It's not heavy anymore. I mean — me — I'm not heavy anymore.

My dad left about forty-five minutes ago to pick Nilsa up from school and then take her to pick up some Subway sandwiches for the three of us on their way back to our apartment. That was around the same time that I started feeling it...I mean, stopped feeling it. The heaviness that's been plaguing me, impeding me, since my 'successful' heart transplant a week ago. It's suddenly just gone. Gravity isn't fighting me anymore.

I'm in my bedroom, dressed in only pale-blue shorts and a violet, front-zip bra, staring at myself in an arched full-length mirror next to my wardrobe.

The flab of my lower belly fat looks reduced a bit. I looked it up five minutes ago; most people lose about ten percent of extra weight in the weeks after their surgery. Who knew there was an upside to such risky surgery? Well, besides 'living', I guess.

My hands fiddle with the hemovac's tubes sticking out of my tummy, which are concealed by a dense wrapping of gauze. They don't feel as disturbing as they did when I first woke from surgery, though I get a pang of nausea if I mess with them too much. I withdraw my hands before they linger too long, and then rest my thumbs on either side of the grey pouches' waist strap around me.

Grey...mystical grey...like Doctor Fadel's eyes — his glowing ey-

No. Stop it. That wasn't real. Stop bringing it up.

I screw my eyes shut, tangle my hands in my raveled hair (I've been neglecting it for weeks now, and it seriously needs a comb and good shampooed wash).

My eyes open and I lock them with the mirror once again. I pull out my hands, though it takes a minute to free them from the kinky coils, then I gently bring one to the elevated skin that is the dreaded incision site. Most of it is hidden behind my bra, but the upper-half of it is still visible. It's a mini, frail mountain on my chest, one that feels like it could split open at any moment and leave me an upright corpse with my foreign heart on display. I can't touch it for too long, if I do it leaves my insides unsettled somehow.

The jingle of keys snatches my attention. I back away from the mirror towards the twin bunk bed against the wall behind me. Nilsa sleeps over often, but it was only last year that me, dad, and Nilsa realized how useful — and pricey — a bunk bed could be.

I grab the black t-shirt that I left on the lilac comforter and throw it on just as I hear the front door swing open. Nil's voice resounds through the unit, and the sound of plastic bags shuffling gets louder.

"Yeah, yeah don't worry, mom," Nilsa says into her phone.

She pushes my already ajar bedroom door all the way till it lightly bumps into the wall, and she waddles her way in, her backpack dangling from the crook of her elbow while she presses the phone to her ear, and two white plastic bags carrying foot-long sandwiches in them secured in her free hand. I cross over to her and procure the two bags of sandwiches and then offer my hand out to recieve the phone from her next, but Nil waves me off.

"I got it, don't worry. You should get to it. 끊을게요 (keu-neul-keyo) I'm hanging up." She ends the call and gives me a look of exhaustion. This girl, who also gets up at least four times a week at six in the morning for a run. "Mom says hi."

"I could have just said hi myself," I say as Nil shuffles past me to get to the bottom bunk.

"She didn't have time. She just got to work and there's like seven delivery orders already placed." Nil discards her bag on the floor by the bed, flops onto the comforter, then extends an open-palm while aiming her ravenous gaze at the sandwiches in my hand.

I examine the two foot-longs, then handover the one labeled 'roast beef and egg'. "Remind me why we didn't just opt for some Goyangi Buffet?"

Nilsa's mom does packaging at the only Korean restaurant in the city, Goyangi Buffet. Though me and my dad are not blood related to the Kae's, we're still eligible for family discounts for take-out orders.

"Because if we did, it won't matter if it's me or your dad going inside to pick it up — they'd never let us leave until they had answers: how is Suzie? She did survive, didn't she? Was it a heart attack? Is that what happened to the poor girl?"

Her high-pitched imitation of one of Goyangi Buffet's three managers is spot on, but it's hard to smile when those questions were sounding on-brand to the rumours I would've heard at school today had I not concealed myself.

"Remind me to stay away from that place for a while..." I tell Nilsa. I join her on my bed then get to work unwrapping my sandwich, while she rips a bite from her roast beef and egg, offering intense nods of agreement.

There's a lenient knock at my door, despite it being wide open already. Dad loll's in the doorway with a red apple being slowly rotated in one of his hands, and nonchalance splattered over his face.

"How're the foot-long's?" he asks us.

"Sho gud," Nil answers through a mouth full.

I place down my sandwich and look away from her, appetite fizzling out. "Finish chewing before talking, Nil." She gives me grubby look over her six-inch half, but continues eating mouth closed at least.

"You know," dad goes on, "for a more pleasant dining experience you could join me in the living-room where the table is, and we could fire up Netflix, put on some Breaking Bad."

