He scoffed, disbelieving. “You’re mostly just hot,” I explained. He laughed it off.
“The thing about dead people,” he said, and then stopped himself.
“The thing is you sound like a bastard if you don’t romanticize them, but the truth is... complicated, I guess.
Like, you are familiar with the trope of the stoic and determined cancer victim who heroically fights her cancer
with inhuman strength and never complains or stops smiling even at the very end, etcetera?”
“Indeed,” I said. “They are kindhearted and generous souls whose every breath is an Inspiration to Us All.
They’re so strong! We admire them so!” “Right, but really, I mean aside from us obviously,
cancer kids are not statistically more likely to be awesome or compassionate or perseverant or whatever.
Caroline was always moody and miserable, but I liked it. I liked feeling as if she had chosen me as the only person in the world not to hate,
and so we spent all this time together just ragging on everyone, you know?
Ragging on the nurses and the other kids and our families and whatever else.
But I don’t know if that was her or the tumor. I mean, one of her nurses told me once
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