U Smile:)
*Chapter 1*
'My name is Isabella Lopez, I'm 15 years old, & I have leukemia. I don't know how long I have to live, but all I want is to live my life to fullest before my time comes.' I wrote this letter for a contest. Sick right? That's not the worst part. I Wrote it for my sister, so she could win a day with Justin Bieber. Yeah, you heard right, Justin Bieber. The tragic part is, it isn't some fake sob-story to sucker some judge into handing over the prize. It's all true.
I know it sounds bad. Really bad. But to be fair, she's 10 and has reserved her heart for him. Stupid, but she's a naïve, little girl with a dream. I have a horrible disease and if it can be used to bring anyone happiness, that's exactly what I'll have it do.
*Chapter 2*
"Quit bouncing your knee, hun." A stout nurse mumbled in monotone. First of all, she shouldn't call me 'Hun', she doesn't know me. Second, I've got a terminal illness, you'd think these nurses could be a little more upbeat. No such luck.
I looked over in a mirror and squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the tears. I hated what I saw. I've gotten compliments on my face, from people who pity me, everybody. I could see people staring at my head. The chemotherapy has taken my hair, I don't know how long it'll be before it takes over my entire body.
I shook with fear while that merciless nurse stood, picking at her cuticles. She handed me a paper, "You know the drill." I shuffled away, defeated. I handed the lady at the front desk my paperwork. "Thanks, sweetheart. See you next month, Isa." I'd known this lady since I started coming here for chemo, 7 years ago. "Bye." My voice cracked, I faked a smile that was barely there. I met my mom in the waiting room.
She drove me home in silence. I didn't mind that she didn't talk after this. I knew it was hard for her to see me like this, helpless & drained. I put on my wig, it helped me maintain at least a little bit of my confidence, it felt like a part of me because it was made of my own hair, from before it all fell out.
*Chapter 3*
My sister, the only person I stayed happy for. She leaped into my arms. "Guess what came in the mail!" She squealed. I wanted to say a winner letter for the Justin Bieber contest, but honestly, who wins those things?
"We won!" She screamed. "Are you serious?!" I screeched. Okay, I admit, I'm a huge Bieber fan. I was just ashamed to be labeled as a stereotypical 'fangirl'. She shook her head rapidly and shoved her letter in my face. I ripped it from her hands and jumped up and down as my eyes ran across the page.
The problem dawned on me, to Justin I was just some loser fangirl who was staring death in the face. He'd pity me, just like everyone else. My sister, Carmen, ran to the kitchen to get some candy in celebration. The second she turned away, I ran to my room and sobbed into my pillow. I never let her see me cry, I stayed strong for her. I scribbled all my problems into my diary and threw it across the room angrily.
I don't think I'll ever under stand why God chose to hurt me like this. I turned to my Beatles poster and set my eyes on Ringo to keep my mind from screaming. My eyes wandered to John and George, the dead ones and I started crying all over again.
*Chapter 4*
The next afternoon I strolled into the bathroom after finally waking up. What I saw shocked me. My sister had a razor in her hand. All her hair was gone.
"Carmen! What have you done?!" I shrieked. She held up my diary. She had tears in her eyes. "Don't be sad, sissy. I'll be the sick one when we meet Justin." I always thought of her as 5, but I realized she understood my pain from I'd written. "But I gave them my name." I pointed out the one flaw in her plan. "I erased it and put mine after you gave me the letter." She pointed out.
"But why would you do this?" I asked. "You can live without hair, I can too. You've had enough ridicule in your life, it's your turn to be normal." She responded. "Ridicule?" I didn't know she knew that word. "I'm TEN!" she snapped. She sounded insulted.
I couldn't help but feel at fault. If I didn't have this stupid disease, my sister would have hair. I would have hair too. As if she could read my mind, she hopped off her stool and touched my shoulder. "If you didn't have this disease, we wouldn't be meeting Justin." She reminded me. Was she implying that meeting Justin Bieber was more important than my health?
I put on my wig routinely, then I started into the trash and saw my sister's beautiful locks. I suddenly heard a shriek, which answered my next question. Did Carmen ask mom first? No.
