Chapter 6: Eighty Percent of a Memory

"You’re really smart. You should try this," he said.

Lila: "Did you win?"

"Of course."

I crammed for a month, sleeping four hours a night, devouring library books. I took second place—three hundred dollars. That was a fortune.

"What a good person," Lila said, voice soft with awe.

Daniel really was good.

Maybe the competition brought us closer. Daniel started leaving snacks on my desk—partly because I looked like I’d blow away in the wind, partly to show the class we were friends.

It worked; the gossip quieted down, mostly whispers behind my back.

He tipped me off to other competitions with cash prizes. I didn’t care what the subject was—if it paid, I learned it.

He had the inside scoop. I didn’t have a phone or internet at home, so I was always out of the loop.

I gave most of the prize money to the director, kept twenty bucks to buy the cheapest prepaid phone.

The first summer of high school, Daniel got me a tutoring job—his uncle’s kid. After hearing my story, his uncle felt bad and hired me.

Lila listened, eyes shining. "Did Daniel like you?"

She probably thought so because now I was pretty, but back then, I looked like a scarecrow.

"Impossible. You have no idea how ugly I was in high school."

"I was five-five, barely a hundred pounds, sallow and thin, hair like straw. Years of sleepless nights gave me dark circles down to my chin. I looked like a zombie."

Lila laughed, covering her mouth, her eyes crinkling.

"So now you know how important Daniel was to me."

"Then you should have gone after him!"

I didn’t answer, just stared up at the sky. After a while, I said:

"But he died—leukemia."

The words came out flat, but the tears came anyway.

Lila wasn’t expecting that. She went quiet, eyes wet.

"If I’d had money back then, I would’ve paid for bone marrow tests—two hundred if it didn’t match, five thousand if it did. Maybe I could’ve saved him."

"But I couldn’t. No match, no surgery."

Daniel got sick sophomore year, left school soon after. My days became school, hospital, foster home.

I wasn’t close enough to take care of him, but he meant more to me than anyone.

He had no reason to help me, but he did. He was just that kind.

Even for stray cats, he’d buy a sausage and leave it for them.

Whenever I could, I helped out. Mrs. Hayes knew me, let me hang around quietly.

If Daniel caught me, he’d send me away to focus on studying.

I couldn’t do much—wash his clothes, clean their apartment, run errands.

Sometimes, in a rush, I’d sleep on the bench outside his room, until Mrs. Hayes chased me off.

I figured if they needed something, I’d be there.

It went on like that until graduation. I watched Daniel balloon from steroids, then waste away from chemo, his temper fraying from the pain.

I stood outside the door, peeking in when I could.

He lived in the hospital; I lived on a bench in the hallway—ate and slept there.

After the SATs, I got a cashier job at a nearby store—four hundred bucks for twenty-six days. I kept a hundred, bought the cheapest smartphone, replaced my old prepaid.

The rest, three hundred, I gave to Mrs. Hayes. She didn’t want it, so I told her the help Daniel gave me was worth more.

I heard Daniel wanted to apply to college in Chicago, so I applied to every school there.

For the next two years, I worked twice as hard, slept even less, always in the top ten. I had a shot at Northwestern or UChicago.

I planned to tell him when I got my acceptance letter, say I’d wait for him there.

But I never got the chance.

Lila was crying now, tears streaming. I cried too, snot and all.

"Why… why did it have to be this way…" Lila sobbed, mascara running.

I wiped my own tears, feeling foolish and raw.

We laughed and cried, neither of us noticing Grant standing in the shadows, watching.

"What about Grant? What’s your relationship?" Lila sniffled, finally asking what she’d wanted to know all along.

After all that, I finally got to the point:

"Grant looks eighty percent like Daniel. You know what that means? Sometimes, looking at him is like seeing Daniel alive again."

Grant couldn’t hold back anymore. He stormed over, gripping my shoulders tight:

"Rachel! Say that again! What did you just say!"

I jumped, startled by his sudden entrance, but met his eyes, my own full of pain.

"I said, because you look like Daniel. You really look like him."

"I can’t stand not seeing this face."

He’d never been humiliated like that. All his pride surged up, turning his face red.

He lost it.

"Rachel! Are you out of your mind? Just for this face? You let yourself be my backup for three years, always at my beck and call?!" He sounded like he couldn’t believe it.

"Yeah."

"You’re crazy!" Grant clenched his fists, face burning. Suddenly, he slapped himself—hard.

The crack echoed. I flinched. He stared at me, face twisted with pain and something like satisfaction.

"You loved Daniel so much, why didn’t you die with him? Why pretend, looking for substitutes?"

Even Lila looked disgusted.

"Grant, that’s too much!"

I took a deep breath and shouted, "I can’t die. His parents still need me, and there’s debt to pay."

After he died, I realized how important money was.

In college, I changed—part-time jobs, scholarships, tutoring, running errands. I took care of my skin, did paid photo shoots, and saved nearly fifty grand by graduation.

That was my start-up fund.