“I don’t.” Grace’s lips twist. “That’s just what they want me to believe. But I don’t even feel sick.” Her fingers rise to the side of her neck. “I just had this stupid lump on my neck—you know, just a random swollen lymph node. Like from mono or the flu. But they said it’s Hodgkin’s lymphoma. And they made me get this”—she touches the spot through her blouse—“so they can pump chemicals straight into my veins.”

“My mom had one of those,” Cole says. “She got lung cancer even though she never smoked.”

“Then you know how they treat cancer.” Grace fixes her gaze on him. “Poisoning. Burning. Cutting. They basically try to kill you and hope that the cancer dies first.”

“When my mom got sick,” Cole says, “we did everything the doctors said to. Chemo, surgery, radiation. It all just made her worse. By the time she died, she weighed seventy-nine pounds. She didn’t even look like a person. She looked like a baby bird with a broken neck.” He closes his eyes.

Amina winces. “But a lot of people recover from cancer. And if the treatment lets you live…”

“But it’s not even a matter of dying. I’m not going to die.” Grace shakes her head in disbelief. “My m”—she makes herself say the word—“mom found this place in Mexico that treats you with plants. We were on our way there. It’s like ancient wisdom that works with your body, not against it. Chemo really messes you up inside. First of all, you lose your hair.”

“But hair grows back,” Amina points out.

“That’s easy for you to say.” Grace runs her fingers through her glossy brown hair, looking at Amina’s headscarf. “But that’s not even the important thing. If I did it, I probably could never have a baby. I’m only sixteen. I have a little sister. I love kids. Someday I want to be a mom.”

If you’re dead, you definitely can’t be a mom, Miranda thinks. Still, it is Grace’s life. “It’s your body,” she says. “You should be able to make choices about it.”

“Exactly! But when I said I didn’t want all those chemicals, the doctors kept insisting I’d probably be dead within two years. And that I would have a ninety-five percent chance of surviving if I did chemo.” She makes a face. “But of course they don’t make any money if you go to Mexico. My mom has been doing a lot of reading. Companies can’t patent natural cures. Which means they can’t make any money off them. Doctors won’t get rich telling patients to drink milk thistle tea.”