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My Story (Never Ever)

People call me Amelia Bedelia, but I'm just Bedelia. Mom calls me Delia. I like that.
Too bad she won't be able to do that anymore, probably. I feel sick to my stomach right now. I'm sitting in the waiting room at the hospital, nervously cleaning my smudged glasses. Dad puts a hand on my knee.
"You're nervous," he says in a low voice.
I swallow and put my glasses back on. "How can you tell?"
Dad holds my hand. "Your freckles always get more prominent when you're nervous."
I just nod, letting my hand limply slip out of his grip.
"Hey," Dad whispers. "It'll turn out alright. More and more people are surviving cancer nowadays."
I turn away from him. "People still die from it," I say under my breath. "Just like Mom's gonna die."
Dad rubs my hand. "Don't say that. She's getting tests right now, to see how bad it is. Who knows? Maybe it will only be minor."
"Maybe? You mean there's a possibility that it will be-" I gulp. "-major?"
"Honey, of course there is. But we can only hope right now."
I lean over and vomit in the trash can. My face is covered in a light sheen of sweat. "Maybe Mom will be okay," I whisper to Dad. "But maybe it'll turn out that she has a big tumor, taking over her system, and she won't even make it a week before... before..." Tears wet my cheeks, and I wipe them away.
Dad just nudges me, pointing to the door. Mom emerges, with a bandage on her arm and a photo in her hand. She smiles, although I can see weariness underneath her happy exterior.
"Hey, Delia," she says, hugging me. My heart beats fast.
"Hi," I mumble. "What did they say?"
She holds up the picture, which turns out to be an x-ray. "It's not minor, but it's not major. They'll be able to take care of it. Don't worry. I'll have to lose my hair, but other than that, we can be the same family. Trust me."