One

Bianca

Moving to a tiny town in the rainy state of Washington was not how I planned to spend my senior year. The fact that the move will uproot my twin brother, Byron, and baby sister, Gianna, definitely was not my idea of a good time. And the fact that it's for me that we had to move really makes me feel guilty. No matter how many times Byron and Mom reassured me that this was for the best, I just don't believe them.

"It's all one floor, so you'll be able to get around better while you use that wheelchair." Mom glances back at me. I'm curled up in my seat, large sweatshirt on to try to keep warm. Beside me, Gianna, who's five, is coloring a picture of Peppa Pig. Byron is acting as Mom's copilot.

"Uh huh." I mutter, shivering. It's so cold in this car. From the front, Byron reaches back and cranks up the heat.

"There ya go, Bee."

"Thanks."

Mom was right. The house is nice, enough. And it's all one level, just as promised. The floors are hardwood, allowing for me to roll over them easier. My room overlooks the woods behind the house. It's nice. But it's not home.

"Need some help?" Byron pokes his head into my room as I'm carefully folding my clothes and putting them away.

"I got it. Thanks, though."

"Anytime. Mom and Gianna went to get food. Gotta keep your strength up."

I look up at my brother. I may be thirty minutes older than Byron, but lately, he's acting like he's the older sibling. My illness seems to have aged him somewhat. It's aged us all.

"Thanks, Byron." I give him a small smile. "I appreciate it."

Family dinners are awkward now. Mom keeps looking at me like she's expecting me to collapse at any second, and Gianna has figured out the new dynamics of our family, and now throws temper tantrums over eating. Byron's the only seminormal one. Not that that's saying much, though.

"Don't forget your meds." Mom holds out the pillbox. It's large; the kind with separate pill holders for morning, afternoon, and evening meds. It used to belong to Grandma Rosa before she gave it to me. Mom watches me like a hawk as I down the handful of pills with a glass of water.

"Mom, stop staring at her like that. Bee's got it under control." Byron calls over from where he's loading the dishwasher.

"Don't forget to get enough sleep, honey." She completely ignores him. Mom's hands hover over me, as if she wants to hug me but doesn't want to break me.

"I will." Trust me, that's not a problem. Since I first got sick last year, I've been sleeping a lot. I'd finish up a day of school then come home and crash until the next morning.

I slowly and carefully stand to change into my pajamas before collapsing into my bed. Mom will probably be in to check my pulse several times tonight. She's terrified she'll wake up one day, and I won't. I don't blame her. It scares me, too.

I wake to Gianna jumping on my bed. She may be weird when it comes to Mom, testing her I guess, but around me and Byron, she's still our lovable little sister. She flops down next to me before giving me a wide, gap-toothed grin.

"Morning, Bee! I start school today! And guess what? Mom made French toast!" My baby sister has enough energy to power all of Las Angeles for a week.

"Oh yeah? That's exciting."

The morning passes like most mornings do around here these days. I haul myself to my feet, carefully, slowly, struggling to stay on my feet long enough to turn around and park my butt in the wheelchair. Gianna insists on riding in my lap on the way to the kitchen, and I give in to save some time and avoid a tantrum. Mom hovers while I take my handful of morning pills, then hovers as I eat breakfast, and hovers some more while I wheel into the living room to watch some Gordon Ramsay reruns.

Mom asks me about a thousand times if I'm okay before leaving to take Gianna to school. She's going to Forks Elementary school, while Byron and I are going to the school on the nearby reservation, La Push. Mom insisted on that, because as she put it, "less people, less risk." Less risk of infection, hospitalization, being taken off the transplant list. Less risk of death.

Byron eventually drags himself out of bed to watch TV with me. Mom, who started her first day at work as a home health aide, swings by the house to retrieve her bag and check on me yet again before leaving. I love her, but damn! She's driving me crazy! What is she going to do when I start going to school again and she can't check on me all the time.

I make sure to take my lunch meds on time, and then eat something within the window specified with my type of meds. If I don't, I get sick to my stomach. Sometimes, I've been known to pass out. My doctors in Olympia said it affects everyone differently, and I just got really unlucky. No kidding.

I try to catch up on the book we're reading in our English class, but I can't concentrate. I keep daydreaming about walking down the hall at school, no handful of meds, perfectly normal. No sickness, the way it was before.

It all started when I was eleven. It was when Mom was about three months pregnant with Gianna. Mom said it happened so fast: one second, Dad was heading out the door to pick me and Byron up from school, and the next, he was lying dead on the front porch from a sudden cardiac arrest. It was later determined to be caused by a genetic condition, which Mom immediately had Byron and me tested for. Thankfully, we both tested negative, but it still seemed Mom was always right around the corner with the stethoscope. She went back to school to be a nurse, so she could hopefully help other women and kids from losing their husbands and kids.

With me, it started simple enough; mostly exhaustion that I couldn't shake. Then came the vomiting, swollen legs, and shortness of breath. And then, I passed out in school. When I woke up, I was bombarded by words I didn't know, or didn't think could apply to me.

Viral cardiomyopathy. Oxygen saturations. Left ventricular assist device. Defibrillator. Cardiac catheterization. Cardiac biopsies. United Network of Organ Donors. Transplant. Rejection. Death.

I was sixteen, and dying. And now I'm still dying, one year later. I chose not to have the Ventricular Assist Device, a pump that's connected to the body by a tube that goes directly to the heart, implanted. As of right now, I don't need it. For now, I'm just waiting. For now.

A/n: So I'm doing something new with my stories. I have posted the first two chapters of two others, "Written in the Stars" and "Stronger Together." The story that gets the most reviews by April 1 will be updated every Monday. The one with the second most will be updated every other Wednesday. The one with the least will be updated monthly. So be sure to review for the story you want updated most frequently. Thanks!

LAUREN.