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  'I'm Adam,' he said, and I froze. 'You've got a name, don't you?'

  Well, yeah, but if I told it to him, he might know I wasn't supposed to be here. 'Willow.'

  God, that smile again. 'That's a really pretty name,' he said. 'It suits you.'

  I stared down at the table and blushed furiously. This was a talk about sex, not a lab where we got to do it. And yet, no one had ever said anything to me even remotely resembling a come-on, unless Hey, dork, do you have an extra pencil? counted. Was I subliminally irresistible to Adam because my bones were strong?

  'Who can guess what your number one risk is if you have OI and you have sex?' Sarah asked.

  A girl's hand inched up. 'Breaking your pelvis?'

  The boys behind me snickered. 'Actually,' Sarah said, 'I have talked to hundreds of people with OI who are sexually active. And the only person I've ever known to break a bone during sex did it by falling off the bed.'

  This time, everyone laughed out loud.

  'If you have OI, the biggest risk in sexual activity is acquiring a sexually transmitted disease, which means' - she looked around the room - 'you're no different from someone without OI who has sex.'

  Adam pushed a piece of paper across the table to me. I unfolded it: R U Type I?

  I knew enough about your illness to understand why he'd think that. There were people who had Type I OI who went through their whole lives not even knowing it - just breaking a few more bones than ordinary folks. Then again, there were other Type Is who broke as many bones as you did. Often, Type Is were taller, and they didn't always have those heart-shaped faces that you saw on Type IIIs, like you. I was normal height; I wasn't in a wheelchair, I didn't have any scoliosis - and I was in a session for kids with OI. Of course he thought I had Type I.

  I scribbled on the other side of the paper and passed it back: Actually, I'm a Gemini.

  He had really nice teeth. Yours were kind of messed up - that happened a lot with OI kids, along with hearing loss - but his looked all Hollywood white and perfectly even, like he could have starred in a Disney Channel movie.

  'What about getting pregnant?' a girl asked.

  'Anyone with OI - any type - can get pregnant,' Sarah explained. 'Your risks would vary, though, depending on your individual situation.'

  'Would the baby have OI, too?'

  'Not necessarily.'

  I thought of that picture I'd seen in the magazine, of the lady with Type III who'd had a baby in her arms nearly the same size as she was. The problem wasn't with the plumbing, though. It was with the partner. Every day wasn't an OI convention; each of these kids was probably the only one with OI in his or her school. I tried to fast-forward you to my age. If I couldn't even get a guy to notice my existence, how would you - tiny, freakishly smart, in your wheelchair or walker? I felt my hand rising, as if a balloon were attached to the wrist. 'There's just one problem with that,' I said. 'What if nobody ever wants to have sex with you?'

  Instead of the laughter I expected, there was dead silence. I looked around, stunned. Was I not the only person my age absolutely positively sure I was going to die a virgin?

  'That,' Sarah said, 'is a really good question. How many of you had a boyfriend or girlfriend when you were in fifth or sixth grade?' A smattering of hands rose. 'How many of you have had a boyfriend or girlfriend after that?'

  Two hands, out of twenty.

  'A lot of kids who don't have OI will be put off by a wheelchair, or by the fact that you don't look the same way they do. And it's totally cliched, but believe me, those are the kids you don't want to be with anyway. You want someone who cares about who you are, not what you are. And even if you have to wait for that, it's going to be worth it. All you have to do is look around you at this convention to see that people with OI fall in love, get married, have sex, get pregnant - not necessarily in that order.' As the room broke up laughing again, she began to walk among us, handing out condoms and bananas.

  Maybe this was a lab after all.

  I had seen couples here who clearly both had OI; I'd seen couples where one partner did and one didn't. If someone able-bodied fell in love with you, maybe it would take some of the stress off Mom, eventually. Would you come back to a convention like this and flirt with a kid like Adam? Or one of the wild boys who rode his wheelchair up and down the escalator? I couldn't imagine that was easy on any account - not practically, on a daily basis, and not emotionally, either. Having another person with OI in your life meant you had to worry about yourself and about someone else.

  Then again, maybe that had nothing to do with OI, and everything to do with love.

  'I think we're supposed to be partners,' Adam said, and just like that, I couldn't breathe. Then I realized he was talking about the stupid banana and condom. 'You want to go first?'

  I tore open the foil packet. Can you see someone's pulse? Because mine was certainly banging hard enough under my skin.

  I started to unroll the condom along the length of the banana. It got all bunched up on top. 'I don't think that's right,' Adam said.

  'Then you do it.'

  He peeled off the condom and tore open a second foil packet. I watched him balance the little disk at the top of the banana and smooth it down the length in one easy motion. 'Oh, my God,' I said. 'You are way too good at that.'

  'That's because my sex life consists entirely of fruit right now.'

  I smirked. 'I find that hard to believe.'

  Adam met my gaze. 'Well, I find it hard to believe you have a hard time finding someone who wants to have sex with you.'

  I grabbed the banana out of his hand. 'Did you know a banana is a reproductive organ of the plant it grows on?'

  God, I sounded like an idiot. I sounded like you, spouting off your trivia.

  'Did you know grapes explode if you put them in the microwave?' Adam said.

  'Really?'

  'Totally.' He paused. 'A reproductive organ?'

  I nodded. 'An ovary.'

  'So where are you from?'

  'New Hampshire,' I said. 'How about you?'

  I held my breath, thinking maybe he was from Bankton, too, and in the high school, which was why I hadn't met him yet. 'Anchorage,' Adam answered.

  It figured.

  'So you and your sister both have OI?'

  He'd seen me with you in the wheelchair. 'Yeah,' I said.

  'That must be kind of nice. To have someone in the house who gets it, you know?' He grinned. 'I'm an only child. My parents took one look at me and broke the mold.'

  'Or the mold broke.' I laughed.

  Sarah passed by our table and pointed to the banana. 'Wonderful,' she said.

  We were. Except for the fact that he thought my name was Willow and I had OI.

  A makeshift game of condomball had broken out, as groups of kids batted the inflated condoms around the room. 'Hey, isn't Willow the name of that girl whose mom is suing because of her OI?' Adam asked.

  'How did you know that?' I said, stunned.

  'It's all over the blogs. Don't you read them?'

  'I've . . . been busy.'

  'I thought the girl was way younger--'

  'Well, you thought wrong,' I interrupted.

  Adam tilted his head. 'You mean, it's you?'

  'Could you just kind of keep it quiet?' I asked. 'I mean, it's not something I feel like talking about.'

  'I bet,' Adam said. 'It must suck.'

  I imagined how you must be feeling. You'd said a few things in our room, in those gray minutes before we fell asleep, but I think you kept a lot to yourself. I considered what it would be like to be noticed for only one trait - like being left-handed, or brunette, or double-jointed - instead of for the whole of you. Here was Sarah talking about finding someone who loved you for who you were, not what you appeared to be - and your own mother couldn't even seem to manage it. 'It's like tug-of-war,' I said quietly, 'and I'm the rope.'

  Underneath the table, I felt Adam squeeze my hand. He threaded our fingers together, his knuck