BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow.

BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow.

Always BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow.

Alphabetical order, Charlie had emphasized to David a mere two years ago when he pondered the meaning of her strategically placed pens.

David remembers this as he gazes at her, deliberately ignoring their shared 11th grade English teacher. Charlotte. That’s what she goes by now. She sits up straight in her seat, her long blonde hair cascading down her back in waves. Her long legs dutifully crossed over one another. Her hands resting in her laps. Sharp blue eyes trained on the teacher.

David sighs internally and begins to tap his pencil subconsciously, as he does when deep in thought.

Gone is the girl he called best friend two years ago.

Gone is the girl known for her talkative nature.

Gone is the girl who’s resting face was a smile, who could find the good in every situation.

“I go by Charlotte now.” 

She had mumbled this to David three days after her mother was finally deemed cancer-free. During her mother’s treatment, Charlotte… no, Charlie, had been hopeful. Distraught, yes, but hopeful nonetheless. Once David heard that her mother's treatments had worked, he called her. When she didn’t pick up, he walked over to her house, a huge smile on his face. No one answered when he knocked. Once he finally spotted her at school, he bounded over to her locker, assuming that her silence towards him had been on account of her family celebrating.

“Hey, Charlie!” He greeted her. “I heard the news! That’s so awesome.”

He went in for a hug and knew something was very wrong when she turned, pretending to reach for something in her locker yet obviously avoiding the friendly embrace. 

“I go by Charlotte now.”

Those might as well have been the beginning of the end. The Charlie he knew was gone. Replaced by Charlotte. Silent Charlotte. Subdued Charlotte. She stopped talking to him. Almost stopped talking to everyone in general, only replying in short answers if need be. It took him a month to realize that it wasn’t a temporary low. A month of trying to get her to talk. To smile. One day he gazed into her eyes and saw; She was merely a shadow of herself.

The only thing that hadn’t changed was the BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow.

Always BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow.

So when David’s gaze slipped back to Charlotte, as it always did, he didn’t chide himself. He didn’t tell himself the girl he knew was gone. Because BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow. That was Charlie.

Because BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow. That was hope.

Charlotte never looked at the clock in class. She didn’t want to know the time. She didn’t want to watch the seconds count down, to feel her dread growing while each second passed. She didn’t want to go home. But today was no different than the rest and the inevitable bell rang and everyone sprang up. Charlotte took her time. Carefully placing her pens back in her pencil case, and feeling a warm sense of satisfaction in the BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow. And she thought back to a time when she always felt that way.

Sometimes she was surprised that the world kept spinning, that life kept going, when hers felt like it stopped two years ago. 

She walked home every day. The noise of nature, and traffic and life helped to distract her from what awaited her at home. The walk is always too quick.

The house is quiet when she enters. She knows her parents are in the basement. Working. 

She didn't know what was worse; Facing the silence or her parents.

¨You should be happy.¨ They say. ¨Grateful that we saved mom. Aren’t you grateful?¨

I am, She chants in her head, I am I am I am.

The door to the basement opens and Charlotte jumps. Her mother's friendly face appears and she gives Charlotte a soft smile, her amber eyes warm and her blonde hair glowing. 

Her blonde hair. Glowing.

Charlotte remembered when her mom realized that she was going to lose her hair through the treatments. She kept her cool in front of Charlotte. Giving a strained smile.

A small price to pay for your life right?

But Charlotte heard the cries, late at night. Her father's comforting voice trying to cut through but always overpowered by the cries. 

Her parents knew more about cancer than most. In fact, they knew more about cancer than all.

They studied the abnormal cells. Experimented with animals. Experimented on people. They were looking for a cure. Even long before her mother's cancer. 

Her mother wasn’t doing good. She was at stage 3 by the time they realized she had cancer. Bone cancer. It didn’t look good. 

It was after a particularly bad chemo treatment when her mother begged her father.

Use it on me. She had said. I don’t care. Try it on me.

The couple had been working on a cure. Not knowing if it was fully functional, Charlie's father tried it on her mother. 

In a month, Charlie's mother was cancer-free.

They were elated. Charlie couldn’t wait to tell David that not only her mother was safe but that they had found a cure. For cancer. When she voiced her plans, her parents' eyes hardened and they sat her down.

“Listen.” They said. “No one can know about this.”

She was confused.

“We have to introduce it slowly. Introduce it all at one time and suddenly treating cancer is like treating a cold.”

She was still confused. Yes. She thought. That would be great. Simple.

“We’ll keep the cure for ourselves. We’re already on our way to opening our own treatment center. Once we do, we’re going to treat cancer patients. Some will live, some will die. But most will live. We will be in control of that. Always in control. People will pay double what they pay for chemo and radiation simply because of our slightly higher success rate. You understand, don’t you?”

She didn’t understand. 

It was that night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, when, in clarity, she realized her parents were okay with letting many die of a cancer, a cancer that could be cured, all for their own personal gain.

They emphasized that it should be kept a secret. “Not even David.” They had told her sternly. “Secrets spread. If so much as one person finds out and they tell it to their friend who tells it to their friend, there are going to be a lot of angry people. And who’s fault will that be? Yours Charlotte. Because we’re not going to tell anyone. Are you?”

