Zac and Mia Read Online Free

we reach thirty. Mum is over the moon and writes on the calendar under December ninth:
Genius!
    And that’s why I agree to do the word puzzle, and Scrabble and
‘CUD’
and every other activity she suggests. I do it to see the confidence in Mum’shandwriting. Genius. Another success; another day passed.
    It’s during the six o’clock news that I realise I’m being watched.
    Someone in the corridor is peering through my round window. She’s young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with big eyes, dark eyeliner and thick brown hair that probably rolls on past her shoulders, further down than I can see.
    She’s not a nurse, though. She’s someone like me and I feel her eyes latch fiercely to mine.
    I can’t pull free. She’s stunning.
    Then I blink and she’s gone.
    Strange. She didn’t look like a girly-pop lover. Not that Lady Gaga’s been played again. Since she turned it off two days ago, all I’ve heard from Room 2 has been occasional arguing—the mother, I’m guessing, and the girl—followed by the predictable whoosh of the door. There hasn’t been a trace of music or television or anything else.
    Is that my fault? Because I knocked?
    Mum and I watch the news but, right now, it’s not the outside world that interests me.

3
ZAC
    Status: Need new tunes in here. Suggestions??
    ‘I need new tunes,’ I tell Mum after four rounds of Mario Kart and a torturous half-hour of
Ready, Steady, Cook
. With my tastebuds screwed up from chemo I’ve lost any interest in food, so watching so-called celebrity chefs prance about with artichoke hearts has no appeal. Mum, however, considers it compulsory viewing. ‘I know my iPod playlist by heart.’
    ‘You want me to go to the music store?’
    It’s perfect: sending Mum on a CD-buying mission will give me at least an hour solo.
    ‘Only if you have time …’
    Mum finds her purse and smudges on lip gloss. She washes her hands again and checks her face in the mirror.
    ‘What should I get?’
    ‘Ask the store. Tell them it’s for a seventeen-year-old.
Male.’
    She shakes her head. ‘No way. Write down some titles.’
    Thanks to Facebook, I suddenly have a list of sixty-seven recommended albums. My one status update led to a barrage of suggestions, many of them sugar-coated.
    Skrillex! Get better Zac
    I’ll send you the latest Rubens and Of Monsters and Men. Proud of you bro, love Bec
    Macklemore & Ryan Lewis. Can’t hold us ;-) take it easy Helga
    Cancer is a Facebook friend magnet. According to my home page, I’m more popular than ever. In the old days, people would have prayed for each other, now they
Like
and
Comment
as if they’re going for a world record. I’m not knocking it, but how can I choose a couple of albums out of sixty-seven?
    ‘Surprise me,’ I tell Mum. ‘If they’re crap, you can always swap them tomorrow.’
    This is genius. I could have Mum back and forth between here and the music store for the remainder of my admission, giving me valuable hours of freedom and her some much-needed exercise. Finally, my chemo-brain is starting to clear. I hope she never learns about iTunes.
    Mum dries her hands with paper towel. ‘We
could
do with more ice-cream …’
    And with a wave, she’s gone.
    Halle-bloody-freaking-lujah.
    Whir. Buzz. Hum. Drip
.
    I throw off the sheet and step onto the lino.
    It’s the new girl’s fourth day in. From what I hear—and don’t hear—she’s still alone. Her mum visits in the mornings but never stays for long. She doesn’t sleep overnight the way mine does.
    This morning I heard the clack of coathangers in the girl’s wardrobe. After four days, she was finally unpacking her clothes. It sounded like surrender.
    She’ll have a port in, below her collarbone. It’ll be raised and numb from surgery. The nurses would have needled it already and she wouldn’t have felt a thing. She won’t be nauseous from chemo yet. Depending on which drugs she’s getting, maybe she never will. She’ll only be here for another