Just Like Fate. Cat Patrick
STAY
Have you read these books by Cat Patrick?
There are exactly sixteen minutes left in math class when there’s a faint double knock on the classroom door, and we all perk up. Through the window I can see the office assistant with the frizzy hair standing timidly, like she’s afraid of even herself.
We watch curiously as Mr. Pip lumbers over, wiping his perpetually sweaty forehead as he goes. He opens the door two feet at best, and I almost expect him to ask the woman in the hall for a secret password. She whispers something, then hands over a tiny piece of pink paper. I know that pink: It’s a hall pass.
Someone’s getting out of here early.
“Caroline Cabot, please report to the office,” Mr. Pip says in his nasally voice. At the sound of my name, I drop the piece of strawberry-blond hair I’m twirling and, eyebrows furrowed, look across the aisle at Simone.
“What’d you do now, Linus?” she asks with a twinkle in her dark eyes. The guy one row over wakes up when she speaks. Simone’s like a half Asian Marilyn Monroe with Angelina Jolie lips—guys are constantly checking her out.
“You should talk,” I say, reaching down to grab the backpack stuffed into the basket beneath my seat. “You’re the one with the monogrammed chair in the principal’s office.” Simone’s had detention three times this year already, but as far as the office is concerned, I’m a good girl.
On my way out, I look back at Simone and waggle my phone in her direction. She makes a face to acknowledge that texting me later is obvious just before I slip out of sight.
I think of detouring through the science wing for a glimpse of Joel, but the rule follower in me takes over and I head straight to see the principal. On my way there, I picture Joel and Lauren breaking up—maybe she has a fling with a guy her own age at the community college—and him falling madly in love with me. I laugh at myself as I push through the doors of the main office.
Then I see the look on Principal Jones’s face.
Immediately I feel it: Something’s wrong.
“Caroline,” he says, his deep vibrato at odds with his soft expression. “Your mother called.” He stops, motioning at the chair near the window. “Here, sit.”
My stomach twists. Principal Jones is nothing short of intimidating, and this unprovoked kindness is like a flashing neon sign that reads BRACE YOURSELF. I slowly lower into the chair, even more alarmed when my principal turns to face me.
“Your grandmother’s in the hospital,” he says. “She had a stroke and your mother—”
I don’t hear the rest because I lean forward, my head between my knees like there’s an impending plane crash. My throat seizes, and I make a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper. I was just with my grandmother this morning, rolling my eyes when she told me to put my cereal bowl in the sink. Why did I roll my eyes?
“Is she okay?” I ask, tears coming faster than I can blink them away.
“I’m not clear on the details. But your mom said your brother would be here to pick you up and then—”
“I can’t wait for him.” I stand, pulling my backpack over my shoulders. “Which hospital?” Panic has my heart racing, my skin prickling. Principal Jones is stumbling over his words, but I don’t have time for this. I have to see Gram. “St. Mark’s?” I ask impatiently.
When he nods, I dash out of the office, not stopping even when the assistant calls after me from the front desk. I’m a bundle of fear loosely held together by purpose. As I jog through the empty halls, I take out my phone and text my brother.
DRIVING MYSELF. SEE YOU THERE.
• • •
The hospital is a massive maze, and at the very moment that I wonder how I’m ever going to find Gram, Natalie appears out of nowhere.
“Where’s Teddy?” she says, grabbing my arm from behind like a mugger. My sister’s wearing jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and her dark-framed glasses. As usual, she looks more forty than almost twenty.
“I drove myself.”
“You were supposed to wait for him,” she snaps.
“Well, I didn’t,” I snap back. It’d be nice if our animosity were a result of the tension of the moment, but unfortunately this is our brand of sisterly love. Teddy is the older sibling who took me to R-rated movies before I turned seventeen; Natalie’s the one who told on me for sneaking out. In a nutshell, she sucks.
“Where are we going?” I ask, looking around.
“Gram’s on the third floor,” Natalie says through permanently pursed lips. “Come on.”
We ride the elevator in silence. When the doors open, my sister walks purposefully down one long corridor, around a corner, and down another. My stomach clenches tighter and tighter with each room we pass. I try not to look at the people inside—to wonder how many of them are dying.
I try not to wonder whether Gram’s dying.
She was already weak from the chemo treatments she finished a few months ago. But she was better. The doctors assured all of us that she was better.
As warm tears run down my cheeks, I’m suddenly twelve years old again. I’m on my grandmother’s front porch with a suitcase, asking if I can live with her. My parents’ divorce is getting uglier by the day, and I don’t want to be their pawn to hurt each other. I’ve opted out. And