It started around Christmas time, when we both were in high school. We were both fifteen, although Angela would be sixteen that February. It was such small things at first. In gym class she started to slow down. She used to be very good at volleyball, and was even thinking of joining the team the next semester, (she insisted she wanted to study really hard because she had both math and science together that semester, which was a killer mix of subjects.) She had been fast on the court, always spiking the ball before it could hit the ground no matter how far down the court it traveled. But now she couldn’t do it anymore. She would try, but instead of quickly catching it, she would fall, and end up bruised at the end of the class. I would see her terribly bruised legs in the change room, and even noticed the purple-blue marks on her arms.
“What’s a matter, Angie? You used to be so good at volleyball. And what on earth has happened to your arms and legs?” I asked her, after class one day. She sighed, looking down at her bruised legs.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m not cut out for the team, huh?” she replied, a little breathlessly, smiling at me, but she looked weary too.
She had really wanted to join the team. I had even said I’d try out with her, although I was no where near as good as she was. Now she seemed totally disinterested. Dark circles started to appear under her eyes, and she became really lethargic. She even left her star position on the volleyball court at the front, and moved to the back where she couldn’t be relied on as much. It was just a once a week gym class game, but she had been counted on by the rest of the girls in the class. She had let them down, and they weren’t as understanding as I was.
“What’s your problem, Michelli?” a more popular girl named Kari asked when Angela was sitting on the bench between games, breathless, and hanging her head between her knees.
“Yeah, you used to be so good, what are you doing switching positions on us?” Katy added.
“I-I’m sorry.” Angela said, breathlessly, looking up at them. I rubbed her back.
“You’re so tired lately, Angie. Maybe you should take a break.” I said feeling concerned for the first time as she literally struggled to breathe.
“And to think I was about to recommend you to the team. What a disappointment.” Kari muttered, and I couldn’t tell if she were being intentionally mean, or kidding with my good natured friend.
“Hey!” I shouted anyway, standing up to face the dark haired girl. “She can’t help it if she’s not feeling well. You know very well she’s the best player you’ve got.” I told her, angrily.
“It’s OK, Marissa.” Angela said, sounding better now. “I’ll just wait until next term.” She smiled at me, and Kari looked guilty, and I felt bad. I was too overprotective.
“I’m sorry, Kari. I’ll work harder.”
“It’s alright. This is just the coach side of me talking. Go see a doctor or something, and I’ll be sure to hold a place on the team for one of the best players I’ve ever seen.” Kari smiled at Angela who smiled back. But her smile soon disappeared and she looked down.
Hikari “Kari” Tanabata was sixteen and captain of the 10th grade girl’s volleyball team. She was tall, (especially for an Asian girl), with thin, black hair that hung down her back, and she brushed to one side. She had a slender face, high cheekbones, and a naturally very pale complexion. Her eyes were what could put you off though. They were so highly slanted that she might come off as fierce looking. But everyone knew that Kari was a sweetheart, whose piercing black eyes were just part of her charm and exotic beauty. She just happened to be in our gym class, and had been evaluating Angela’s performance. Angela had been basically guaranteed a spot on the team that semester. But she lost it like so many other things as her health deteriorated more and more.
That was our last day before Christmas vacation, and there would be a big celebration at the end of the day with food and drinks, and a talent show. But Angela never made it there. She came down with a fever during our last class and went home before she could see the show.
When Christmas came she seemed a little better. She still was tired, but she was given some money for Christmas, so we went out boxing-day shopping together. I dragged her around the city, and although she was a little run down still, we had fun together. She bought a little blue backpack that was made from shiny material with white stitching and had little fluffy angel wings hanging from the sides. I bought a purse that looked like a radio. We found out later it actually was a radio. The dials on the sides actually worked. Very cool. Then Angela bought a jacket with her favourite brand name on it. The name was Melissa, (how she kidded me about the closeness of my name,) and every time you bought a product by her some money would be donated to cancer research. I knew that was how her mother had died, and she was very into charity. It was after that that I began to call her Angel Angela. Because she was kind and selfless, and now, she had wings.
