Peggy √ [Editing]

I.

Margaret "Peggy" Faber

The kids start to complain as soon as I close the book. They always look forward to when I come to the hospital to read to them. I decided to start reading them a series and the first one they requested was Harry Potter. They beg for me to read another chapter, even though they know I don't have the time. 

They want me to stay as long as possible. The kids enjoy my company, just as I as I enjoy theirs. Part of it is because they like having someone like me around; someone who's beaten the very disease that they're trying to fight. They see me as a beacon of hope and if I can provide them that comfort, then I will. 

I owe this hospital and its staff so much. I volunteer here after school almost every day, but today I had to do it in the morning because I have to do some blood work in the afternoon. If I have time, then maybe I can read a few more chapters to the kids, but they know that I probably won't be able to.

"Bye Meg!" the kids call as I stand.

"I'll see you all later, okay?" I say as I smile at them. I go and hug each of them tightly while silently hoping that they'll somehow survive. It breaks my heart because I know that just from looking at them that several won't. 

I leave the hospital a few minutes later and take the public bus over to Ashbourne High. I feel people's eyes on me as I walk down the hallway to locker. I grit my teeth when I hear people whisper about me while using the stupid nickname 'Peggy'.

I hate that nickname more than anything. It was thought up by Emilia Laws and was quickly picked up by the whole school. They all know about my disability; the fact that I'm missing my left leg. Emilia thinks she's being clever because not only is 'Peggy' a nickname for Margaret, it's  also a play on words for 'peg-leg'.

I'm grateful when I see that Francis is already by my locker. I roll my eyes when I see that he's leaning against it, trying his best to look cool. In his own words, he's trying to look like the Greasers from the 1950s. Even with his leather jacket, slightly slicked back hair, ripped jeans and black converse, he  doesn't look cool. He smiles wide when he sees me and I greet him as I open my locker, pulling out books and putting them in my bag.

"So I was thinking that maybe a little after school we meet up, go down to Jerry's, get several ice cream sandwiches and watch Sherlock at your place," Francis proposes as we walk down the hall to go to our first class—Spanish.

"Only if we actually have a study session this time," I say as we sit in our normal seats. I see Emilia and her normal group sitting in the back and I roll my eyes as they smirk at me. "You keep putting it off and I'm pretty sure that neither of us are going to pass at this point."

"Oh fuck off, we both know that you're going to get an A," Francis scoffs. I grin at him before turning my attention to the front of the class, where Profe Stevens is writing on the chalkboard. Right as the bell rings, several people come rushing inside, one of them being Harry Styles.

"You boys are late," Profe Stevens says.

"Lo siento, profe," Harry says breathlessly as he pushes his recently cut hair off his forehead. I roll my eyes when I hear girls behind me mutter excitedly. Nearly four years later and girls can't seem to get over his accent.

"Just sit down and be sure to pay attention this time around," Profe says before turning back to write on the wall. Harry and the other boys have to sit next to Francis and I because no one else has sat near us.