How to Save a Life Read Online Free

town does The Great Gatsby take place in?”
    “That’s easy. West Egg. It’s not a real place, though. Next?”
    Okay, he got that one. But maybe he knew it from the Leonardo DiCaprio movie. “Who’s the main character of Pride and Prejudice ?”
    “Elizabeth Bennet. And that’s Bennet with one t . Next?”
    I raise an eyebrow. “Othello’s wife?”
    “Desdemona.”
    “The narrator of Moby-Dick ?”
    “Ishmael.”
    “Main character of The Scarlet Letter ?”
    “Hester Prynne. Two n ’s.”
    I stare at him. “When on earth have you had time to read all this stuff?”
    “I told you. Every day.” He smiles then, his whole face lighting up. “When did you read all those books?”
    “Forever ago, in high school.” My smile falters, because it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve had all those years since high school. Those are twenty-one years that Frankie will never have, and here I am, feeling sorry for myself because my clock is ticking at thirty-nine. Frankie’s clock is ticking too, except he hasn’t had the chance to grow up and probably never will. I swallow hard and look away.
    “How’s Katelyn?” Frankie asks, snapping me back to reality.
    “Oh, she’s doing fine. Why?” I feign ignorance.
    “No reason,” he mumbles, going a bit pink.
    “Right. It’s not like you have a crush on her or anything.”
    He turns a shade redder. “I didn’t say that. Besides, she doesn’t like me.” And just like that, he’s back to being a teenager again.
    “How do you know?” I wait until he looks at me. “Have you ever asked her out?”
    “ Out? Right, like either of us can actually go anywhere.”
    “I mean it more like a figure of speech, goofball. But do something . Declare your love. What do you have to lose?”
    He smiles slightly. “That’s what you’d do, Jill? In your love life?”
    “I don’t exactly have a love life.”
    “ Yet . You don’t have a love life yet .”
    “Yeah, well, let’s just say that I don’t see the possibility of one blossoming in the next month or so. It’s too late for me. But not for you, Frankie.”
    He gives me a knowing look. “Jill, it’s never too late.”

    T HIRTY MINUTES LATER, after quick stops in the rooms of several other patients, I walk into Logan’s room.
    “How’d it go?” he asks before I have a chance to open my mouth.
    “How did what go?”
    “The doctor’s appointment. How are you feeling?”
    “Oh.” I look up to find Logan’s eyes full of concern. He holds my gaze for a moment, and I’m struck, as I always am, by how there’s something about his expression that makes him look wise beyond his years. Does fighting a potentially terminal disease do that to a kid? Make him somehow older, more intuitive, more mature? I see it occasionally here: kids who seem far more comfortable in their own skin than people two or three times their age. Logan is one of those kids.
    “Jill?” he prompts.
    I force a smile. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Everything’s okay.”
    “You’re not telling me the truth.” He says the words gently, without breaking eye contact. They’re not an accusation as much as they are permission to tell him everything. But I don’t want to. He’s ten. I’m his nurse—and perhaps the closest thing he has to an adult friend. I can’t burden him with this.
    “Oh, Logan, you worry too much.”
    “I know what your doctor said.”
    The words hang between us as I stare at him. I laugh uneasily. “Logan, I don’t know what you mean.”
    He beckons me closer, and he doesn’t speak again until I’m standing by his bedside. He reaches out one tiny, pale hand and rests it on my arm. “How much time did he give you?”
    I can feel the blood draining from my face. “W-what?”
    “How much time?” Logan repeats calmly.
    “Logan, I—”
    “It’s okay.” He begins stroking my arm, and his gentleness is enough to chip through my armor. Before I know it, tears are streaming down my face.
    “I’m