Free Night World 1 by L.J. Smith

be unhappy over me.”
    Her mother just held on fiercely, as if Death might try to snatch Poppy out of her arms that minute. She was crying.
    Poppy cried, too. Real tears, because even if she wasn’t going to die truly, she was going to lose so much. Her old life, her family, everything familiar. It felt good to cry over it; it was something she needed to do.
    But when it was done, she tried again.
    â€œThe one thing I don’t want is for you to be unhappy or worry,” she said, and looked up at her mother. “So could you just try not to? For my sake?”
    Oh, God, I’m coming off like Beth in Little Women, she thought. Saint Poppy. And the truth is, if I were really dying, I’d go kicking and screaming all the way.
    Still, she’d managed to comfort her mother, who drew back looking tearstained but quietly proud. “You’re really something, Poppet,” was all she said, but her lips trembled.
    Saint Poppy looked away, horribly embarrassed—until another wave of dizziness saved her. She allowed her mother to help her back into bed.
    And it was then that she finally found a way to pose the question she needed to ask.
    â€œMom,” she said slowly, “what if there was a cure for me somewhere—like in some other country or something—and I could go there and get better, but they wouldn’t ever let me come back? I mean, you’d know I was okay, but you wouldn’t ever be able to see me again.” She looked at her mother intently. “Would you want me to do it?”
    Her mother answered instantly. “Sweetheart, I’d want you cured if you had to go to the moon. As long as you were happy.” She had to pause a moment, then resumed steadily. “But, honey, there isn’t such a place. I wish there were.”
    â€œI know.” Poppy patted her arm gently. “I was just asking. I love you, Mom.”
    Later that morning Dr. Franklin and Dr. Loftus came by. Facing them wasn’t as horrible as Poppy expected, but she felt like a hypocrite when they marveled over her “wonderful attitude.” They talked about quality time, and the fact that no two cases of cancer were the same, and about people they’d known who’d beaten the percentages. Saint Poppy squirmed inside, but she listened and nodded—until they began to talk about more tests.
    â€œWe’d like to do an angiogram and a laparotomy,” Dr. Loftus said. “Now an angiogram is—”
    â€œTubes stuck in my veins ?” Poppy said before she could help herself.
    Everyone looked startled. Then Dr. Loftus gave a rueful smile. “Sounds like you’ve been reading up on it.”
    â€œNo, I just—I guess I remember it from somewhere,” Poppy said. She knew where she was getting the images—from Dr. Loftus’s head. And she probably should cover her tracks instead of talking anymore, but she was too distressed. “And a laparotomy’s an operation, right?”
    Dr. Loftus and Dr. Franklin exchanged glances. “An exploratory operation, yes,” Dr. Franklin said.
    â€œBut I don’t need those tests, do I? I mean, you already know what I’ve got. And the tests hurt. ”
    â€œPoppy,” her mother said gently. But Dr. Loftus was answering slowly.
    â€œWell, sometimes we need the tests to confirm a diagnosis. But in your case…no, Poppy. We don’t really need them. We’re already sure.”
    â€œThen I don’t see why I have to have them,” Poppy said simply. “I’d rather go home.”
    The doctors looked at each other, then at Poppy’s mother. Then, without even trying to be subtle about it, the three adults went out into the corridor to deliberate.
    When they came back, Poppy knew she’d won.
    â€œYou can go home, Poppy,” Dr. Franklin said quietly. “At least until you develop any further symptoms. The nurse will tell your mother what to look out