Free Skinny by Donna Cooner Page B

every thing went great.”
    “Good,” I say. “When can I go home?”
    “Probably tomorrow.”
    “Are you okay?” I ask, because I’ve never seen that look on his face before. Something between unsure and scared.
    “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I was just a little worried. It all seemed so rational, until it actually happened. And it was you.”
    My forehead creases in bewilderment. “But I’m going to be all right.” I can’t believe I’m trying to make him feel better. Aren’t I supposed to be the patient here?
    “I made something for you while I was waiting for you to come back to Recovery.” He unfolds a piece of paper and holds it over the bed rail so I can see. I lick my cracked lips and try to focus on what he’s holding out to me. It’s an intricate pencil drawing of a tiny pumpkin. The vine and leaves twist and turn across the page with incredible, almost scientific, detail.
    “You did this?” My mouth feels dry, my throat raw. I blink the blurry from my eyes once more and stare down at the tiny picture. I’m amazed. “I never knew you could draw like this.”
    “It’s a pumpkin,” he says.
    “I can see that,” I say, trying to smile. I try to concentrate and understand. Rat did this. For me. Even in my current state, I can see it’s remarkable. “Why didn’t you ever show me your drawings before?”
    “Drawing is different than science or math. It’s not measurable.” There’s a long pause. I give him a weak smile and then he adds, “You might not like it.”
    “But it’s wonderful,” I say, taking the paper from him with a shaky hand.
    “I was just thinking while you were in surgery. I know how you like fairy tales, but I can’t draw fairy godmothers and carriages and stuff like that very well. Not like your mom.”
    I feel the tears well up in my eyes and one slides slowly down the side of my face onto the hospital pillow. How did he know I was thinking of her?
    “What did she say to you that day in the hospital?” I ask. He knew what I was talking about. She’d asked us all to leave that day except for Rat. I watched through the window as she talked and he took notes carefully, his face too serious for a ten-year-old.
    “She told me to take good care of you.”
    “And that’s what has made you stick it . . . me . . . out?”
    “I promised,” he says, solemnly. “Besides I’m really good at it.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “You know she would be proud of you,” he says, brushing my tear away with the tip of his finger. “And she would really want to be here now if she could. So I drew this pumpkin to remind you of that.”
    “It’s an amazing pumpkin,” I say, sniffling just a little bit.
    “Much better than fancy carriages and fairy godmothers.”
    “Cinderella needed that pumpkin for everything else to happen. Everybody has to start somewhere.” Rat folds the drawing up and tucks it under the cup of ice chips on the tray in front of me. “Now you’re ready for the magic to happen.”
    “She needed a Rat, too,” I say.
    “Doesn’t everybody?” he asks with a laugh.
    Someone enters the room. I turn my head slowly to see Briella with a backpack and some school books. Quickly, I wipe away the traces of tears from my face with the hand that doesn’t have tubes coming out of it. Briella glances at me, but quickly looks away like she’s not sure if she wants to see me or not.
    “Charlotte dropped me off. She said for me to stay here because Rat needs a break.”
    Rat steps back from the bed and stretches with a long groan.
    “I probably should walk around for a bit.”
    I didn’t realize he’d been here all this time. I feel a little guilty.
    “You’ll be all right for a few minutes without me?” he asks.
    “Sure. I brought my English homework,” Briella says.
    “I think he means me,” I say.
    “Oh, yeah. Right,” she mumbles, slouching down into the chair with her books in her lap.
    “I’ll be okay,” I say to Rat. “Go get something to