Wink: Chapters 6–14

When we arrived at Dr. Sheffler's office, he looked flustered. His hair was messed up in a few places, where there was usually never a hair out of place.

"Okay." He looked us each in the eye. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this. We got the results back, and this is an aggressive tumor. A mucoepidermoid carcinoma of the lacrimal gland. It's an incredibly rare tumor, as well."

As my dad and Linda started asking about things like prognosis and outlook and treatment, my balloon head kept slowly rising toward the fluorescent light above me.

She gave me another alien smile. Maybe it was supposed to be comforting? "We'll fit you for a prosthetic for that part of your face, of course. And then we'll follow up with radiation."

It's only a few minutes to the proton radiation center, but he's been through McDonald's to pick up Cokes and a couple orders of fries. "For sustenance," he says, cramming a handful in his mouth.

I straddle one of my dad's big accordion files crammed full of legal papers in the footwell.

Then he's wiping his eyes and waving me out of the car. "Okay. Whatever. Out! Out! Before I start blubbering and snotting all over the place."

His voice dies off as he slowly turns and plods toward the radio shelf.

I put my head back and let out a long groan.
SURLY BATPIG.

I cut across the soggy lawn. What's a couple of wet feet compared to impending social death?

Action ensues! Pow! Smash! Hat smushing! Zang!

Frank's eyelids go to half-mast. "Only the first couple of songs are Ripe Sponge. Then it's just a hodgepodge. A mishmash, if you will."

Frank's eyelids go to half-mast. "Only the first couple of songs are Ripe Sponge. Then it's just a hodgepodge. A mishmash, if you will."

Maybe the proton beam is accidentally zapping my brain, and I'm having some kind of seconds-to-death moment of clarity.

The second day with the hat—Halloween—goes less well.
This is what we call an understatement.

Ricky Stevenson, an eighth grader with crazy-tall hair, lets out a startled laugh when he sees me—then stifles it behind his hand and ducks into the art room like he committed a crime.

The second song—a fast one with some guy screaming about needing "the cure for what ails me"—fits my mood perfectly. The next one is kind of slow and sappy, which surprises me coming from Frank, but even that one takes me on a ride. Gets me out of my funk and brain frenzy for a bit.

The second song—a fast one with some guy screaming about needing "the cure for what ails me"—fits my mood perfectly. The next one is kind of slow and sappy, which surprises me coming from Frank, but even that one takes me on a ride. Gets me out of my funk and brain frenzy for a bit.

"Okay. Ross." She looks up at the ceiling. She grimaces. "I think I figured out why everyone was staring."

The pinky swear has been our most solemn vow since forever.

I even overheard my dad and Linda discussing "scary survival rates" one time, but it seemed like they were...Was I in denial? Do people in denial know they're in denial?

Stuttering rhythm lines. Wailing solos. Even the fingerpicked ballads strike a nerve. Not to sound weird, but it's like a whole new language.

He also told me my mom was in remission when she wrote this, so the cheery tone was real.

The day after the Bad Halloween—or the Night of the Memes—is a Saturday, and my radiation is scheduled for nine a.m.

The niceties out of the way, I get straight to business. I put on my most serious face. "Dad, I've asked Frank to teach me guitar."

We text a couple of times when they're on their way to Janko's, mostly about how Destroy All Monsters is on at eleven on some obscure channel.

She communicates by text almost exclusively.

In front of the dining room table are two acoustic guitars, propped on metal stands, like they're waiting for us.

"That's the guitar I sto...liberated from my cousin...way, way back. I taught myself on it. It's a solid guitar. A Yamaha."

"All right, all right, all right!" He points at the fridge. "Beer?"
I must look shocked, 'cause he laughs. "I'm kidding, Ross. Just a little icebreaker. Now, go sit in that chair. Let's do some guitaring."