Later that day we joined an already in progress volley ball game, and Angela played like she used to, surprising the other players, (some who were years older than us)
At the end of the game she was sweating, and out of breath, but this time it was because she had played her hardest and won. She could definitely get on the team the next semester.
But that was the last time I ever saw her play volley ball.
After the holidays was when things really got bad. Final exams were coming up and I noticed Angela was really pushing herself. So when her tiredness returned I told myself that she was probably studying a lot, and was wearing herself out. We were in art class, and I was watching Angela draw a portrait of Kari who sat across form her, instead of drawing Eric Lowry, my required portrait person. I couldn’t help it. She caught Kari’s high cheekbones, thin lips, and Japanese slanted eyes perfectly. As I said, Kari sometimes looked fierce, but Angela and me both knew she wasn’t what she appeared to be. And Angela softened her looks so she looked like the kind and personable girl she really was. I couldn’t help but stare at the picture. I was about to tell her how great the picture was when I heard the angry voice of Eric behind me.
“Hey Marissa, how am I supposed to draw you when you keep looking down like that?!” he demanded, angrily. I sighed and shook my hand at him, telling him to lay off, when suddenly a red dot appeared on Angela’s picture in the space between Kari’s long ebony hair that was still being drawn in. Then another one appeared beside it. I turned around, missing Angela’s face, to see where it had come from.
“Hey Angie, someone’s spilling red paint on Kar-“ but before I could finish, the real Kari suddenly gave a little cry, and rushed over to Angela, who I now noticed was bending over her paper.
“Oh my God, Angela, are you alright?!” Kari cried, frantically.
Angela had her hand over her mouth, and what I thought had been red paint was steadily flowing down her fingers.
It wasn’t paint. It was blood. Her nose was bleeding, and it was bleeding a lot. Her fingers that she used desperately to hold back the flow were covered in blood.
“Angie!” I cried, coming to her side. She looked at me, but couldn’t speak for fear of making the blood come gushing out.
“I’ll get a teacher.” Kari said, and left to find our art teacher. I quickly grabbed a pile of tissues, and moved Angela’s hand to apply them under her nose. There was so much blood, and when I felt her hand, it was very hot. She had a fever again too.
Finally the teacher came over, took one look at her, and told me to take her to the office.
As I helped her walk down the halls, I vowed never to rely on a teacher for any sort of medical emergency again. They didn’t know what they were doing.
Our high school, (damn it to hell), didn’t have a school nurse, or even an infirmary. In fact, all they had was ice that I used to help stop the bleeding for her, as she sat hunched over in a chair.
When at last it came to a stop, I breathed a sigh of relief, and felt her forehead. It was warm.
“Angie, I think you have a fever.” I told her, worriedly.
“Marissa, thank you.” She said, weakly, ignoring the fact she had a fever. “You helped me when no one else could. Thank you.”
She was always so grateful to me. That’s something I’d always remember. No matter how small a task I’d try to do for her, she would always be grateful to me as if I had saved her from drowning.
But then again, that’s sort of what I would do.
Angela came back to school the next day, still pale and tired looking, but otherwise she was alright. And she stayed alright until that Friday.
It happened again.
We were in gym class not doing much of anything because the semester was ending, when she got another massive nose bleed. This time her white track shirt was stained red with blood before she, or anyone else noticed it. She cried out, and held her hand over her mouth and nose again.
“Angie!” I cried, when I saw her current state.
I rushed over to her, and started helping her off the court. She continued to cover the bottom of her face, but even my arms that I held on to her with felt the drops of blood. The rest of the class, including Kari, watched worriedly, as the teacher decided to join us for whatever reason.
She couldn’t do anything. I was starting to become some sort of nurse for Angela. But that was not a good thing. As I was thinking this, I suddenly felt Angela start to fall back. She went limp, her knees buckled, and she fell right into my chest.
