Page 44 of My Heart to Find

Too dangerous? I frown, but Jana’s not reacting to Esme’s words with puzzlement or confusion. She just nods.

“You here on your own?”

“I’m thirteen now.” Esme folds her arms and gives what has to be the most sassy glare I’ve ever seen. “Anyway, Cara and Mum are still at the hospital.”

“The hospital?” My eyes widen. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything apart from Cara’s brain,” Esme says.

Jana gives her a look. “It’s not her fault—she’s ill.”

“I know, I know!” Esme looks annoyed. “It just takes up so much time. All the time. Mum was supposed to get back here—my story’s being read out in...” She turns and looks at the clock on the wall. “Seven minutes. But Mum texted half an hour ago, and they’re still in Exeter. Stillwaitingfor the appointment. It hasn’t even started yet. They’re going to miss my story.”

“Your story?” Jana asks.

“I won the creative writing competition for Devon Libraries. And Mum and Cara were going to hear it being read out.” Sadness fills her eyes. “And get my prize too.”

“Well we can stay, can’t we?” Jana looks at me and I nod. “Esme, this is Damien, he’s a friend. But we’ll hear your story being read out. And you getting your prize too. Then we can tell Cara and your mum all about it.”

Esme doesn’t look any happier about it, but she nods. “Okay.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with Cara?” I ask Jana in a low voice. “Has she got a brain injury or something?” I can’t keep the alarm out of my voice.

“She’s got brain inflammation,” she tells me.

Brain inflammation?

“Come on, it’s starting!” Esme says, and she grabs Jana’s sleeve and hauls her toward the front of the library.

I follow.

“But is she okay?” I ask Jana in a whisper.

“No talking.” A librarian shoots me a glance.

It’s close to agony, sitting through the readings while I know that something is wrong with Cara, but not exactly what. The moment the last reading is over, I ask Jana again.

She looks uncomfortable. “She should probably tell you herself.”

“But she doesn’t want to see me.” I shake my head. “Just...this brain inflammation, is it serious?”

Jana takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, okay. She’s sick, really sick, despite what some people think. She hides it as best as she can though. But, look, you should be asking her about this. Not me.”

Ask Cara about it? But she doesn’t want to see me.

Only what if I’ve got it wrong, and she does want to see me, but it’s the illness—whatever exactly it is—making it difficult?

I think of the times recently when she’s blown hot and cold on me. How one minute it would seem like we were connecting—really connecting—and then suddenly she’d changed. Was that her brain inflammation worsening then?

Oh, God. I never even asked her how she was. Like, that’s that first thing you say to someone, isn’t it?How are you?I wrack my brain, but I can’t ever remember asking Cara this—not in a serious way that went beyond a quick greeting.

Now I think about it, Carahaslooked ill. She’s not been as vibrant as she was in Mallorca. I’ve noticed the bags under her eyes, how pale she’s looked at times—especially on that trip to Trevor’s. I asked her then if she was okay, but I didn’t persist. Didn’t text and ask her later. What if she thinks I wasn’t interested in her enough to even notice that or ask her properly?

I groan. The roof of my mouth is dry.

I need to see her.

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