Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2014 by Lucy Frank

  Jacket art copyright © 2014 by Elinor Hills

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Schwartz & Wade Books, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  The following poems were originally published on worldvoices.pen.org/two-girls-staring in different form: “Bedpan”; “Morning Is the Time to Sleep”; “And In the Silence” as “And Suddenly”; “Smiley-Face Balloons” as “So Far from How”; “ ‘Let’s Talk About Happy Things’ ” as “Mom”; and “Forget” as “Not Me.”

  Schwartz & Wade Books and the colophon are trademarks of Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/teens

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,

  visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Frank, Lucy.

  Two girls staring at the ceiling / Lucy Frank.—First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: In this novel in verse, two very different girls bond while hospitalized for Crohn’s disease.

  ISBN 978-0-307-97974-2 (hardcover)—ISBN 978-0-307-97975-9 (glb)

  ISBN 978-0-307-97976-6 (ebook)

  [1. Novels in verse. 2. Crohn’s disease—Fiction. 3. Hospitals—Fiction.

  4. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.5.F73 Tw 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2013023236

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For Peter, again, as always

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  How to Read This Book

  Er

  First Day

  Second Day

  Third Day

  Fourth Day

  Fifth Day

  Sixth Day

  Seventh Day

  After

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  How to Read This Book

  In this book, you will see a line on many pages. The line represents the curtain that separates the hospital beds of the main character, Chess, and her roommate, Shannon. The two girls talk to each other, mostly through the curtain. When the curtain is open, or Chess is no longer in the room, the line disappears.

  Depending on your reading device, the appearance of the line representing the curtain will be different. On larger devices, the line will appear down the center of the page. In these cases, the story is meant to be read across each page, rather than down two separate columns. On smaller devices the line will appear to the side of the text—on the right for Chess’s narration and on the left for Shannon’s. On older devices, the line will not appear at all.

  ER

  The faces on the pain chart

  wear numbered bow ties.

  Zero has a dimwit smile.

  Ten’s eyes trickle tears.

  “Put ten. They’ll take us faster.”

  Mom’s face

  would be off the chart

  if they measured fear.

  A gray-faced woman cradles

  her belly. A cougher fights

  to catch his breath.

  A baby screams.

  What number?

  Four Face is like: Um, is there a bathroom here?

  Six ate a rancid clam.

  Eight’s ice cream fell off his cone.

  “Big as a grapefruit by the time

  they found it,” whispers the lady beside us.

  “And we’re not talking

  the three-for-a-dollar kind.”

  “Ow! Owww!”

  a girl’s voice behind us wails.

  “Owwwwww! This is getting

  really bad!”

  What number? Higher?

  So they’ll take us sooner? Lower?

  So I can be sure

  they’ll let me go?

  “Hey!” the girl yells.

  “I’m in pain here, people!

  I been sitting in this chair

  since two a.m.

  “And don’t be pretending

  you don’t know me!

  I saw that Oh shit it’s Shannon look

  before you went all blank and bland and shit!”

  The gray-faced woman groans.

  The baby thrashes in its mother’s arms.

  Everyone moves farther

  from the coughing man.

  “Chess, sweetie. Let me do the paperwork.”

  Mom’s cuticle is bleeding.

  If I say five,

  will they let me go?

  “And don’t give me some little med student!

  The last guy swore

  those pills would work,

  and look at me!”

  If we don’t look, will the girl stop screaming?

  Not even six a.m. I dressed for work.

  If they take me next,

  I might not be late.

  “Yo! I’m a walking pain chart,

  if I could even walk,

  which I’m in too much pain,

  which you would see

  if you’d take the fuckin’ time

  to fuckin’ LOOKIT ME!”

  The old lady holding

  the girl’s hand sees Mom wince,

  throws her a mortified,

  scared sigh.

  Paid today.

  Birthday next week.

  Boston trip

  to look at colleges.

  They could say

  it was a freak, a fluke,

  too much hot sauce, too many pickles,

  mixing marshmallows with beer.

  “Francesca Goodman?

  Vomiting, diarrhea, passing blood?”

  asks the nurse who takes my blood,

  my temp, my pulse.

  Or the thousands of raspberries I’ve been eating.

  Eight and a half?

  Fourteen?

  Ninety-three?

  “Is it a dull ache? A burning, stabbing,

  cramping, searing pain?

  When did it start?

