you could feel the shift in energy in the building. He rose first and extended a hand to me, pulling me up.

For a wiry guy, he had some strength. He gave my fingers a squeeze. "I'll show you how, if it's a go," he promised, and smiled again. "It's gonna be okay, Fi. I know it is."

For the first time, I felt like I could believe it.

-oo00oo—

I made hot dogs for dinner. Sometimes simple is best. I brought out the mustard and catsup along with the chips, and settled in, feeling nervous. Usually on Mondays we watched Hardcastle & McCormack because Mom liked Brian Keith, and sometimes we watched Scarecrow & Mrs. King because she liked Bruce Boxleitner.

Tonight it was Hardcastle. I set her plate down and busied myself with loading up my dog.

"Mom, I want to talk to you about your appetite," I tried to keep my tone light.

"Yes, I've been meaning to talk to you about that too," Mom responded instead of her usual "I'm fine."

I looked at her; she looked at me.

"I know I've always told you that drugs are bad," she began slowly, "And for the most part that's true, especially for the dangerous stuff like cocaine and some of opiates and amphetahamines, but sometimes . . . there are circumstances were a . . . non-perscription drug can be . . . useful."

Something in my chest got lighter, and I felt this weird urge to giggle. God, my mother was beating me to the punch!

"Yeah. Like when someone doesn't feel like eating," I nodded. "Maybe . . . getting the munchies might . . . help."

We stared at each other while in the background, Brian Keith shouted something at Daniel Hugh Kelley.

"Yes," Mom admitted. "I've been thinking that maybe a joint or two might . . . boost my appetite. I mean, it's not like I've never smoked it before, and-"

"What?" I stared at her. "You've—"

"Yes," she told me, almost defiantly but I could see the twinkle in her eye. "Even your dad did, once or twice."

"Mom!" I was caught between being scandalized and cracking up. "Seriously!?"

"Hard to believe, but Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and the Rolling Stones might have had something to do with it," Mom smirked. "And when you're in an arena full of folks . . . indulging, well, you get to experience things vicariously. But what I do remember is how it did make me hungry."

I was still snickering. "Wow, who ARE you? Like, are you sure you're Angela Myers?"

"Still your mom in the flesh," she affirmed. "And you don't seem as upset as I thought you would be."

"Mostly because I was thinking along the same lines," I admitted. "I mean, I was going to suggest it, but I didn't know what you'd think."

"What I'd think," Mom smiled, "is that you're a good kid and a terrific daughter. Do you think Eddie might know someone who . . ." she trailed off without saying it directly.

Again, I wanted to laugh, but I cleared my throat instead. "Ah yeah. Yeah, I'm sure Eddie knows somebody."

"We can bribe him with my paella," Mom offered. "unless he's allergic to seafood."

"I don't think Eddie's allergic to any food," I shot back. "And if you feed him your special Sunday night paella he'll end up proposing to you."

Mom's paella is the bomb, and if she was talking about making it, she really was feeling better.

"I'll let him down gently," Mom laughed. "May-December romances aren't for me." She shifted gears and got a serious look on her face as she finally reached for her hot dog. "But I'm trusting you to be discreet about this too. I don't want any of us to get in trouble. Use good judgement, okay, Fi?"

"Will do," I promised her, feeling a surge of hope.

-oo00oo—

Naturally Cassie was pissed with me for walking out on her the day before, so I was getting the cold shoulder on that front. It made me mad that she couldn't cut me some slack, so I skipped out on lunch and walked around the building instead. It was getting overcast, and looked like it might rain, so I headed around the science wing.

Jason Carver was sitting with a bunch of jocks outside Mr. Mahoney's classroom, shooting the shit about something dumb. He looked up when I passed, and he gave me a little nod.

I tried not to wince. He and I had gone to the Snow Ball back in middle school and while most of our classmates probably had the time of their lives, all I remember was constantly peeling his hands off my butt and boobs. He might be Hawkins High's top basketball player, but I knew he was also a major horndog and arrogant as hell under that smile.

"Fi. Looking good," he murmured with a grin.

"Jason," I muttered and stalked past. One of the jocks whistled and then they all started laughing as I sped up. I turned down the hall and just shook my head, hoping Chrissie wasn't getting pawed up daily by that clown. She was one of the few cheerleaders who was actually nice, and came out to the girl's games as well as the guy's games. She sure didn't need someone like Jason Carver.

The bell rang, and I moved with the crowds down the hall. I passed Eddie, and caught his eye, nodding. Seeing it, he gave a nod back, and I felt giddy at how happy that made me feel.