After an uneventful Tuesday that involved nothing exciting (and revealed that she would be doing the whole backup photographer assistant thing for as long as Jessie was away—meaning: probably the entire next two weeks), November wakes up on Wednesday morning especially early to a loud banging and/or crashing noise downstairs.

"Oh my God, Victor, again?" Cameron yells, pulling November's door closed as she passes by. "You're going to wake up the whole neighbourhood!"

The clock reads 5:52.

"The whole neighbourhood is awake already," he retorts. "Everyone works the morning shift."

"Your daughter's best friend doesn't."

At least one of them is standing near an air vent. They have to be—there aren't many other ways she would be able to hear their conversation this well.

"Why do you think I care about what Jessie's friend thinks? You didn't even ask me if we could have her over; you just told me she'd be staying here! In our daughter's bedroom, no less."

She tries to go back to sleep.

"November has a name," she hisses. "Clearly you don't care. Just go to work; we can talk about this later."

She tries to pretend to go back to sleep.

There's a loud grunt, the opening and closing of the front door, and then, the clomp-clomp-clomp of Cameron coming back up the stairs.

"November?" She whispers, knocking at the door. "Are you awake?"

She stops trying.

"Yeah."

She opens the door and turns the light on, to which November—with a tiny yelp—immediately slinks under the covers (and tunnels down to the end of the bed for good measure.)

"Oh, sorry." Cameron dims the lights to about halfway, and she hesitantly pokes her head out from one side of the covers. "Can I sit down?"

Oh, no. Incoming mom talk. "Sure."

She glances, confused, at a J-shaped pillow at the footboard and catches it before it hits the floor. "I take it you heard that conversation?" She doesn't sit down.

She moves the comforter so it's beneath her and nods.

"Look, Victor, he's a great guy. Great husband, father. What he's not great at is working under pressure, and he's been doing that a lot lately, with his coworkers piling their work onto him. It's not ideal, and I'm not trying to make excuses—" she puts up her hand to stop November's incoming interruption, "—but that's how he's going to be for a while. Plus, there's Jessie, and now you, and he thinks I'm trying to 'replace Jessie' or something—yes, stupid, I know—even though Jessie's nowhere near dying."

November says the only thing she can think of. "I left about four hundred dollars in the girls' change room last week." As Cameron tilts her head, she feels the need to clarify, both what she means and how it relates to, well, anything. "We were doing a thing for charity, and Jessie put me in charge of the money."

"I'm sure they'll let you in to get it when you go back tonight."

Her heart speeds up. "No, they can't, it's attached to the science hallway and the science hallway is filled with grasshoppers so they can't let me in."

"Hey." She places her hand on Jessie's comforter, and even though it's nowhere near her, she scrambles backwards towards the headboard. "It'll be okay."

It'll be. It will be. As in, it's not already okay now.

"You should go back to sleep," she says quietly, and it's almost as if she knows November lies awake for hours, even if she goes to bed at seven like last night. "They're letting non-family members see Jessie starting today. She asked to see you."

She grabs a pillow. "I'm gonna sleep on the couch."

—

She's sprawled out comfortably listening to the shower running upstairs when the words actually hit her.

Oh, God, I totally didn't tell Cameron whether or not I want to see Jessie today. 'She asked to see you. I'm gonna sleep on the couch?' Christ, what is wrong with you? Now she's gonna think you don't want to see her, and she won't extend the invitation, and won't I need my parents to come with me? Mom and Dad have the car for work, so I don't have a ride, and Cameron has to work too, and I can't nail down a job. But that doesn't matter, because I need to see Jessie.

—

November wakes up—again—on the couch to a series of dings coming from her phone.

She frowns. She left her phone on the nightstand upstairs. Weird.

She tries to grab the phone without looking, but she ends up pushing it off the coffee table. She groans, and reaches down to pick it up.

The texts are from Cameron, unsurprising. What is surprising is that her parents haven't tried to contact her since she last saw them on Sunday. Maybe they're having too much fun with their R-rated friends.

She unlocks her phone. I have to go to work, but Jessie will be in the cafeteria from 10-12 if you want to see her.

I'm sorry I can't drive you, but the new bus route by our house goes in the direction of the hospital.

November speeds across the keyboard, not caring all that much that her messages will be error-prone.

Why is she there, anyway

(No errors, missed the punctuation. Eh, close enough.)

It takes a moment for Cameron to start typing again.

I can't tell you.

Jesus Christ.

Jessie doesn't want me to tell you. She said she'll tell you on her own terms.

