Well, that took longer than it would have to take to get two chapters—so here's one chapter.

Anyway ... I forgot what I was going to type.

What was he talking about?

Algebra, Carly, algebra, he was talking about algebra.

What else could he be talking about?? This was Algebra II. What did I think I was learning—geometry? Fractions?

I focused my eyes on the board, pretending that everything else was nothing, just the ashes of what used to be. The fire had burned—I think it was called Maybe I think You're Ugly—and now it sat at the back of the room between to people.

My best friends were sitting at the back of the room, holding hands and whispering. I'd never seen Sam even touch anyone—unless the gesture caused pain—in my entire life.

The fact that Sam and Freddie were sitting across the room from me should mean something. It does mean something—something that I can't figure out, even if I want to or try.

"So," said Freddie, without raising his hand. This was completely uncalled for (for Freddie's standards). "X=3, right?"

"Yes, Freddie," said Mr. Cray.

"Then the answer is 12, 842.103," said Sam. She hadn't raised her hand, either—but that wasn't surprising. What she said was.

What?!

***

I pulled the towel tightly around my shoulders as I began to exit the bathroom into Freddie's room (he was out with Sam).

I turned off the light and slid my foot over the smooth carpet, looking over at Freddie's side of the room—how neat it was.

How messy my side was. Magazines and assignments spread everywhere; bed unmade ... not that I really cared.

Then Mrs. Benson appeared in the doorway. "Carly?" she asked. At first I thought four things.

a) Why was Mrs. Benson in my room (that was shared with her son)?

b) Was it about my messy side?

c) Was someone finally caring about the vase (not finally, finally ... but noticing after a while).

d) Did she not realize I was in a towel??

"Carly..." she repeated. Her apron (I know, an apron) was messy with brown stuff (chocolate or...) and redness (blood or coloring?).

"Mrs. Benson," I said. It was really awkward, and the fact that I wasn't dressed didn't help at all. It didn't seem to stop her, though.

"Carly," she said, "have you shampooed?"

What? I looked at her for a moment like she was crazy. "Carly," she said. "Don't look at me like that." I continued staring, only blinking. "You have to sign the contract ... saying you washed twice."

I wanted to say, Okay, I'm living in your house for no apparent reason because you dragged me here. I'm sharing a room with FREDDIE. I eat your disgusting food (well, sort of) and don't complain. I will NOT—will NOT—sign that stupid contract, Mrs. BENSON. Ugh! And stomped away dramatically.

What I really said was, "Okay."

***

I was sweating all day, murmuring to myself about Spencer. Sam asked what was wrong, and that wasn't right because a) Sam doesn't care, b) Sam doesn't notice stuff like that c) EVEN SAM NOTICED, and d) she was extra distracted with Freddie.

When I walked into the hospital a lot of the nurses waved and said, "Hi, Carly," and it's never good when people at the hospital see you and know you by name.

The clean corridors that were scattered with gurneys were never a happy site as all the sick and dying patients strolled by (on gurneys or wheelchairs) greeting me and smiling. All I could think was that I wouldn't be so happy if I were dying.

The worst part was walking by the Children's Cancer Center (CCC). The CCC playroom was open, with kids playing who were attached to tubes and/or had lost all their hair because of chemo. No matter how big their smiles were, it would never lose the gray feeling of sickness mixed with childhood over the place. I hated walking by the CCC—but I had to get to where I was going.

The scariest part—scarier than the CCC—was that I didn't even know what was wrong with Spencer. He wouldn't tell me.

"Hi," I said as I walked straight into Dr. Zee's office. I stood confidently, although I was nowhere near confident.

Everything was new and shiny—even Dr. Zee.

"Hello, Carly," he said.

"Th—" I began, but Dr. Zee cut me off.

"All went accordingly."

"Is that good?" I asked, and I was sure the assistant sitting in the corner had the same question.

"It means all went according to plan, or what happened was exactly what was supposed to happen. The second," said Dr. Zee. "Everything happened the way I predicted. Well, you know what was supposed to happen. We thought Spencer was going to die."

He thought for a second. "I'm a good predictor ... right, in this case."

All right, maybe this chapter wasn't great … but something REALLY important is coming up!!

I know you think you know what happened to Spencer—but you really don't!! If you guess right, I'll send the next chapter.

You are wrong (say to yourself in hypnotizing voice)

So why don't you hit that AMAZING review button? There really is no reason not to (I mean, really...)