How to Save a Life Read Online Free Page A

sorry,” I gasp. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t be crying in front of you.” I begin to turn away, but he tightens his grip.
    “Stay,” he says. “And don’t say you’re sorry. What you’re feeling is totally normal.”
    The words make me cry harder. He pulls me toward him and gives me an awkward hug as I sob into his tiny, bony shoulder. Finally, I sniffle and pull back, straightening myself out as I clear my throat.
    “I’m so sorry, Logan. I don’t know what came over me.”
    “Stop apologizing,” he says. He pushes his covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a Spider-Man sweatshirt, and the clothes seem to swallow him, making him look even tinier than he really is. “Come on,” he says as he slides to the floor.
    “Logan, you should be in bed. You need your rest.”
    He’s already halfway to the door. He turns and gives me a look. “I’ve got all the time in the world for rest. Right now, I need you to come with me.”

    A GAINST MY BETTER judgment, I follow Logan out into the hall, where he makes a beeline for the elevator. Sheila is standing at the nursing station, but she has her back turned as I hurry after Logan. He grins and hits the button for the first floor as the doors slide closed.
    “Logan!” I’m still shaken by Dr. Frost’s diagnosis, but I’m beginning to pull myself together, and I’m realizing how stupid this is. “You’re not supposed to be exposed to all the germs out there. I’ve got to get you back to your room!”
    He laughs. “Jill, I do this every day. So far, so good.”
    I stare at him. “You take the elevator downstairs every day?”
    “You could say that.”
    “I’ve never seen you do that.”
    “Yes, you have.”
    The doors slide open into the lobby before I can reply, and Logan grabs my hand and pulls me out. He leads me straight to the gnarled, beautiful tree in the middle of the atrium. Despite myself, I glance around, looking for the cute groundskeeper from earlier, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and his gardening tools seem to have vanished.
    “Logan, what are we doing here?”
    He smiles, and without answering me, he takes a small step forward, reaches out to touch the narrow trunk of the tree, and closes his eyes. “One day more,” he murmurs.
    Nothing happens. I raise my eyebrows at him as he smiles and backs away. A handful of leaves flutter to the ground.
    “Your turn,” he says.
    “My turn for what?”
    He nods toward the tree. “Your turn to ask it for another day,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
    I laugh uneasily. “Um, you’re talking to the tree?”
    “Very observant. Come on. Do it.” His eyes are bright, and he looks happy, but he’s not making sense. I put a hand on his forehead, expecting to feel the heat of a fever, but his skin is cool. “Just put your hand on the tree, like this,” he says, demonstrating with a flat palm against the bark, his fingers splayed. “And say, ‘One day more.’ ”
    “One day more?” I repeat dubiously.
    He nods. “Yes. But you have to touch the tree when you’re saying it. You’re asking the tree.”
    “Logan, you’re not making any sense.”
    “Jill, just do it.” His tone is firm, and because he’s beginning to look upset and I don’t want to be responsible for making his blood pressure rise, I shrug and lean forward, placing my right hand on the tree.
    I’m surprised for a second how smooth the bark feels against my skin.
    “Do it!” Logan urges again.
    I sigh. “One day more,” I say quickly. The tree seems to vibrate for a millisecond, and I pull my hand away, surprised. Several leaves flutter to the ground, and Logan counts them, his face clouding over. “What’s wrong?” I ask him.
    “Nothing,” he says as he looks up at me, but I have the feeling he’s not being honest.
    “What was that all about?” I ask him.
    But he doesn’t reply. He’s staring at the tree with a puzzled