"What is the problem with this family?" She asks herself, pulling herself off the couch and starting up the stairs. "They don't think they can trust me?" She stops, suddenly, because she has to have a shower and talking to yourself in the bathroom in a house you don't live in is the sort of thing that goes viral on the internet—and that Sophie girl could show up whenever, apparently. She hasn't yet, so far. She better not show up while she's here.

As she's getting ready to get into the shower, she feels something drip down her leg. She glances down and gasps. Her period isn't supposed to start for another week and a half. And it's everywhere. The bath mat is black, but the tiled floor is white.

Whoever designed this bathroom is a horrible person.

—

Half an hour later, November is still freaking out about her early period. Multiple Google searches have confirmed it to be because of stress, but those same sources also say Thyroid disease (which is and could be a very real possibility), among other, more serious things, so she still doesn't know.

She heads back down the winding staircase (why are there so many things here that want to make her throw up?) and heads for the kitchen. She puts four slices of bread into the toaster (a true sign of wealth, in her opinion) and goes to check the top shelf for cinnamon.

This requires a chair—despite November's height—so she grabs one from the island. She keeps going after she sees a half-filled container of cinnamon, until she notices another cinnamon container (this one unopened) with a note that says 'November's Cinnamon.'

"Aha."

She closes the cupboard and puts the chair back as her toast dings. She unplugs the toaster, pulls out some margarine from the fridge, and slathers it on the toast.

She checks the clock before sending Cameron a message. 9:50. Later than she thought. Why the cafeteria? Why not...I don't know, isn't there some other public area?

That's just what she chose.

Where did she want to see you?

Her last message noticeably does not get a response.

—

After having eaten and brushed her teeth, November is unsure as to how to lock the door until she eyes a key hanging from the front key rack. Confirming her suspicions, the key has a tag that reads 'NOVEMBER - FRONT DOOR.'

"Oh. Alright, then."

She makes sure she has everything (phone, wallet, key to her own home, key, ID in wallet, money in wallet, jacket, book, playing cards, extra pads, everything except her jacket in a bag) and locks the door.

She had decided in the shower that she was going to walk—Kevin drives a different route on Wednesdays, and riding the bus isn't always that great without Kevin. Even if that was untrue, Kevin goes bowling on Tuesdays and that's all he'd be talking about, and for once, November has somewhere to be.

—

The receptionist is tall, lanky, and absolutely terrifying.

November clings to the door, letting people go in after her.

"Hi, how can I help you?"

He's also observant enough to see she needs help.

"I'm here to see someone?"

Sound definite, idiot.

"Someone high-classified?"

"I don't know."

He holds out his hand, and without even saying anything, she hands him her health card—her only source of identification.

"You're here to see Jessie Reynolds-Somber?" He asks, not looking up from the computer screen.

She gives him a horrified look, and it's only then he finally looks up. "Jessie's mother told me someone who looks like you would be looking for her. Here." He hands the card back. "She's in the—"

"—cafeteria," she interrupts. "I know. Thanks."

He nods, dismissing her.

She makes her way across the building. It's unnatural; nodding to passerby as the sun shines through the windows, her shadow on the floor. She doesn't feel like she should be here.

But then, if she shouldn't be here, neither should Jessie.

She passes the elevators and enters the cafeteria. She can see Jessie at a booth for four with earbuds in. Across from her is another girl, not much older than November or Jessie, and she hesitates, hovering by the garbage cans. Am I not supposed to be here?

But then the girl waves her over, reaching over to tap Jessie on the shoulder.

Jessie turns too fast, too late, hitting November with her dark red hair on the nose, in the face, in her shoulder.

She picks her up as they embrace, and even though Jessie can't lift her as high as she used to, it feels just the same.

November looks over Jessie's shoulder at her iPod and chuckles as Taylor Swift's Midnight Rain reaches its final notes. November's only really a fan of some of her older stuff, but Jessie knows all of her songs and November has seen the lyrics pop up on her Pinterest.

"Hi, Nove!" Jessie squeals. "I knew you'd come. How have you been? Did you go to the haunted house? I managed to get your tablet working; did you see my email? Is Ainsley still sleeping in her basement? Oh, Sierra, this is November." She decides to introduce the girl sitting across the booth.

And wow, if she isn't the live wire she's always been.

"Uh, hi. I'm going to the bathroom." She points at Jessie. "I trust you not to move."

"Of course not. Well?" She asks the literal second Sierra leaves.

"Well what?"

"How have you been?"

"How have—how have I been? You're in the hospital, Jess! What's going on?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." She nudges her shoulder. "Come on! What's new with you?"

It's more of a request than anything. Except it's one she can't fulfill.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" There's an edge to her voice. "Are you sure?" Sunlight shines through the window across the room, hitting the sides of Jessie's irises, revealing flecks of hazel within her otherwise caramel eyes.