She was still confused. Angry. Shocked.

They locked her in the house. Took her phone. And asked her the simple question. 

“Are you going to tell anyone?”

They asked her this for three days straight, denying her portions of food and water if she stuttered or answered in an angry or unsure tone. 

They asked her this until she was exhausted. They asked her until she started to believe it herself.

Are you going to tell anyone?

No.

Never.

They told her she should be grateful that it saved mom, not angry. Wasn´t she grateful?

I am I am I am.

Are you going to tell anyone?

No.

Never.

Charlotte's life was a cycle of guilt and grief. She stopped talking. She cut off her best friend because surely she wouldn’t have been able to not tell him. She had to cut him off. She couldn’t tell anyone. Ever.

She woke up, suffocated by the weight of guilt. She carried with her. It was part of her. Her heart grew heavy when she heard that one of her classmate's aunts died of cancer, that her dentist´s husband recently succumbed to it and that her neighbor´s three-year-old couldn’t survive it.

It was too late. They always said. 

They couldn’t do anything.

While Charlotte's voice grew quieter as days passed, her thoughts grew louder. 

We could have saved her.

We should have saved him.

I should have saved them all.

It was the day after the school had had a tearful remembrance for a student who had passed away from lung cancer when the guilt became too much. Charlotte felt herself reaching a breaking point and it was all she could do in her last period English class, to not start screaming and never stop. The bell rang as always and she went to put her pens back in her pencil case. Before the usual comforting feel of the organized pens could lift the guilt off her shoulders for a simple second, she stopped herself. Stared at the BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow.

She scooped them up in her hand after a moment. And as she went to leave the classroom, her hand opened and the BlueOrangePurpleRedYellow fell into the trash can.

I don’t deserve comfort. She thought. No. 

Never.

David felt stuck in his chair. She threw them out. She threw out BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow.

Instead of the sadness he was expecting, David felt empty. As if he had lost a piece of himself too.

Welp. He thought. There goes Charlie. There goes hope.

At the last second though, and one glance at the deserted BlueGreenOrangsPurpleRedYellow, David scooped the pens up and out of the garbage and a bit of hope returned.

If I can save BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow maybe I can save Charlie. He thought.

Charlotte paced her room, running her hands through her hair. For the past two years, she has always hit a weak point maybe every two months or so. She would talk to a higher power. 

Should I tell? She would ask. Should I tell?

Give me a sign. Anything and I’ll tell. I promise I’ll tell.

In these weak moments, Charlotte regrets that she stopped talking to anyone. If someone asked. She thought. She wished. If someone asked me what was wrong I would tell them, I promise I would.

Nothing ever happened though. No signs. No nothing. Never.

 Charlotte had started, is starting, to think that she was meant to carry this guilt. That this is her purpose. Her miserable purpose. 

I should just accept it. She thinks grimly. I should. It might make this easier. I will just accept it-

She jumps as the doorbell rings. She feels frozen and after a while, she wonders if it even rang at all. 

But it rings again and when it does she scrambles out of her room and down the stairs. Is this it? She wonders. Is this the sign?

She stops in front of the door, suddenly frozen in fear. What if it is? She wonders. What if it isn’t?

She doesn’t know what’s worse.

David’s starting to think he’s stupid. He’s been standing in front of her house for three minutes. She’s obviously not home. Yet he can’t bring himself to move. He clutches the pens in his now sweaty palm. After another minute and one more ring, he shakes his head, glancing at the pens.

Hope? He thinks, now looking at the mismatched unorganized pens. He scoffs. They’re just pens. Stupid pens.

He places the pens on the porch. Charlotte can have her pens back.

He tries to leave but he can’t help it. He organizes them despite himself. He fixes the pens. He fixes her pens so that they’re BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow. Then he leaves.

When Charlotte finally gets the courage to open the door, her heart sinks. No one. No sign. No nothing.

But.

Her heart starts to pound because there, on her porch, it’s BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow. And suddenly, a feeling washes over her. Similar to the warm satisfaction she felt when she looks at the BlueGreenOrangePurpleRedYellow. But this time, it feels more permanent.

A sign.

She looks up the street and sees the retreating figure of David. Her best friend. David.

“David!” 

David stops surprised. When he turns around he sees Charlotte… no, Charlie running towards him. Her eyes bright. Alive.

“Charlie?” He asks slowly, unsure.

Charlotte hears the old nickname come out of his mouth and her frozen heart thaws a little more.

“Hey.” She says. He looks confused.

She’s going to tell him. She knows her parents will be livid. Even if she asks him to keep the secret to himself, she knows secrets spread. That this specific secret will start an uprising of anger, led by those who have felt the wrath of cancer. The thought sobers her but doesn’t deter her. 

“Hey.” She repeats, staring into David’s concerned brown eyes. And then she asks the question. Even though she’s certain that while his answer will be yes, the information will spread, quick and fast. Uttered from his lips sometime in the future just as it is about to be uttered from hers. 

Yet, she’s completely alright with that.

“Can you keep a secret?”