  Is it constant or does it come and go?”

  If I don’t tell

  anyone,

  I can forget

  it happened.

  If I can forget

  it happened,

  I’ll never

  have to tell.

  “How’re you doing, Francesca?”

  The doctor’s face so kind

  I almost cry.

  “Not too good,” I say.

  “Yo! You better save me, Doc!

  Cuz your ugly face

  is not gonna be the last thing

  on this earth I see!”

  The spindle-limbed, stub-haired girl

  cuts dragon eyes at me—

  “Who the fuck you lookin’ at?”—

  before we’re both wheeled away.

  Green scrubs blue scrubs white coats

  push park poke

  ID band IV tube

  toss terms

  start with C end w/ scopy

  CT

  catheterize

  colon

  chronic

  conservative

  clinical

  corticosteroids

  colonoscopy

  “Excuse me. Did you say steroids?
>
  Because my performance could use

  a little enhancement these days.”

  Monitor Me, floating somewhere

  near the ceiling, hears my voice,

  too shrill, too chipper,

  As peering docs

  see no Me,

  just belly.

  “I’m a runner, you know.”

  With legs lovely

  as an antelope,

  he said.

  “I don’t want big ugly bulgy muscles, though.

  Will this kind of steroids give me—”

  “Don’t worry,” says the doc, whose shaved

  head shimmers in the fluorescent light.

  “Those are anabolic steroids.

  This is a different drug entirely

  to suppress inflammamma …

  high dose shortest possible

  to minimimimize …

  “Okay then, Mom.

  It’s best if you step out now.

  So, Francesca, we’re just

  going to insert a little tube—”

  Monitor Me says run,

  run fast,

  run now.

  Then somehow

  makes me find my mom

  a smile.

  With her last small wave

  as the door closes,

  Even the wings

  David drew

  On my hand around

  his number

  Seem

  to fade.

  “Relax try to relax just relax.

  Don’t worry. I have a special trick

  to make it slide

  down easy does it

  that’s a good girl

  swallow swallow sip and swallow

  relax it will be much easier

  if you—

  “Hold her arms for me,

  will you, please, Linda.”

  I beg fight beg

  for breath fight

  gag choke drown

  as he wiggles

  stuffs bores

  the tube

  in

  up

  down

  my nose

  Invades

  me

  deeper

  deeper.…

  Jump back

  to the French café,

  where just last week

  the scary-smart alumna lady

  said you were so bright, so poised,

  impressively well prepared.

  Skip past

  the latte making you feel

  like a woodpecker was drilling

  through your stomach,

  the almond croissant

  you knew was not a good idea.

  Forget

  days curled

  on the nurse’s cot,

  nights hunched

  on the bathroom floor.

  Conjure

  the sweet tang

  of raspberries,

  tanned arms,

  dark eyes,

  hair streaked

  all goldy by the sun.

  Flash

  to Bri and Lexie

  and that flushed, fizzy,

  laughing-at-nothing,

  something’s-about-

  to-happen feeling:

  “Chess, what’s up

  with the sudden

  interest in produce?”

  “It’s not the produce

  she’s interested in.

  It’s the meat!”

  “Shut up, Lexie!

  Don’t look now, Chess!

  He’s oogling you

  the way you oogle

  his raspberries.”

  “It’s ogle, not oogle.”

  “Uh-uh. The way Chess does it,

  it’s a definite oogle.”

  “Chess, how many trips

  to the farm stand

  are we gonna have to make

  before you say hi?”

  “Chess! It’s Berry Boy!

  Mr. Sugar Snap!

  What’s he doing at this party?”

  “Don’t call him that!”

  “Then go ask him his name.

  Look at him there, all alone

  with his guitar.”

  “Chess. Remember

  the Plan.”

  “Aren’t you glad now

  I loaned you my dress?”

  “You ask him, Bri.”

  “Me? Chess,

  I’m not the one

  he thinks is hot.”

  “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?

  Your throat might feel a little sore

  till you get used to it.”

  The doctor tapes the tube

  to my nose.

  Tells me what a good girl I am.

  Deep blue, with silver stars, the longest nails I’ve ever seen run the elevator.

  Whatever this pain stuff is, it’s working great. “I love your nails,” I think I say.

  “Thought you was supposed to be off,” says green jacket pushing my bed.