If only I'd taken a bite of my sandwich, it'd have been easier to suppress the urge to cringe right now. My lips stall looking for an appropriate set of words, but then a fuzzy grin appears in the corner of my eye.

"I'm joking, Sue!" dad chuckles, no trace of that previous nonchalance he fooled me with earlier. I guess sometimes I'm as gullible as Nilsa. "Just wanted to lighten the mood before I say what I really wanted to say."

A cloud passes over his face for a moment, his expression changing so suddenly again. My stomach drops, wondering what's got him anxious again.

"So..." he starts, "I'll be headed back to work soon — likely this Wednesday — same schedule as usual."

"Is that all?" I say out loud, genuinely surprised. This was nothing to be anxious about."You can go to work, dad. I'll be okay. Nilsa will be with me when school's out."

"Just volleyball practice after school every now and then," Nilsa adds with a shrug.

"And it's just an extra hour to two hours which isn't so bad," I continue. "I'll seriously be fine until then."

Dad's not workaholic per say, but he does habitually work full day shifts at least five days a week where he's gone from around 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., sometimes longer if there's an 'event' happening. But what's probably unlike most people, is that my dad actually enjoys his job. Whenever he comes home from work his obvious exhaustion never escapes me, though he never really seems annoyed or dissatisfied with the long day's apparent grueling effort.

"It's been three weeks," I go on to say to him. "I know you don't like being paid to sit at home. All play and no work makes papa very dull, and childish." Nilsa snorts through another bite, and dad's grin is all wide and goofy.

"You know me too well, Sue. I'll go then, but text or call me if anything's wrong or you don't feel well or just to give updates about how the day's go-"

"Dad. Okay, I will. Jeez." With the heaviness gone, I have half a mind to shoot to my feet, march to the door, and shove my dad back so I can get the door closed.

I know he's worried about leaving me alone while I'm still in recovery, but I'm not some helpless infant. I coud use a break from his smothering anyhow. It'd been three weeks of him essentially living at the hospital with me, studying me silently with sideways glances like that was enough to discern whether my heart was acting up or not.

Before the thought of shoving my dad out of my room could simmer any longer to become real, dad strolls inside my room and stops by a wooden nightstand next to my bed. He pushes aside the digital alarm clock that's taking up an absurd amount of space, and sets down a seemingly immaculate royal gala apple.

"Try and sneak in an apple before bed," dad advises. He knows me too well, too; changing the subject when I'm on the verge of being irreversibly peeved, and then delivering my favourite apple. "Alright, I'm going. I'll leave you girls to your sandwiches." He gives me a quick side-hug and punches Nilsa playfully on her shoulder before spinning on his heels and starting for the door. Just as he reaches the threshold though, he turns his head and says as he looks at Nilsa, "and the cookies!"

Nil suddenly sits upright and pauses chewing. "Oh, yeah." Half her sandwich is messily laid down on its wrapping paper while she grabs her bag off the floor and unzips it. My gaze flickers between them, bemused.

Dad doesn't elaborate though. The look in his eyes boasts authority while he still stares at Nil. "Take one or two only. The rest go in the kitchen pantry."

Nilsa pulls out a clear plastic container and gives a brisk shake to its crumbly contents as she holds it midway in the air. "I hear ya, Mr. A!"

Dad narrows his eyes but doesn't say anymore as he finally exits my room. Of course this was about a dessert. While Nilsa sets aside the container of cookies next to what's left of her sandwich, she notices me staring at her. She's obviously going to take more than two.

"Don't tell him," she warns me with minimal heat in her words.

I don't say anything but I do grin back and shake my head. I'm more of a cake person than Nil and my dad, so I'll leave the cookie drama to them. The cookies do look tasty though, I'll admit that. But what are those weird nuts sticking out of them...?

"Uhm, Nil...what kind of cookies are those?"

Nilsa's face turns curious. "Probably not as good as oatmeal, but there almond cookies. We saw this old lady at Subway with a bag full of them and she mentioned they were having a sale at the BlueMart, so your dad..."

I'm not listening anymore. Can't.

Almonds. Acid almonds. The smell in the English classroom. Mr. Hersche's tumbler...

Stop. It. You're not making any sense, and you know it. Think about something else.

"Sue?"

I'm yanked back to present time where Nil's the one staring at me now.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"U-uhm...yeah." I casually move a pillow over the cookie container hoping Nil doesn't notice and question it, and then return my hands to my meatball marinara and swiss. Hopefully it hasn't gotten cold. "Okay, we need to get to work."

There's still a suspicious glint in Nil's eyes, but she doesn't push it, just follows my lead. "On homework? We could get English out of the way first, if you want."

I shake my head 'no' as I finish swallowing a bite of my sandwich. "Homework can wait, there are more important things."

"Like what?"

No more heaviness. No more nonsensical thoughts. "We need to make a plan. The last potential game of the year is next Wednesday at Reamirora, and I have to be there."