She shrugs. ‘I guess. A few people want to join the climbing club now, so at least it won’t just be me and the creepy gym teacher. And Rowan’s mates – Fran and Charlie – they’ve started inviting me to stuff, too, which beats eating on my own all the time. They’re all right, actually. A bit gross, but all right.’ She slides a look at me and hugs me tighter. ‘None of them are a patch on you, though. And – by all accounts – you were off being your own hero that day, anyway.’

I bite my lip. I’ve been thinking about it and I’m wondering if that’s true. Because however good it was to be there when Rowan needed me, it was at the expense of so much more. Dad. Mum. And almost, nearly, me. Perhaps that’s not entirely what being a hero is.

I turn to look at her. She has green in her hair now and she matches my walls. ‘Do you know? Do you know if it worked? That he’s okay?’

Cecelia grabs her phone and passes it to me. ‘How about you let him tell you that himself?’

And on her phone are messages and messages and messages from Rowan.

Is she okay?

Dude – what’s going on?

HELLO, ANSWER YOUR PHONE,
PLEASE.

Can I see her yet?

Please?

My fingers hover over the screen. And then I type.

You can come. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

80

Alice

I feel different inside these walls since they were painted.

It’s not that they’re not there, because they are. And I’m still here in this bed and I’m still battling the Illness and I’m not sure who’s winning. It’s more like I see them now. And I see that my life within these walls can be just like the sea. It can be dark. It can be wild. It can be uncertain and cold and can rip things away from me before I can reach in and claw them back.

But it can also be beautiful.

Since I rebuilt myself, I’ve been thinking a lot about being outside. At the time, it felt like I was Living – like I was putting my foot in the world and it would be worth all the bad for one moment of normal, where I could be there physically for someone who needed me.

But that’s not Living any more, is it? My life as Alice isn’t about climbing to great heights or pushing myself over my limit for one breath of borrowed air. For me, Living is breathing the in-between – creating wonderful worlds with my parents; laughing with Cecelia; and falling in love with a boy from my bed. Living is measured in spoons so I don’t sink or swim to the surface.

So I can stop. And look. See beautiful things.