  Nail lady snorts, presses B. Cab-drivered through a bed traffic jam, IV bags

  dangle squiddish in the chilly light. “Could I get another blanket, please?”

  Wheeled into dim room with fun-house tunnel. Offloaded. Need to pee.

  Through whirring murk: “How’s moo shu sound? I could go for a little

  moo shu pork today.” “Excuse me, is there a restroom I could use first?

  And another blanket would be good.” “Thought you’re on a diet, Kenny.

  Plus, Tiny wants Chinese.” “Tiny always wants Chinese. We had Chinese

  yesterday.” “How you doing, hon? Hangin’ in? We’ll have you out

  quick as we can. Speaking of diet, d’you hear Kimberly’s expecting?

  And you said she was just packing on the pounds. Hold your breath

  now, sweetheart. Don’t breathe. Okay. Breathe.”

  Not easy with this tube clogging my nose,

  filling my throat. “Do you see anything?

  Can you tell me what’s wrong with me?

  Is it something you die of?”

  Why don’t they hear me?

  “Almost done now,

  don’t worry. Kenny,

  we haven’t had Italian

  in a while. How ’bout

  some pasta? Okay!

  Last one, hon!

  Doin’ good!

  Big breath

  now.

  Hold

  your

  breath.

  Okay.

  Breathe.”

  Smiley-face balloons

  ask how I am

  not too bad

  except my teeth

  weigh too much

  to move my mouth

  this bed’s a raft

  floating so far

  from who I am

  my head can’t grab

  onto the how.

  One good thing:

  if I die,

  and David tells,

  I’ll never know.

  FIRST DAY

  Wheeled into a fluorescent world of two

  TVs on brackets, two nightstands, tray tables,

  wall panels bristling with gizmos, wires,

  monitors above two vacancies

  where beds should be.

  No, wait.

  Green curtains hide a third

  bed farthest from the door.

  Who’s moaning

  on the other side?

  I’ll take the spot closest to the door,

  by the bathroom, I try to say.

  But before my tongue’s organized

  organized, my bed’s pushed

  into the middle,

  Up against those

  cream-of-pea-green

  lima-bean-green

  Nile-bile-algae-vile

  slimy-toxic-waste-green curtains.

  And curtains close

  around me, too.

  Good morning afternoon good evening

  how we doing time

  to
check your temp your pressure your

  IV take you for that test

  get some blood

  hang a new IV

  sweetheart

  cookie

  lovey

  honey

  mi amor.

  Meanwhile,

  one by one,

  gross green bubbles

  glub up from my insides,

  slip down the tube.

  Bedpan:

  Let’s

  not

  go

  there.

  “Let’s talk about happy things,”

  Mom says.

  “Like that pistachio ice cream

  with the cherries we always get

  at Moon Palace for your birthday,

  not that I’m saying that’s where

  we should go. Plus from what the doctor’s

  telling me, you probably shouldn’t eat

  the nuts anymore, or the cherries,

  or ice cream, for that matter.

  We should pick someplace special

  this year.

  I mean, I can’t believe you’ll still

  be in the hospital next week,

  though if you are … I mean …

  we’ll just … bring the party here.

  “You hear me? Chess?

  Chessie?”

  Pour of moon on water, sting of breeze,

  soft sway of waves rock rocking us.

  Who wouldn’t fall

  for a boy

  Who adds, “And that was antelope,

  not cantaloupe.”

  Who says, “Even in the dark

  you have the brightest eyes.”

  Says it like he’s never even thought

  those words about a girl.

  Was it just last night,

  that throbbing party

  lit with lanterns?

  That pine tree

  where he strummed

  Spanishy melodies

  so haunting

  I forgot the pain

  chewing through my belly as

  we walked into the shadows

  till we heard the water,

  and David said, “Whoa! Did you see

  those wings? Bet you anything

  it’s an owl!” And in a thrum

  of tree frogs we followed

  the flash of white

  through a Queen Anne’s lace–y

  meadow to a fence,

  his hands fizzed my skin

  as he lifted me over, we tiptoed

  past one sleeping house,

  another, to the rocks sloping

  to the water’s edge,

  untied the canoe,

  kicked off flip-flops.…

  “Yeah, no

  drove her up to Albany

  like four a.m.

  Room five sixteen.”

  Mom’s voice

  floats in,

  drifts out again.

  “Yeah, no

  out of the blue

  so healthy

  no, no I know all that weight