“Angela!” I screamed, pulling her back up. She had let go of her mouth and nose and was now covered in drops of blood.
But she was conscious.
She had almost passed out in my arms, scaring me to death. I breathed out in relief, and took her down to the office. She didn’t speak, she only continued to nurse her bloodied nose.
“Angie, you’ve got to go to a doctor. There’s something really wrong with you.” I told her, shakily.
Finally the nosebleed had stopped, but I’d had to get the assistance of the secretary to help me.
Angela was very pale, and lay back on the chair looking like she would fall asleep any minute. Or faint.
“I’m fine.” She mumbled. “I used to get nosebleeds a lot. I guess they’re coming back.”
I sighed. I was starting to get really worried about her. She had had these nosebleeds twice in one week, and today I was sure she was going to faint. There was something very wrong with her.
“Have you gone to a doctor at all?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “I was getting better, so I just thought I’d had the flu or something.” Her voice was weak and shaky.
“Are you OK? Do you want to go home?” I pressed.
“No, I need to hand in my history essay. I worked too hard on it to make it a day late.”
The history essay….Something I had written at the last minute the night before. To think she refused to go home when she was very sick for something stupid like the history essay, angered me.
“Angela, don’t you get it? You just about collapsed in there. You have to see a doctor!” I shouted at her.
“No!” she shouted back. It was the first time she raised her voice to me. It was the first time I’d ever heard her raise her voice. But she calmed down. Or she was too weary to shout.
“I’m fine, Marissa. Really I am. I know you’re worried about me, but I really don’t want to have another late assignment.” She paused. “I promise I’ll see a doctor after exams. I just need to get through the exams.”
I didn’t understand what that meant, but it didn’t satisfy me in the least.
“Please, Angie, go today, go tomorrow. Just get better. You’re scaring me!” I pleaded, feeling tears in my eyes as I remembered watching my happy and vibrant friend become sicker and sicker each day.
She looked surprised to see me crying, and then, lowering her eyes, she said,
“Alright. Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow. Don’t cry, Marissa, hon, I’m sorry for scaring you.” She put her hand on mine. “OK? Let’s get to class.”
I nodded, wiping away my tears, and walked down the hall, holding that damn history assignment in her now clean hands. Our history teacher was very strict, and it was true she might get an earful for not handing it in, but it didn’t seem worth it to risk her failing health over.
I hated that essay. I hated it forever.
I took my seat inside the history room next to Angela, who smiled at me. I weakly smiled back, and then took out my own pathetic essay and flipped through it, ignoring her.
I was still angry at her, and I didn’t feel like looking at her. She could hand in that stupid essay all she wanted. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to go to my next class. Cosmetology. Angela wasn’t in that class, and it was fun, and something I was actually good at. We got to put makeup on other students, make fashion decisions, even cut and style hair. It was a special program for those destined for a community college like I was.
Just then the teacher called for us to hand in our essays. He went by our last names, but backward, so that my name, ‘Collins’ came after Angela’s, ‘Michelli’.
“Angela Michelli.” He called her name, and I looked over at her, expecting to see her pick up her paper and confidently hand it to our teacher. But to my surprise, she seemed to be sleeping. She was slumped over her desk, leaning on her arms, and breathing heavily. What was she doing?
“Hey Angela, wake up.” I muttered to her, but she didn’t even stir.
“Angela Michelli~~~~” the teacher called again, not seeming to notice the girl had fallen asleep.
“Angie, he wants your essay you wanted to hand in so much, so get up and give it to him.” I continued, harshly.
Still no response.
“If you wanted to sleep, why didn’t you go home last period?” I demanded, pushing her shoulder, but she still didn’t move.
I was starting to get worried now. This was strange. She wasn’t responding to anything. At first I had just been frustrated with her stubbornness that she was now sabotaging. But now I was scared.
“Come on, Angela, it’s not funny anymore!” I shouted, getting up and shaking her shoulders.
