Loud shouting echoes up the stairs, leaping towards my room and pounding in my ears. I stand numbly at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister to stop myself from tumbling backward.

“Get away from me. Get away.” Marya’s voice. I grit my teeth together so hard that I can feel the blood draining from my cheeks. I want to run down, want to protest, want to scream at them both, but my feet are frozen to the ground. I can’t move. All I want to do is listen.

“For God’s sake, Marya, I don’t want to hurt you.” Mum is screaming now, and I choke back the bile rising in my throat, bending down and straining to see them.

“You’ve always wanted to hurt me.” Marya’s voice is seething with bitterness. “You’ve never cared about me, and you never thought about the fact that I might actually care about Alyssa. I just wanted to be her friend, and you rejected me.”

I don’t listen to hear Mum’s response, just running back to my room and struggling to find something to naturally cover my bald head. I grab a cloth and tie it around my head, wincing at how unnatural it looks, but too scared to stop and do anything about it. I stand in the doorway of my room, gasping for breath and fighting the lightheadedness tingling at the edges of my brain.

I run. I’m leaping towards them, flying down the steps with my feet barely seeming to touch the ground. I’m floating, soaring, murky black clouds barely managing to keep me from toppling over as I thud into Marya and hold out my hands to desperately pull them apart.

I feel horribly sick, but I can’t tell anymore if it’s the chemo or just leukemia.

“Alyssa,” Mum cries, grabbing my shoulders and thrusting me back. Her eyes are only on me now, bent in compassion, pain, and a little bit of guilt. “I’m sorry if we woke you.”

“I was already awake,” I assure her, but I’m already spinning around to look at Marya. She's wearing a long black dress, with her long auburn hair slung in a braid on her shoulder. Her face is covered in makeup, the same way Mum's was when I was in the hospital. I realize in sudden shock that it's her way of trying to tell herself that everything is normal. Her mouth is slightly open, and her whole body rigid and still, but what hurts me most is how she’s looking at me.

She’s staring at the top of my head, her eyebrows crinkled together and her head tilted in sorrow. An ache sweeps slowly over me and I refuse to look her in the eyes, turning back to look at Mum. But when I speak, I’m talking to Marya.

“You gave me a book that you said would change everything, but you’re not letting it change you,” I say quietly, letting my fingers flutter to the cloth on my head and pressing it to my scalp. “I didn’t read much, but I know what I did read. It talked about love, forgiveness, and grace. It talked about hope, and healing beyond belief that can come only from a relationship with Jesus. Why are you still so bitter? Why can’t you forgive Mum?”

But Marya barely even seems to have heard what I said. She’s staring unflinchingly at the cloth, and I know she’s figured out what’s beneath it. Her eyes narrow slightly, and her voice is hard and cold when she finally speaks. “Take off the cloth, Alyssa.”

My heart jerks to a sudden stop before hitting back to motion again, and I stand there frozen, my hands slowly lifting towards my bald scalp, turning around to look directly into her eyes. “Don’t do this.” I stare down at my bare arms and legs, at the food on the table that I refused to eat, the ache in my throat. The chemo has been in my body for two weeks, and my body is breaking from the pressure.

Marya raises her voice louder, her eyes flashing with terrified anger. “Take off the cloth, Alyssa,” she repeats fiercely, her cheeks burning scarlet.

“Marya,” my Mum protests loudly, and I can hear the defensiveness in her voice. But Marya ignores her, her long, bony fingers stretching towards my head and grabbing the cloth.

I start to pull away in defense, but she already has a hold on the cloth, and it slips slowly off, revealing the bald, shiny scalp beneath it. Mum took me to get it cut, it’s smooth now, but I know that it’s still hideously ugly.

I’m vulnerable. Ashamed. Naked. A gust of air dances across the top of my head, and I grit my teeth together to keep the tears from thudding into my eyes.