So unfair.

She takes a seat in the booth next to her. "Yeah? Why?"

"You didn't find the bucket list?" She's not looking at November now, lowering her eyes to the floor.

"What? No, I did."

Her neck cracks as she whips her head. "You did? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you send it to me? Why were you even on my tablet? When were you?"

"I-uh, I restarted it while you were at the library last Tuesday. As a birthday present. That's what the list was going to be, too, but the tablet wouldn't let me send it through."

There's silence as Sierra comes back and sits where she was.

"I went and helped with the haunted house," November says quietly.

"One down, seven left." Jessie starts picking at the marigold polish on her fingernails. "That's good. Maybe we can do the rest when I'm discharged."

"Jessie?" Her voice breaks.

Oh, God. Don't cry. Not now.

Both Jessie and Sierra look up at this.

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

She pauses, takes a few deep breaths, and wills the urge to cry to go away. "Who's Sophie, and why does she show up at your house?"

Jessie smiles and reaches over to give her hand a squeeze. "Sophie's...a friend I met in the hospital once. She lives pretty close to me, so she thinks that gives her the privilege to break in whenever."

"Is she the—"

"She's on the list, yeah."

As people—ones who work here, outpatients, inpatients, impatient relatives taking a break from checking the screen in the corner to see when their loved one's out of surgery—walk by, November notes that if not for the white band hanging loosely from Jessie's wrist, there would be no way for strangers to know who the inpatient is. Jessie's wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and jeans, while November—aside from her light grey jacket, white sweater (with red and brown stripes—formerly Jessie's), and dark purple sneakers—is dressed like she's funeral-bound.

But then, it's not as if it's anyone's business besides the two of them.

"Who replaced me during the tour?" Jessie asks quietly. "As the photographer."

"Ainsley."

"Ainsley. Yeah. That's...she's good." She sighs. "Did you go to the arcade yet?"

"I'm waiting for Discount Thursday."

"Smart."

The giant light above the booth sways unsteadily, and November eyes it nervously.

"Are you okay?" She asks suddenly.

Jessie looks surprised at the question. "Of course I'm okay."

"No, you're not."

"Why bother asking if you're just going to decide I'm not?"

"I'm not deciding, I'm saying if you're in the hospital, something's wrong."

"Why does something have to be wrong? Why can't I be okay? Why can't I be here so the doctors can make sure everything continues to be okay, huh? Why can't that be happening?"

"It can be. I just want to know that it is."

"It is," she insists.

"Okay," she says quietly. "Okay." She glares at a mark on the ceiling. "Have you decided if you want to see any of our other friends?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her shrug. "Not sure. You saw how they were around me during chemo."

Rather, how they weren't around her.

"What am I missing in class?"

"They found the grasshoppers and decided to move class online."

Jessie's laughter startles a nurse awake on the other side of the room. "Seriously?"

"Yep."

"I'm surprised you're not online right now finishing something."

She shrugs. "That's not really my top priority at the moment."

Jessie gets her last chuckle out. "That's sweet, but schoolwork should be more important than visiting me."

"Except it's not."

Jessie clears her throat in a feeble attempt to change the subject. "Do you want anything?"

"Sorry?"

She gestures at the various fast food outlets behind her. "Food, or anything."

"No. Why, do you?"

"Nah." Jessie kicks her feet around. "Not allowed. I have money if you want."

"So do I."

She hits Sierra with her foot, who doesn't react. "Heard you fought with my mom."

"What's up with the subject changes?"

"I'm trying to make conversation."

"It's...I had my birthday planned out and you didn't show. Can't I be frustrated? And can you tell me what she's here for?" This last question is fired in Sierra's direction—who looks up and shrugs.

"They need to know I won't just leave."

"Do you plan to?" November asks, staring directly at Sierra. When Jessie shakes her head, she bites down hard on her lip. "You should."

Sierra gazes back at her, her expression revealing nothing.

"You know I can't."

"Just like how you know I can't skate." Jessie laughs at this. "So why are you telling me to?"

"Hey, you've never learned. You won't know if you've never learned."

"And you think I'll learn...by being taught?"

"It is how most things are learned, yes."

You know, I was hoping for some answers.

"You're not giving me anything."

Jessie frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you here? What are you hiding? When are you leaving? Why do I have to complete this bucket list alone? That's what I came here for!"

"Not to see me?" Her voice is almost a whisper. "Seeing me wasn't enough for you?"

Oh—

"What you came here for? I think you should go now."

Jessie puts her earbuds back in—a clear dismissal—and November wastes no time in standing up and walking out.

word count: 2658 (wattpad) / 2823 (google docs)

total word count: 10755 (wattpad) / 11420 (google docs)