She did not wake.
“Angela!” I cried, shaking her more and more, my heart pounding loudly in my ears.
“Alright, Angela obviously isn’t ready—“ the teacher mumbled, but I cut him off with another cry. She wasn’t waking up. No matter what I did she wouldn’t wake up. There was something wrong. Something terribly wrong!
“Miss Collins, are we having a problem?” the teacher asked me. The class had turned around too.
“What’s with Angela?” one boy asked.
“I wish I was that heavy a sleeper.” Someone else added.
“There’s something wrong with Angela! She won’t wake up!” I cried, my eyes filling with tears of fear.
“Oh come now, Miss Collins. She’s just sleeping.” Mr. Dawson, our boring history teacher said, calmly coming over to us.
“Angela, this is Mr. Dawson. If you don’t wake up now, I’m going to have to send you to the office.” He said, putting his arm on her shoulder. But suddenly her arm slipped off the table, causing her to bang her head on the desk. This would have woken any person. Angela didn’t even stir.
I covered my mouth. “Angie!” I screamed.
Now the teacher seemed worried, and started to shake her.
“Angela, can you hear me? Angela, Angela Michelli.” He called.
“She must have fainted from when she lost all that blood today.” Suddenly I heard Kari say behind me.
I looked at my friend. She was extremely pale, her eyes closed, her heavy breathing somewhat irregular, as she lay on the desk with her arm hanging over the side. What was happening to her?
“Kari, go call 911.” Mr. Dawson said, and then, (defeating my previous disbelief in the caretaking of teachers), picked up Angela, who was completely limp, making my heart race, and brought her to the front of the classroom where he lay her back down on the carpeted floor. Kari had disappeared down the halls, but the rest of the class gathered around her.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She fainted.”
“Why?”
“Is she dead?”
I would have beat up whoever said that, but I was too busy worrying about my friend.
“Stand back, everyone. Give her some room.” Mr. Dawson said, concernedly, grabbing a pillow off the seat of his chair, and laying Angela’s head on it. Then he moved a chair over to her, and propped her feet up on it.
I was shaking I was so scared.
The teacher put his ear to Angela’s chest to check her heart beat and irregular breathing, then he lifted up her wrist, and felt her pulse.
“Hmm… it’s weak.” He observed.
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt dizzy, having to hold on to the desk beside me as I knelt down beside my unconscious friend.
What was wrong with her?
What was happening to her?!
Was she going to-- I stopped the thought in my head as I heard sirens in the distance. I took Angela’s hand, and held on to it, blinking back tears.
“Hold on, Angie, help is coming.” I told her, squeezing her fingers.
Within moments, the sirens arrived outside our school, and Kari came back leading two uniformed paramedics who wheeled a stretcher into the class room. Mr. Dawson rushed over to them explaining what had happened, leaving me alone with Angela. Her breathing was slow. Too slow. Her chest hardly rose. The paramedics rushed over with the stretcher and their medical bags, and proceeded to repeat everything Mr. Dawson had done. He had actually known what he was doing. They took out a breathing tube which they used to pump air into her chest, and then lifted her up on the stretcher, covering her with a blanket, and still pumping the tube, whisked her out of the classroom, and down the halls. I wasted no time, and chased after them, followed by Mr. Dawson, Kari, and the rest of the class. The ambulance waited outside the school’s front entrance, and a crowd had gathered there to see what had happened.
“Hey, it’s Angela!” I heard someone shout.
“Angela Michelli?”
“No way! What happened to her?”
“Was she hurt?”
“She collapsed in class, and she’s not breathing.”
The voices of the students echoed in my ears, as I helplessly watched the paramedics lift the stretcher into the ambulance, and turning on their sirens, hurriedly drive away.
“Marissa, is she alright?” I suddenly heard Kari ask me, worriedly. I looked over at her briefly, and then ran down the driveway toward the bus stop, carrying only enough change to get me to the hospital where they had taken my best friend.
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