Sitting in my hospital bed, I see Dr. Smith making his way to my room.
“Hello, Meg,” he tells me as he enters my pasty white room with a window covered in suns, hearts, and flowers from my window art kit. (I suppose it’s a good thing to be easily entertained when most of your time is spent in a slow, boring hospital.)
“Hello, Doctor!” I greet him, turning off the Backyardigans. He walks around the metal bed.
“We have some good news for you,” he says. He looks like he’s about to burst holding this news inside of him.
“Really?” I ask inquisitively. What could it be? Am I finally cured?

He replies, “Yes, we think it would be a grand opportunity to let you go home and get some fresh air.”
“Oh thank you!” I squeal with delight as I jump out of bed and start pulling the clothes out of the silver metal drawers and putting them back in my hot pink Hannah Montana suitcase.
“On one condition,” he cautions.
“What?”
“I must insist Miss Nancy goes home with you,” he tells me, “You’re not fully recovered, so we want to have someone there in case anything out of the ordinary occurs.”
“Perfect!” She’s my favorite nurse. She’s funny, nice, and really pretty. When I grow up, I want to be just like her. Plus, I think she has a son about my age, but I don’t remember his name.


Two days later, in my own bed fast asleep, the light barely pouring through the window, I hear Camille,“ Good morning, Sunshine!” she shouts in my face. Camille is my best friend in the entire world. She’s the type of girl that likes to be sneaky. Once, in the hospital, she dressed me up as an old lady and rolled me in a wheel chair to a Senior Citizen Sundae Party just to get ice cream. She’s one devious angel with brilliant ideas.
“We are going to have a lemonade stand with Miss Nancy!” she says eagerly. I bumble down the old wooden stairs to the sweet smell of homemade pancakes and hot bacon. It’s good to be home.

“LEMONADE, FIFTY CENTS!” We shout as Miss Nancy and a boy on a bike come by. He has new white shoes on with navy mesh shorts and a red fire truck shirt, so last year.
“I’ll have some. Here you go girls,” she hands us two shiny quarters. “I’m going to watch you from inside with Meg’s mom.”
“I don’t want any of your yucky lemonade,” the boy on the bike sneers. Well, he was mean, I have cancer, people are supposed to be nice to me, right?
“He kind of hurt my feelings,” Camille pouts. Luckily, another customer steps up with fifty cents in his hand.
“ONE lemonade coming up,” Camille communicates with our customer, just loud enough for the boy to hear. Wow, already out of lemonade. Well, we did sort of drink a lot ourselves. It’s just that it’s pure, sweet, sugary goodness in a glass.
“How about we go to the new park down the street?” Camille suggests.
“What park? Oh, the new one. Sure, I’ve always wanted to go there.”

We stare in amazement at the new park. The colorful array of slides, swings, tunnels, and merry-go-rounds are like precious jewels in our eyes.
“Wow, this is so cool,” I say, “I’ve never seen a slide so gigantic!” How great is this, a new park right around the corner.
“Yeah, and the ground is bouncy!” Camille smiles, as she jumps on the ground with amusement.
“Look at the swings!” I gasp. I think I’m actually glowing. “Race you to them,” I challenge. I see the boy in my peripheral view, but I don’t pay attention to him. Today is a perfect day and I won’t let him ruin it. We run at full speed to the vacant swings. The wind flies through our hair as we sprint like the cheetahs I saw at the zoo last year. The plastic blue swings fit as if they were made just for us. Our legs pump in strong steady motions as we get higher and higher. The swooshing of the swings makes a nice cool breeze on my face.
“Wee!” we giggle. Why is Miss Nancy always with that mean boy?
“Hey,” he smirks.
“You can’t be on the swings,” I tell him.
“Yes I can, it’s a free playground,” he whines, determined to get on a swing.
“No!” I yell. Miss Nancy wags her finger, telling us to be nice; neither of us pays attention to her.
“Fine!” he screams. I see his hands coming at me, and I kick at him but he doesn’t stop. He gets closer and closer with his hands reached out in front of him. I feel my back being pressed by hot pudgy hands and my heart leaps. Oh my goodness. I’m falling. He pushed me off and I’m falling! I think to myself as I’m flailing in the air like a fish out of water.
Miss Nancy rushes over to me as I sit whimpering on the cold, hard ground.
“Oh honey, I’m sorry. Look you’re ok, just some scrapes. You’ll be fine. I think it’s time to go home,” she says rocking me back and forth in a soothing motion. Then she turns to the boy, “Collin, apologize right now,” she demands, staring at him with eyes that even scared me.
“But Mom, I just wanted to play with her.”He turns to his mom whispering loudly in her ear. “I think she’s cute,” Well that changes things.
“You should have told her, not pushed her off a swing! Girls like nice boys,” she says in a very understanding voice.
“Collin, I think you’re cute, too,” I say very frankly. He blushes.
“Well, now that this is worked out, let’s go to my house for popsicles,” suggests Miss Nancy.
“Yum,” the three of us say dreamily. On the way back Collin grabs my hand. I don’t pull away.