Chapter 2

"I'll get the stain out."

Mom gave a contemptuous snort and slammed the bedroom door in my face.

I stayed in the hallway alone, scrubbing at the blood until the carpet looked clean. Then I went back to the windowless room off the kitchen where the housekeeper used to sleep.

As soon as I lay down on the hard wooden bed, pain surged through my bones again.

Three days earlier, in the hematology department at the city hospital, the doctor had studied my test results with regret in his eyes.

"Advanced acute myeloid leukemia," he'd said. "You need a bone marrow transplant as soon as possible. An immediate family member would be the best place to start looking for a match. Can we contact your parents?"

I'd gripped the flimsy sheet of paper and shaken my head.

"I don't have parents."

I was an adopted orphan. Where was I supposed to find a biological relative?

So I'd given up on treatment. I'd taken the $10,000 I'd saved waiting tables and tutoring over the years and put it toward a burial plot outside the city. I still owed another $1,700. If I could survive two more months, I thought I might earn enough to pay it off.

Then I'd overheard the conversation outside my parents' bedroom.

I did have parents. Two people in this very house might have been able to save my life.

But I didn't want to ask them anymore.

The next morning, I forced myself out of bed despite the pain and went downstairs to make breakfast, as usual.

Nolan Voss sat at the dining table looking every inch the young heir, dressed in a brand-new designer jacket. Two weeks earlier, I'd stood outside a department-store window staring at that same jacket for ages.

Mom had told me it was far too expensive for someone who wasn't really family. Then she'd bought it for Nolan.

"Miles, you look awful today," Nolan said, innocently slicing into his fried egg. "Didn't sleep well? Here, have my milk. I'm not going to finish it anyway."

He pushed his half-empty glass toward me.

Mom immediately swept in, picked it up, and poured the milk down the sink.

"Your brother was kind enough to offer, Miles, but have you considered whether you deserve it? What if you're coming down with something and give it to Nolan? If you ruin his competition today, will you take responsibility?"

I watched the milk disappear down the drain. My stomach churned.

"I'm not hungry anymore."

I stood without looking at any of them.

Dad lowered his newspaper. "Hold it. Where do you think you're going? Your brother's competing today. Who's going to carry his things if you don't come?"

I turned back. My voice was rough with fever.

"I have an errand. I need to go to the Red Cross."

Mom scoffed. "The Red Cross? What for? You think if you put on a sad face and donate a little money, we'll finally see how thoughtful you are? Spare us the performance."

I didn't explain. I walked out into the painfully bright morning sun, stopped at the curb, and called the organ donation center.

"Hello. There's something I'd like to check. If I have advanced leukemia, can I still donate my corneas?"

"Who are you talking to?"

A black Maybach rolled up beside me. The tinted window lowered, revealing Dad's unsmiling face. One glance at me and his frown deepened.

"Get in."

I ended the call and climbed into the car. The air-conditioning made me shiver.

Instead of pulling away, Dad grabbed a manila envelope from the glove compartment and tossed it onto my lap.

"Take a look. Explain this."

The envelope wasn't sealed. Several test reports and an application for a family-matching DNA database slid out.

After my diagnosis, I'd submitted a blood sample behind their backs. I'd clung to the faint hope that somewhere out there I might find my biological parents. Since my family had always insisted I wasn't theirs, I'd decided I had nothing to lose by looking.