My mother stares at me with a worried expression as I wheel around the house. Francis is close behind me in the other wheelchair, trying to catch up to me. When I'm at home I usually don't wear my prosthetic leg. I only ever use it in public so people don't stare as much. Most don't know I'm missing a leg because I always wear pants to hide the prosthetic. At home, I don't have to keep up appearances as much. 

"Be careful, Meg," Mom calls worriedly as Francis and I move past her. 

"Okay, Mom!" I call before turning down the hallway. We both slow down to soothe her nerves. My mom's been really worried about me as of late because of the blood tests. We won't find out the results for a couple more days, and while I'm not that worried, I know she is. Dad's been better at trying to hide how he feels but I see how he looks at me when he thinks I'm not looking. I wish that they'd talk to me about their feelings more often but they don't and I know that one day they're going to explode and start crying.

"So, were we going to work out later today?" Francis asks as he purposely runs his wheelchair into the back of mine.

"Oi, be careful, you know these are expensive," I say, grinning even though both of us know that the chairs would never break. I wheel forward and go to the staircase. "And how about we go now? We can change really quickly and go to the gym," I add as I get out of my chair and sit on the stairs. I begin to scoot up the stairs.

"Oh sure, that's fine with me," Francis says as he eagerly stands and moves both of the chairs off to the side. "You don't need help getting up to your room, right?" he asks, giving me a look with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm fine, thank you though," I say with a slight smile. "I'll meet you outside in ten minutes, I add before crawling my way up the stairs. I hear him leave my house and I put some sweatpants on. 

"You're going out?" Mom asks after I go back downstairs. She's frowning slightly as I put my leg on. "Don't strain yourself, okay?" 

"I promise I'll be careful," I say as I go and wrap my arms around her. "I won't push myself," I add softly.

"If you feel yourself getting faint, tell Francis," Mom says as she kisses my cheek. "I love you, Margaret," she adds quietly.

"I love you too, Mom," I say as I tighten my arms around her a little more. I pull away, grab my phone and a water bottle before walking outside. Francis is waiting for me and we walk over to the gym. It's fairly empty inside which I'm relieved about.

"So let's warm up first," I say when I see Francis beginning to get on the treadmill. "You could hurt yourself if you don't," I add, smirking when he gives me an annoyed 'you're right but I don't want to admit it' look.

"Meg, you know I hate stretching," he huffs as I sit and lean over to grab my toes.

"Then why do you always insist on coming with me to the yoga classes?" I ask, grinning.

"Well sorry for wanting to spend time with you," he grumbles, trying to sound mad. It doesn't work because he's grinning widely.

"One would think we spend too much time together," I muse quietly as I continue to stretch.

"Well we do but neither of us care," he shrugs. "Now, can we please run?" he asks.

"I'm just going to fast walk on the treadmill," I say. He nods, understanding why and together we go to the two free ones in the corner. I don't usually run because it feels weird with my prosthetic leg.

"So, how'd the study session with Styles go?" Francis asks after few minutes of silence. He's somewhat breathless because he's running but he manages to stay somewhat normal. "Anything exciting happen?"

"He was more focused this time," I say as I pull my pony tail tighter. "But I think that was because he was trying to prove a point."

"And that point was?"

"That he cares about actually passing math," I answer. "And I know he will. He's incredibly smart, but he just lacks focus."

"Don't we all," Francis says reminiscently. I give him the side eye because of the fact that he hasn't had to take a math class in two years. Ironic really, considering that he wants to do something in business and will most likely have to work with numbers.

"I just don't understand why he won't ask anyone else to tutor him. Why does it have to be me?"

"Because he likes you, dumb ass," Francis says, rolling his eyes at me. "Does he still call you Peggy?" His breathing becomes more uneven as he continues to run on the treadmill, but he's still trying to hold a conversation with me. 

"Yeah, he is," I sigh heavily. "I can't figure out why he does, either. Is he an asshole, ignorant, or an idiot?" 

"I honestly don't think he realises that it's a mean nickname," Francis says, slowing his pace on the treadmill. "He seems like a nice guy, just a bit clueless."

"So he's an idiot then" I say, not really caring if I'm being mean. "I genuinely don't know how he doesn't know that Peggy is used to mock me. He even walked in on Emilia trying to take my leg off. I...just don't get it."

"Me neither, but maybe he just thinks it's a cute nickname?" Francis suggests. I don't say anything in response, and we silently use the treadmill for the next fifteen minutes. We eventually start doing some ab workouts. 

I get a floor mat and start doing the plank. My goal today is five minutes, but I can already tell that I'm not going to make it. I begin to feel the exhaustion already hitting me by the time I get to the one minute mark and I know better than to push my body any further. I haven't said this to anyone, but I'm fairly confident that my cancer is back. I won't know for sure until find out the results of the blood tests, but I just know it.

I'm always getting tired, my weight has been fluctuating a lot lately and I get bruises way more easily than before. I feel almost the same in the lead up to my first diagnosis and I'm afraid of telling anyone this. I really don't want them to worry but it's only a matter of time before I have to say something. If I wait too long, I could actually die and that would ruin not only my parents but Francis. Those are the three that would really care about my death and I can't let my absence be on their conscience.

