Pieces of Me by Amber Kizer

this. I knew he placated his mom with promises and she let him. It was their thing.
    “New message,” he read aloud, but he didn’t have to; if Samuel read it, saw it, thought it, I knew it too. And I have to admit that there are a few things I’d much rather unsee or unthink.
    “ ‘Yo, MiracleMan, I’m stuck on level six. Help.’ Typical. Figure it out.” Samuel didn’t have patience for shortcuts. Not that I blamed him. Years plugged into machines had the power to turn even the most positive person into a bitter bossy-pants.
    I started counting the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling. His mother stuck them up while he was recovering from the transplant surgery. As if he were still eight. I’d only ever gotten to three hundred and six before my attention wandered. I had time. No rush.
    The next message sat him straighter, tugged closer to the screen, as if that were possible, and frowning.
Not his usual
.
    I moved behind him to see for myself.
    MM—
    Do you ever think miracles are just someone else’s tragedy? Can they really be miraculous?
    —Misty
    Samuel chewed his bottom lip and his fingers fluttered above the keys like they did when he was thinking hard. I think my response would be “good question,” and leave it at that. This one struck him hard, and I wasn’t sure why. I knew Misty too. I avoided her. But how did she find Samuel? Another link in the chain. Another thread in the web?
Snap out of it, Jessica
. Sam tapped out his words and sat, hovering above the keyboard.
    Misty—
    Every tragedy is someone’s miracle. Why focus on the negative?
    —Samuel
    He sat there staring at the screen for, like, ten minutes before he hit Send.
Boys. That’s not what she was asking. I think
.
    When Sam let himself be consumed hunting up other possible donors, I closed my eyes.
    Maybe I should check on Misty? She makes me feel icky
. I frowned.
Am I allowed to not understand her? Am I being a bad donor?
Today, I didn’t care.
    What’s Vivian up to?
    Vivian it is …
    Vivian checked the levels of stock in the pencil trays. They were out of dark charcoal again. What was the big draw for charcoal pencils this month? Someone had to be taking them withoutpaying. She’d mention it to Jackson before she left for the day. Her stomach rumbled. When did she eat last?
    “Don’t you have an exam to study for?”
    Vivian turned toward Cassidy and shrugged. “I should, I guess.” The thought of wasting time on memorizing geography appalled her.
    “That class is a killer.” Cassidy shook her head and moved off to help a customer.
    “Yeah, but no one died from failing an exam.” Vivian frowned.
    Cassidy was normal. She worried about things like getting a date for Friday night and what college her parents could afford to send her to.
    Life was slightly different for Vivian. I sighed. She worried about living to college age or if she was getting enough nutrition in her food or starving to death slowly because of the CF. Cystic fibrosis.
Yeah, just slightly different
.
    “Excuse me?”
    I should have known. He’d been thinking about art an awful lot lately.
    Leif Leolin in an art supply store.
Will wonders never cease? He’s gutsier than I gave him credit for
.
    Vivian looked up into eyes the color of lime zest (Pantone 7737) or maybe they were pure grass green (Pantone 15-6437). She knew those eyes, she studied him every time they passed in the halls. Senior star with tragic story—Vivian knew exactly who he was.
    Figure out the color later! Stop staring at him and say something
. I wanted to blush in embarrassment for her.
Speak, darn it!
    “Uh, hello?” he repeated.
    Vivian blanched before turning a brilliant shade of red.
I wonder what Pantone color you are now, Viv?
I felt a grin spread across my heart. I wondered if she felt it in a flutter. “Oh, can I help you?”
    Leif slouched, his hands deep into his pockets, and rolled back on his heels. I knew he was nervous and completely shocked by the