I have Acute lymphocytic leukemia.

Kind of depressing, isn't it? Everything is when you're going to die. Don't say I'm not going to. Don't say those stupid things adults say to you when they want to make you feel better.

Don't tell me, Fight through it. You can live. Not everyone dies.

What a bunch of crap.

I am dying. I can feel it in my bones, and I can see it in my thin face with its pale, sunken cheekbones and shadows of ghosts dancing in my eyes. Every time I cough, I think, This is it. Time to die.

Guess not.

Something selfish about the wishing, the wanting, is hair. It used to grow in long, cascading waves of smooth chocolate curls. I was convinced it was my best feature. It said goodbye early after my first treatment.

It's starting to grow back, I guess. Maybe I should explain my misfortune of acquiring this quite limiting disease.

It started with the nosebleeds.

Really, nosebleeds were more common for me, doing sports and everything. But these bleeds...
They were different.

  I was walking to the front of my science classroom to present my cells project, way back in seventh grade. I was nervous; I didn't like presentations so much. What I was about to learn, though, was that I was about to hate them a whole lot more. My hands were sweating and shaking, and my breath hitched in my throat. I made it to the front, then faced my class, all looking at me, some bored, some anticipating my presentation.

  "Hello, I'm Sharon... um, this is my, uh, Cells Project. Um, cells have many organelles, and, um, there's a jelly-like substance, called, um, cytoplasm, keeping them in place. The organelles, I mean." Gosh, I was feeling more and more stupid by the second; I had mixed up my papers and was supposed to start with the nucleus.

  "The nucleus is- I mean, the nucleus of the cell is like the brain, because it stores DNA and controls it. DNA stands for deoxyribonucleic acid. And... oh, oh my... gosh... oh my f- okay..."

  My nose had begun to bleed. Really, really bleed. It could have rivaled Niagara. I ran to the desk with the tissue box laying on it, then tried to stem the flow of blood. It wouldn't stop, and my teacher finally sent me to the nurse.

  The nurse was a rather old, short, plump woman. Nurse Peach looked up from her fashion magazine filled with glittery, photoshopped models smiling up with their "perfect" figures and teeth. "Yes, Miss Abbot?" She asked in a pleasant tone of voice, as if she didn't notice the blood dripping down my front at a rate of 780 miles per hour.

"Um... can you help me clean this up, ma'am?" I asked timidly. She blinked, seemingly just noticing my nose issue. "Well, honey, why didn't you say so? We need to clean this up immediately!" She cried, racing towards me to mop up the blood.

Everything was cleaned up, and only after I had gone through half a box of tissues did the bleeding stop. The nurse asked me several questions about my nosebleed, then typed things in my student file furiously, her fingers clicking against the keyboard loudly. Nurse Peach decided to call my mother, which at the time I thought was a bit unnecessary.

"Yes, this is Nurse Peach. From Westbrook School. This is Samantha Abbot, correct? Good.... mhm. Yes. I was calling to say that your daughter had a rather severe nosebleed today. She looks pale and weaker than she normally looks...Of course. Yes, I have looked at her. Thank you.... She is fine; I'll send her back to class if you don't need to take her anywhere. Alright, goodbye."

I closed my eyes, shaking my head at the thought of my mother pretending to care that it seemed half my blood was now out of my body. My mother never cared.

"Thanks, Nurse Peach. Should I go back to class now?" I asked, as the nurse whipped out her magazine eagerly. She nodded, gave me a nurse's pass, then I excused myself out of the room. I walked back to my class, knowing that the class had ended already. I picked up my bag and other belongings, then awkwardly hasted out of the quiet room.

"Hey, Sharon..."

A voice jolted me out of my stupor. My friends sat at a table near to my desk, waving as I stalked my way out of the classroom. Jenna, a plain-looking blonde, was someone I had met back in fifth grade when I first moved to Texas. She had never been the nicest to me, and made many jokes at my expense, but did invite me to her infamous parties.

Her parties were somewhat impressive, but the things that happened there were usually games that had to do with crushes and boys, which I had never really seen the interest in. Still, it was nice to be included in a place where I would otherwise be a social outcast.

Mandy, a short girl with mousy brown hair and full brown eyes, was best friends with Jenna. She hated me because of all of the unwanted attention from boys she wanted to have fawning over her, but only tolerated my presence because Jenna thought we were friends. Most of my friend group thought I was just clumsy, but Mandy was the one secretly pushing me down and tripping me. When I looked up at her with an accusing glare, she would only tilt her head and flip her ordinary brown hair over her shoulder with a look that plainly said, What? I didn't do it. You must be so clumsy you can't even walk across a hall without tripping over your overly long legs and ending up in an ugly heap on the floor. Btw, I LOVE your outfit!

Lei Jiang Chen, whose name meant Thunderous River, was a girl from Chinese descent. She didn't talk much, but did have important things to say when she did. She was not close to me, nor did she seem to want to be. Lei, as she was called, didn't talk to me at all. She avoided me and ignored me when I asked her questions. But Lei wasn't too bad.

The last girl in my group was Anne. She was always on her phone, taking pictures of herself and texting her boyfriend. Only 12, she had "been with" Michael for 6 months. Anne didn't care about anyone or anything except herself, Michael, and her phone, which was always the latest model. One time, her cell phone was on the floor at Mandy's busy Halloween party, and I didn't want anyone in the crowded room to step on her most prized possession and break it. No one deserved to face her wrath. I bent down to pick it up and put it on a table. Suddenly, a scream tore out in the house, quieting everything. Anne sprinted into the room, yelling at me and yanking her phone out of my hands. "WHY DO YOU HAVE THIS?" She asked, not waiting for me to answer. Then she went off on a two-hour-long spiel about the importance of her phone. After she was done, I walked home from the party, sighing with embarrassment.

The memory kept me grounded as I trudged to my next class. Not looking where I was going, I slammed into another kid running down the hall. "Sorry," he yelped, then slowed down as he passed the principal's office. I kept going, looking apologetically at the kid. After almost two minutes, I reached my history classroom. When I realized which class this was, I groaned out loud. My teacher was Mr. Phillips, a 60-something-year-old man, who should have won the award of Most Grumpy Person To Ever Live. He yelled at kids for everything: sneezing or coughing, whispering to borrow a pencil, or even mildly loud breathing. And to make it worse, he hated me. One of the strictest rules was not to be late under ANY circumstances at all whatsoever. If you were unfortunate enough to have a dentist or doctor appointment, or a trip to the nurse, like me, you would likely gain detention, at least if you weren't a child genius like Mr. Phillips' favorite student, Gina.

I knocked on the door, filling with dread. My evil teacher answered the door and looked at me through his ancient glasses. His constant frown deepened, defining his wrinkles more clearly, making him look like a human tree stump. "Well, well, well, it seems to be Ms. Abbot, who is late. 8 minutes and 47 seconds late, to be exact. That time becomes longer even as we speak. Too bad, I was hoping to answer the door to someone important. Now, what lazy excuse do you have for me this time?" He asked, even though I had never been late or given excuses.

  "Sir, I was at the nurse's office. I had a bad nosebleed. Sir," I said timidly, praying he would let me off the hook.

  Of course, that was a fruitless wish. "Detention, Ms. Abbot, for every day this week. That should teach you not to be late, even if you find red fluid coming out of a bodily function."

  The feeling of dread intensified as I thought of what my parents would say to this. I walked into the classroom, dragging my feet, aware of every pair of wide eyes looking towards me, some sorry, some smirking in a triumphant way. Not again, I thought as I made my way slowly to my desk.