After awhile, Francis and I start to do our cool down stretches. As we're putting our towels away, I realise that someone is watching the two of us. After looking around, I'm surprised to see that Harry is walking over towards us. He seems hesitant, and for some reason, a little guilty. 

"Hi Harry," I say, watching him.  

"Um, hi," he mumbles, looking at the ground for a second. "Hi, M-Meg." My eyes widen slightly when I realise that he just called me by my name and I glance over at Francis. He silently motions to me that he's going to wait outside and I nod. 

"What's up?" I ask, leaning against the wall. Harry doesn't say anything for a few moments, and I can tell that he's thinking really hard about what to say next. I don't really know what's wrong with him, but I'm starting to get an idea as to why he's acting this way. 

"Well, uh..." Harry begins nervously. He takes a deep breath before making eye contact with me, looking determined now. "I overheard you and Francis earlier when you were both on the treadmill."

"Oh?" I don't react yet, waiting for him to keep talking. 

"I-I am an idiot," he continues slowly, "I didn't know that Peggy was a hurtful nickname, and...and I'm sorry that I was perpetuating the use of it."

"How'd you not know?" I ask, crossing my arms across my chest. "I know you know about my leg and the bullying. Why didn't you put two and two together?" 

"I just thought it was a variation of Margaret," Harry mumbles. "I thought it was a cute nickname that Francis called you and it just caught on at school. To think I've been making you feel like shit for calling you Peggy..."

"Francis has always called me Meg, Harry," I say sternly, deciding not to be too nice to him. He needs to know how much I've hated people using that stupid nickname. "Emilia came up with the name. She thought it was hilarious and somehow, people just picked it up."

"Shit," he groans. "I'm sorry, P-Meg," Harry says as he follows after me after I decide to leave. "I didn't think...I um, I'm just sorry. You corrected me several times but I always just ignored you and now I feel like a massive ass," he continues.

"Well, now you know, Harry," I say, pausing to look at him before pushing the door open. 

"Why didn't you say anything? Why do you allow people to call you such a horrid nickname?"

"Because I know that after high school, I'll never see these people before," I say. "When we all go to college, I won't be coming back. I'll be moving on and that's all I've ever wanted."

"O-oh," he says quietly. "Well, I guess I should probably let you go. I've already done enough damage," he adds before he begins to walk away. I don't bother to say anything in his defense. "How could I have not known?" I hear him ask as he moves away. I sigh quietly when he's a safe distance away. I watch him for a few seconds as he goes to a punching bag before I turn and leave the gym. Francis looks a little worried as I walk up to him but doesn't say anything as we head home. 

The following day is thankfully Sunday so I don't have to face Harry until Monday. He's texted me a few times but I've ignored them. I know it's childish of me to do so, but it's because I'm scared. He's always been clueless to the origins of my nickname, and despite being annoyed with it, I still found a weird sense of comfort in it. Even though he used the nickname, he never meant it in a malicious way. He always treated me like a normal person. Harry's always seen me as someone who's normal.

I reluctantly get dressed Monday morning and I walk to school with Francis by my side. He leaves me when we notice Harry hanging around my locker. I hear him mutter good luck before sneaking away. I slowly walk up to the curly haired boy and take a deep breath.

"Morning," I say in a neutral tone. I do my usual routine of taking things in and out of my locker before closing it.

"I'm calling you Meg from now on," Harry blurts out. "I've been mulling it over and my behavior these last three years has been absolutely unacceptable. I only have a couple of months left to express how sorry I am and if you'll allow me, I'd like to start now," he adds as he gives me a very serious look. I raise my eyebrow at him, wondering if he's being serious or not. "This is not gimmick, Meg. I just want to prove myself to you and maybe we could be friends," he adds seriously.

"The best way you could prove yourself is by not treating me any differently," I say as I lean against the wall. He copies my action and I'm a little surprised that I'm allowing him to stand so close to me.

"You think I'll pity you now that I know about the nickname?" he asks, surprised. He seems mildly offended but he's not saying anything so I can reply. "I understand that you may not trust my intentions, but I promise that I won't treat you any different. I mean, sure, I may slip up a few times, but I just want to try and--"

"Okay," I say. "If you're really serious about this, then I guess I'll give you a chance," I say.

"Wait really?" Harry asks, smiling widely at me.

"My parents have always wanted me to make more friends," I reply, feeling somewhat flattered that he's so excited about this. His smile widens and I watch as he hastily begins to search his pockets for something. "What are you--" I begin, stopping as I watch him pull out a broken and falling apart daisy flower.

"I um, I know that this is broken but I promise that it was perfect when I first got it," he says, embarrassed. "I thought it would be a nice little gift to give you to apologise so..."

"Cute," I say as I take the broken flower from him. I tuck it behind my ear and I see Harry's confidence come back. "So we're friends now?"

"Only if you want us to be," he replies. The bell rings a few moments later and we both hastily excuse ourselves. When I see Francis in Biology, he eyes the flower in my hair and rolls his eyes at me before muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "doesn't like him my ass".