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could die. There would be such a hole in our family. Poor Kyle, his cards forever lying in a mess on my bedroom floor. Poor Mom and Dad, having to plan a funeral when they were so full of hope that this would work.
    Poor me. Never growing up, stuck forever at the age of fourteen. I’d be dead. I was too young to be dead.
    Another person was already dead. Wasn’t that enough to balance out the universe? I hoped God wouldn’t take me too. I hoped this other person’s heart would work in me. But what if it didn’t?
    I started shaking. My whole body rattled. I held on to the doorknob but I couldn’t stop. What if they couldn’t do the transplant now because we were late?
    “Mom!” I grabbed her arm. She had driven up to the next exit and stopped at a red light. “Something’s wrong with me. I can’t stop shaking.”
    Mom reached over and grabbed my wrist. “It’s okay. You’re nervous, honey. But this is going to work. Believe me, Amelia. This is your chance for a normal life. You are going to grow up and go to college and get married and have children of your own. You are going to live. We just have to get through this. You understand?”
    I nodded. If Mom wanted me to live this bad, then I was going to live. My body seemed to listen to her and calmed down. Now only my hands shook.
    Mom drove back to the last exit, turned right, and hit only green lights the rest of the way. “Okay now,” Mom said as each light flicked green in front of her, as if she’d made them turn. She sat up in her seat and pressed down on the pedal, speeding ten miles over the limit. We were on a mission.
    She pulled the car up in front of the revolving front door of the hospital.
    “Aren’t you going to the parking ramp?” I asked, suddenly wishing I had more time.
    Mom turned off the car and grabbed her purse. “We’ll let the valet take the car.” She got out and gave her key to the man in a white shirt and black tie.
    I opened the car door and inhaled a breath of autumn air. In spite of the sun, the air held a crisp chill, a reminder that winter wasn’t far away, but summer wasn’t far behind. I winced at the usual pain of breathing deeply. We were here, but now I wasn’t in any rush to get inside. The glass doors loomed in front of me. Doors I might never come out of again.
    No one had asked me if I wanted this. Not Mom or Dad or Dr. Michael. It was just the next step in my treatment, another chance at life. Sure, I’d gone through a battery of tests and met with the transplant coordinator. Even someone from the psych department. I’d been evaluated to make sure I was a good candidate. But nobody ever really asked if this was what I wanted. And even if they’d asked, I would have said, “Yes, I want a heart. I want to live.” Because I knew that half of all patients waiting for a heart don’t get one.
    But what if I changed my mind now? How much longer could I live without a transplant? If I died today, I’d lose that time. Time to be with my family. Time to say good-bye. I never said good-bye to Kyle. How could I let them rip out my heart and put in a different one when I hadn’t said good-bye to my little brother?
    I took small steps toward the door. Mom was behind me. I stopped once to catch my breath and saw Mom breathing extra hard, as if she was taking up the slack, breathing for both of us.
    “Wait here,” Mom said, and she hurried inside.
    A flock of geese honked overhead as they flew in their V formation. Dad told me that when a sick goose can’t keep up, two geese drop out of formation and stay with it until it dies or is able to fly again. Then if and when it’s healthy, they fly together to find another flock to latch on to.
    Mom promised that she or Dad would stay at the hospital around the clock. Even though they wouldn’t be able to sleep in my room, they’d be close by. And tucked inside my suitcase was my baby blanket, a yellow and white blanket with a teddy bear in pajamas embroidered on the