Marya gasped, letting the cloth slip out of her fingers and flutter to the ground. She inches towards me, hand outstretched, reaching for my head. It’s shaking violently, a deathly white.

But Mum grabs her hand mid-air, pushing it backward and glaring at Marya with fierce anger in her eyes. “Don’t touch her,” she says with a low growl, and I close my eyes and struggle to take deep breaths.

“Look, it’s just chemo, Marya, it’s not a big deal,” I protest, placing my hands on my head and shivering at the cold emptiness I feel.

She yanks her hand away from Mum and glares at me, her eyes a flame of fire. “Of course it’s a big deal, Alyssa, please don’t soften this for me. I just want the truth. I’m sick and tired of being kicked off to the side.”

“She’s telling the truth, for god’s sake, Marya,” Mum snaps, her face contorted in pain. “I thought it was a big deal at first too. But you have to realize what’s at stake here. There are terrible things that are going to happen if she doesn’t do this. We can sacrifice her hair if it will give us back her life.”

Marya flinches at those last words, twisting her fingers around her braid and rubbing her hair between her thumb and forefinger. “Can’t you get a wig or something?”

I grab the cloth from her and tie it back over my head. She lets her hand fall to the ground, staring at me carefully as I respond. “I asked not to,” I tell her slowly. “I was… tired of covering it up, I guess. I didn’t want to keep pretending anymore, because…” I cut off and look at Mum, who gives me a tiny nod. “Everything wasn’t normal,” I continue. “Even when I tried to make it that way. I didn’t want to tell myself that I still had hair when really I knew it was just a trick.”

“That’s stupid,” Marya says bluntly, tugging her braid fiercely. My heart grinds against my chest, and I struggles to breathe normally as Mum puts her hand gently on my shoulder. “Everything can be normal, Alyssa, the only thing stopping you from truly living is yourself. Just let go of your fear, put on the wig.”

Mum’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I jolt backward in shock, struggling to register what she said. “It’s not…” I say slowly, carefully measuring each word. “It’s not like that at all, Marya.” I stop and stare at her determinedly, clenching my fingers into fists. “Maybe you would understand if you just took the time to call me Lyssy again.”

Mum quickly lets go of my shoulder, and I see confusion and hurt spray over Marya’s face. She lowers her head, and I see her cheeks glowing red with shame. “What are you talking about?”

“Ever since you walked in here today, you’ve just called me Alyssa. I want to hear you call me Lyssy again. Please don’t be afraid of what Mum will say. Just call me Lyssy.”

She looks up at me, and there are tears in her black eyes. She looks hesitant, ashamed, unsure of herself. But she just says, “Okay.” She stops for a moment, and then adds with a sheepish smile, “Lyssy.”

“My wig is my decision,” I say firmly, and she nods slowly, understanding slowly creeping across her face.

“I understand,” she says softly.

I lean back into Mum, and she stumbles back a little under my weight but doesn’t say anything, just letting the two of us talk. Marya and I stand there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, and then she grabs her silver purse with her long, curved nails, and says, “Anyway, I should probably be going. But did you read the book?”

“Little bits of it,” I say as Mum throws me a strange look. I know I’ve mentioned it several times in the conversation, but I realize suddenly that I haven’t told Mum about Marya’s gift.

Marya nods thoughtfully and grabs my hand one last time before she goes out. “You have my number,” she reminds me. “But you also have Joshua’s. And he’s waiting to hear from you.”

Something about the way that she’s looking at me makes me desperately want to give in, so unafraid to stop fighting. So I nod and say, “I’ll call him.”

Her face lights up, and she bites back a smile as she slides the door shut. “He’ll like that.”

“Goodbye, Marya,” Mum says as she leaves, and Marya’s eyes flicker with doubt, but then she smiles again, and the door creaks shut. I move slowly over to the window and watch slowly as she moves back to her car, looking at Mum and trying to figure out what she’s thinking.

Mum gives me a sad smile and holds her arms out as I stumble towards her and wrap her in a hug.