absolutely wonderful [joshler]

un

as i'm walking down the hallway of my third high school in a year, i get a lot of stares. i don't blame them, though. i mean, who wouldn't stare at the kid with plastic tubes shoved up his nose? who wouldn't stare at the kid who needs help to even breathe?

fun fact: it's called having stage one lung cancer. nothing too dramatic, except that i have to carry an oxygen tank around in my backpack, which weighs more than you'd think it would. i'm also hooked up to a breathing machine at night. if i did have friends, i wouldn't be the one to have a sleepover with.

in general, i don't do much with my life. i go to the doctor every two weeks to see if the cancer cells have progressed to my lymph nodes or liver. when i'm not at the doctor, i'm either sitting around listening to music or drawing. there aren't a lot of other options.

so here i am, walking into my first period class on my first day of school. it looks like everyone's already settled in. great, more wandering eyes.

"class, we have a new student today," a plump older woman announces, setting a hand on my shoulder.

i flinch.

"why don't you introduce yourself?"

why don't i? because it's not like the creepy chemo kid has a name or a personality. he's sick, and that's all that matters. "creepy chemo kid" was one of my nicknames at my last school. the way everyone said it made it sound like i was part of the kkk.

"m-my name is tyler," i say, my voice lacking confidence. "i have lung cancer."

the mood of the room turns cold. my ears twitch with the plethora of whispers.

"i trust all of you will be nice to tyler," the teacher says, pursing her lips. "you needn't make things harder for him." she points to a table in the back of the room. "there's an empty seat back there."

i send her a nervous look. there's a kid sitting at that table, one with bright red hair and gauges. he looks mean. they all look mean.

"go on, joshua doesn't bite." the teacher nudges me a little, and fighting every urge in my body, i shuffle to the back of the room and sit down next to "joshua".

"hi, i'm josh," he smiles, giving me a small wave.

"i know," i say quietly.

the teacher continues onto the lesson, which is something about a review of quadratic functions. everyone else is nodding along and seemed to be understanding what she's saying, but i hardly even know what a quadratic function is. i can't be bothered to cram my head with knowledge when all that's coming out is sickness. besides, i don't remember anything from elementary and middle school. the medicine i'm on has taken care of that.

"need a pencil?" josh asks, taking out his pencil pouch.

"what?" i snap out of my daydream, or rather, lack of paying attention, and look at him.

"we've got to graph the thing on the board. i've got some graph paper too, if you need it."

i blink. is "graph paper" some code word for "punch" or "beat the lights out of you"?

"uh, sure," i say, half bracing myself for a fist to the stomach.

but it never comes. josh politely hands me a pencil and a sheet of graph paper.

i glance at the board. i don't even know what the heck the equation means. in an attempt to draw a straight line to at least get the y and x axis done, my clumsy butterfingers drop the pencil on the floor. i don't know how it happened, but then again, i don't know a lot of things.

"crap," i mutter.

i lean over and try to pick it up, and it looks like josh did too. our hands collide and i draw my hand back fast. i don't want to touch him for the fear of getting beaten into pulp. believe me, that's happened a bunch of times.

josh puts the pencil back on the table and gives me a strange look.

"are you scared, tyler? i'm not going to hurt you."

i frown. "you're like everyone else. calling me freak behind my back and stuff."

"you aren't a freak."

"you say that now," i mutter under my breath. i have no doubt in my mind that josh doesn't like me.

class drags on for what seems like forever and, to my relief, the bell finally rings. i scoot out of the classroom and into my next class.

the rest of my morning is filled with the same introductions, same looks, same disgust. at lunch, i'm about to call my mom and have her pick me up when someone sets their tray next to mine at my empty table.

it's josh.

"how did your morning go?"

i take a large breath. "it was awful," i'm tempted to say, but i stick with "fine".

"that's great. you meet any new people?"

"only ones that hate me," i say glumly.

josh raises his eyebrows. "that wouldn't be including me, now would it?"

oh, great. he was going to beat me up now. i shouldn't have said that!

my shoulders tense up and i feel my body shrink.

"i'm kidding," he grins, lightly punching my forearm.

"s-so you're not going to hit me?"

"i'd never do that." josh sighs when he sees my unchanged face. "honest. you look like you need a friend, and i want to be that friend for you."

really?

"yes, really." oh. i must have said that last one out loud. "here, i'll give you my number and you can give me yours. only friends give each other numbers, yeah?"

shrugging, i watch as josh pulls out a piece of paper and rips it in two. he scrawls a set of numbers on one of the halves and gives the other half to me. i stare at it blankly.

"come on, tyler. you deserve some sort of distraction from your life."

what i deserve is to be in a hospital, where i belong. but you'll realize that sooner or later, joshua.

he watches as i write my number down. breaking into a grin, josh gives me his paper and takes mine. cyberbullying is as easy as that, i suppose.

"text me if you need anything. i'm always available, even if it's just to talk."