Free Zac and Mia by A.J. Betts

upload photos of Rotto and New Year’s parties, already discussing plans for their year 12 formal, Valentine’s Day theme, in six weeks’ time. They’re still treating Mia like she’s one of them.
    Only I know better. I hear her in the night. Sometimes she throws up. Sometimes she cries. Sometimes she does both, one after the other.
    She hasn’t been online in three days, but I write her a message anyway.
    Hey neighbour,
    Did you try a toasted cheese sandwich? I have many more cooking tips where that came from …
    I read that a Spanish guy died yesterday in a vat of glue. Pretty tacky, huh? Thought you’d want to know;-)
    I’ll be leaving on Saturday so don’t go knocking on the wall, unless you want to make friends with an oldie.
    Good luck with year 12. At least you’ll only have to do it once!
    Your neighbour
    Zac.
    Mia’s green dot explodes into chat.
    Mia: Helga!
    Zac: long time no
    Mia: theres hair everywhere. Heaps. Over the pillow
    Zac: it’s normal
    Mia: no, its NOT normal! Fucking everywhere
    I’m surprised it lasted so long. I look again at her profile pic: the oversized sunnies, the pose, the singlet top, the thick brown hair. I think of my own hair: two millimetres of soft down.
    Zac: It’ll grow back.
    Mia: my formal’s in 6 weeks!!
    Zac: on the plus side there’s one less thing to worry about.
    Mia: ?!
    Zac: Just sayin.
    Mia: U think it’s funny my hair’s falling out?!
    Zac: hmmm, no … but there are some cute wigs;-)
    Mia: FUCK U
    It’s a punch in the gut I don’t need. My fingers flinch from the keyboard.
    Mia: R u teasing me?
    I hadn’t meant to. Most people lose their hair. She should’ve expected that.
    Mia: U think this is FUNNY?!
    Her typing is quick—quicker than mine. Quick like jabs. Of course it’s not funny, but what else can you do? If you can’t laugh at yourself, there’s no point to any of this.
    Mia: U THINK I WANT TO LOOK LIKE THIS?
    Zac: I think u don’t have a choice
    Mia: U THINK I WANT TO GO BALD AND UGLY?
    LIKE U?
    What the hell?
    Mia: DONT LAUGH AT ME!
    Zac: Im not
    Mia: DONT FU
    I go offline, my green dot dissolving to safety.
    There’s a thump at our wall and I don’t know if she’s swearing or apologising. I don’t answer—I’m not her punching bag.
Bang
, it goes again and it jars right through me.
    A message appears in my email, uninvited.
    Ive already lost my holidays, xmas and new year to fucking cancer. It can’t tke the only good thing left
    I’m NOT wearing a fucking WIG to my FORMAL!!! Helga!
    Helga?
    I can’t do this anymore
    Helga
    Neither can I. I switch off the iPad and tunnel under my blanket.
    I hear her spew in her toilet and I don’t care. I don’t have the strength for the both of us.
    At my rectangular window, I watch the patterns that people make below. Some stream in towards the entrance, carrying armfuls of flowers. Others scurry empty-handed back out to the street, feeding coins into the parking machine before scattering to the corners of the car park and driving to places far away.
    Mia’s mother moves in circuits, pausing at the concrete-edged garden to inhale cigarettes. She looks too young to be the mother of a teenager. She seems too anxious, as if she could take flight at any moment.
    To be honest, I miss mine. She knows how to be grounded when she needs to be, to make me do word puzzles even when I don’t feel like it.
    Mia’s mother takes a last drag and darts for the entrance below. A minute later she’s flitting past my door.
    A swarm of doctors follows her—at least five of them—and it’s not even the Monday ward round. I tug out my earphones and lean against the wall.
    I hear the door of Room 2 pushed open. I hear shoes arranging themselves inside. Soon, the solid clicking of Dr Aneta’s heels cuts through them.
    The last time there were that many doctors in my room they were celebrating the success of my first treatment with cupcakes and handshakes, before usheringme back to the real world. Perhaps