had gone, she sent Mrs. Kelly on a wild-goose chase, climbed out of bed, and slipped on her embroidered cotton robe. Grateful that this was a day she didn’t have a treatment and that she felt pretty good, Jenny scribbled a hasty note to Mrs. Kelly about going exploring and returning soon.
She took the repaired private elevator down to the ground floor, looked on a wall directory for the pediatric oncology floor, and took the public elevator there.
One good thing about being in my nightgown in a hospital
, Jenny told herself,
no one seems to notice how I’m dressed
.
When the elevator doors opened onto the children’scancer floor, Jenny stepped out into what seemed like another world. Murals of circus tents and painted ponies covered the walls. A tightrope walker looked real enough to touch.
“Are you all right?” The nurse’s question made Jenny whip around.
“I’m fine.” Her heart hammered. Would the nurse chase her away?
“Everyone’s in the art therapy room. Don’t you want to join them?”
“The what?”
“Art therapy classes,” the nurse said with a sunny smile. “I hear they’re making Christmas wreaths. Can you imagine? Christmas in July?”
She pointed toward a door, and Jenny hurried to it. Hesitantly, she swung it open and peeked inside. She saw kids, lots of kids, sitting at long tables heaped with mounds of pinecones, artificial greenery, ornaments, ribbons, paste, scissors, and glue. Christmas music was playing on a stereo, and several women were bent over, helping little hands shape wires into circles.
Jenny blinked, hardly believing her eyes. She felt like Dorothy viewing Munchkins for the first time. Had she gone over the rainbow and fallen into Oz? “Come in,” a woman urged, when she saw Jenny at the door. “There’s plenty of room at the teen table.”
She pointed to a table of girls who sat working with a pile of materials. Yet, it wasn’t the wreaths Jenny was seeing. She was looking at girls like herself. All were bald, but not concealing their baldness with scarves. One was missing an arm. Another’s hand was attached to an IV line on a metal stand parked beside the table, and a third appeared incredibly thin and gaunt.
The girl with one arm saw Jenny and beckoned with her remaining hand. “Come on over and pull up a chair. We don’t want to be having all this fun all by ourselves.” She rolled her eyes, and the others giggled. “I’m Kimbra,” she said. “Who are you, and when did you check in?”
Ten
“I ’M J ENNY.” S HE pulled out a chair as she spoke.
“Welcome to Happy Hour,” the girl with the IV said. “I’m Noreen, and this is Elaine. We had no idea there’d been a new admittance last night.”
“Pay no attention to Noreen,” Kimbra warned. “She considers herself the mouthpiece of the floor. If something’s happening on Nine West, our chief reporter wants the scoop.”
“You two look forward to every tidbit I collect, and you know it,” Noreen insisted.
“If you’re so good, why haven’t you uncovered any information about the hospital’s mystery guest?” Elaine asked with an innocent smile.
“A mystery guest?” Jenny asked, fascinated by the camaraderie between the three girls.
Noreen leaned closer to her. “There’s someone famous up on one of the floors.”
“There is?” Jenny leaned forward eagerly. “Who?”
Noreen glanced around. “We don’t know, but Ithink it’s a movie star. Whoever it is has private times in the treatment rooms, and no one’s allowed to mingle with him or her.”
“You have an overactive imagination,” Kimbra insisted.
“Famous people get cancer too,” Noreen said defensively. “It
could
be someone superspecial.”
“Or it could just be a superrich snob,” Elaine offered.
Jenny was momentarily stunned into silence. They were talking about her!
She
was the mystery patient. She flushed, not wanting them to know, not wanting them to think she was someone who considered herself
She took the repaired private elevator down to the ground floor, looked on a wall directory for the pediatric oncology floor, and took the public elevator there.
One good thing about being in my nightgown in a hospital
, Jenny told herself,
no one seems to notice how I’m dressed
.
When the elevator doors opened onto the children’scancer floor, Jenny stepped out into what seemed like another world. Murals of circus tents and painted ponies covered the walls. A tightrope walker looked real enough to touch.
“Are you all right?” The nurse’s question made Jenny whip around.
“I’m fine.” Her heart hammered. Would the nurse chase her away?
“Everyone’s in the art therapy room. Don’t you want to join them?”
“The what?”
“Art therapy classes,” the nurse said with a sunny smile. “I hear they’re making Christmas wreaths. Can you imagine? Christmas in July?”
She pointed toward a door, and Jenny hurried to it. Hesitantly, she swung it open and peeked inside. She saw kids, lots of kids, sitting at long tables heaped with mounds of pinecones, artificial greenery, ornaments, ribbons, paste, scissors, and glue. Christmas music was playing on a stereo, and several women were bent over, helping little hands shape wires into circles.
Jenny blinked, hardly believing her eyes. She felt like Dorothy viewing Munchkins for the first time. Had she gone over the rainbow and fallen into Oz? “Come in,” a woman urged, when she saw Jenny at the door. “There’s plenty of room at the teen table.”
She pointed to a table of girls who sat working with a pile of materials. Yet, it wasn’t the wreaths Jenny was seeing. She was looking at girls like herself. All were bald, but not concealing their baldness with scarves. One was missing an arm. Another’s hand was attached to an IV line on a metal stand parked beside the table, and a third appeared incredibly thin and gaunt.
The girl with one arm saw Jenny and beckoned with her remaining hand. “Come on over and pull up a chair. We don’t want to be having all this fun all by ourselves.” She rolled her eyes, and the others giggled. “I’m Kimbra,” she said. “Who are you, and when did you check in?”
Ten
“I ’M J ENNY.” S HE pulled out a chair as she spoke.
“Welcome to Happy Hour,” the girl with the IV said. “I’m Noreen, and this is Elaine. We had no idea there’d been a new admittance last night.”
“Pay no attention to Noreen,” Kimbra warned. “She considers herself the mouthpiece of the floor. If something’s happening on Nine West, our chief reporter wants the scoop.”
“You two look forward to every tidbit I collect, and you know it,” Noreen insisted.
“If you’re so good, why haven’t you uncovered any information about the hospital’s mystery guest?” Elaine asked with an innocent smile.
“A mystery guest?” Jenny asked, fascinated by the camaraderie between the three girls.
Noreen leaned closer to her. “There’s someone famous up on one of the floors.”
“There is?” Jenny leaned forward eagerly. “Who?”
Noreen glanced around. “We don’t know, but Ithink it’s a movie star. Whoever it is has private times in the treatment rooms, and no one’s allowed to mingle with him or her.”
“You have an overactive imagination,” Kimbra insisted.
“Famous people get cancer too,” Noreen said defensively. “It
could
be someone superspecial.”
“Or it could just be a superrich snob,” Elaine offered.
Jenny was momentarily stunned into silence. They were talking about her!
She
was the mystery patient. She flushed, not wanting them to know, not wanting them to think she was someone who considered herself
Similar Books
