Losing my parents at twenty years old was the worst thing to ever happen to me. But April was there for me through that. She’s been there for me most of my life. When I came out in eighth grade, she was the one who got the bullies to back off me after she kneed Jeremy Mathers in the balls and made him cry. I finally managed to find my stride in high school, but then I was nervous about starting college and she was right there beside me, matching her class schedule up with mine.

Now I have to say goodbye.

I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to my parents. The paramedics were able to extract them both from the car, but they died shortly after reaching the hospital. And while I spent so many days after they were gone thinking up all the things I would’ve said to them if I’d had time, I can’t think of one single thing I want to say to April now.

Except please don’t go.

Today isn’t the day for goodbye speeches, though. Today I just need to show up for her. The way she’s done for me countless times in my life.

I reach the outside of room 403 and pause. Deep breath.

All right, I can do this.

I knock tentatively on the doorframe and hear a chorus of permission to enter.

Stepping into the room, my eyes scan everything—the sterile white walls, empty cabinets, beeping machines, wires and plastic tubing, April’s parents sitting beside each other in two armchairs in the corner, the wriggling baby in Elise’s lap—before I force myself to look at my best friend.

She’s pale, lying propped up in the hospital bed in one of those ugly white gowns with a weird pattern. Her hair is dyed light pink, a change from the teal it was two weeks ago, the last time I saw her. It almost makes me laugh.

“Nice hair,” I say, barely able to keep my voice from cracking.

She smiles. “What? You think just because I’m sick, that means I’ll get boring?”

“No.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You could never be boring.”

A small sigh comes from her mom in the corner, and it’s hard to say what that means. The Richardsons were always kind of strict. Or maybe not strict, exactly, but they liked conformity. And that clashed with April’s deep-seated desire to be original. She used to get in trouble for things like dying her hair without permission, but she did it anyway. Now I’d wager her parents would happily let her do whatever she wanted if that would only stop this disease from taking her.

“Too bad I won’t be able to convince you to get that tattoo with me,” April says.