I want to tell Genna the truth. How I couldn’t shake the burning sensations in my feet and toes. How all night, it felt as if a thousand needles were poking me nonstop. How no matter what I tried the tingles would not go away, and this morning it’s as if the sensations never happened. But I can’t tell her. Because if I tell her, she’ll make me report my symptoms to Dr. Olson who will want to discuss changing my medication or dosages. I can’t go through a change in my drugs. I’m not a lab rat, and I hate feeling like one.

Jason clears his throat. “I have some surgeries this afternoon, so I’ll drive you back here around 11:30 if that’s okay, Aundrea? Unless you,” he pauses, looking at Genna, “can pick her up?”

Before I let Genna answer, I speak up, “Why don’t I just drive myself? I’m feeling well enough to drive. I’m tired, yes, but I’m feeling better. The medication I got is working.”

They look back and forth at one another, and I can see the passing of silent words with their eyes. It pisses me off because they’re making me feel like a child who needs permission to do anything.

Standing up abruptly from the table, I shove my chair back with my leg. “My God, I have cancer! I’m not disabled!”

The day I learned I had cancer was the day my life changed. Not in the sense of facing death and learning about all that I would have to go through with the cancer. I’m talking about when my parents no longer looked at me like they had the morning before we left the house to go to the doctor. Or the way my sister would compliment me for no reason. Or how my friends wouldn’t give me shit over something stupid I did. I became known as the girl who has cancer.

Leaving that doctor’s office not only changed me, but it changed the lives of those around me. My parents still look at me like I’m their little girl—their little miracle—but now they look at me as if I’m going to disappear right before their eyes. My sister’s compliments have turned into trying to make me feel better when I’m in a rut or when I’m feeling insecure over the way I look. With the exception of Jean, my friends no longer joke or pick on me, afraid they’ll say something that offends me.

I know things will never go back to how they were, but it would be nice to wake up one morning and feel as if my life hasn’t changed. That having cancer doesn’t affect how people look at me or treat me. It’d just be nice to go back to how things were pre-Hodgkin’s. Even for just a day.

I make my way out of the dining room and out the front door. I walk over to Jason’s black Altima and lean against the passenger door, waiting for him to join me.

After a long, uncomfortably quiet drive, Jason and I are the first to arrive. I make my way to the back where the overnight animals are and feed them. There is an entire wall covered in metal cages filled with cats, kittens, and small dogs. Off this room is a smaller room with only six kennels to hold large dogs. Only one is occupied, by a large dog and her puppies. Seeing that, I make a mental note to call my parents later. It’s been a few days since I’ve talked with them. I try to call every day, but I missed the last couple nights.

As I make my way into the break room to wash my hands, I spot Shannon talking with another girl I’ve never met before.

“Hi, Aundrea! This is Bryn.”

I take Bryn’s hand and shake it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She’s tall. Maybe my height. Beautiful thick brown hair with caramel highlights curls to frame her face. Her green eyes give me a once-over. It’s not a nice look, either. It’s a full, head to toe let-me-check-out-the-new-girl look.

“You too.” I’m sure it is. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

My eyes shift from Bryn’s to Shannon’s. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” I make my words come out as a joke, but stern enough to get the point across. I’m not sure what she’s been told, but the last thing I need is for her to know about my health.

It’s not a secret, but having Hodgkin’s isn’t something I proudly state every time I meet someone, or something I want others to share about me. I’d rather things like my poor athletic ability, interest in constellations, or personality be the topic at hand if someone wishes to share anything about me. And, yes, my poor athletic ability is a topic in and of itself. I can’t shoot a basketball for the life of me. Truth be told, that’s why I was a cheerleader. Those who can’t play, cheer.

“Good morning, ladies.”

We all turn to watch Parker make his way over to the counter where the coffee is brewing.

“Good morning,” both Shannon and Bryn say cheerfully.

I don’t say anything. I just watch him stroll through the break room, unaffected by all of us drooling over him.

“Morning, Aundrea. You look like you slept well.” There’s amusement in his voice that makes me think about how he ended our conversation last night.

Instead of responding, I glare at him before turning my attention back to Shannon. He chuckles softly, which causes Shannon to furrow her eyebrows in a silent question. I just roll my eyes and shrug, but not before I take one last, hopefully stealthy, glance in his direction.

He has on black dress pants, a long-sleeved gray button-down, and a black tie. The suit showcases every curve of his muscles as he moves to grab a coffee mug. His hair is lightly gelled, and the smell of aftershave fills the room. He looks edible.

I don’t realize I’m staring at him until an elbow jabs me in the side.