Zac and Mia

By A. J. Betts

“When I was little I believed in Jesus and Santa, spontaneous combustion, and the Loch Ness monster. Now I believe in science, statistics, and antibiotics.” So says seventeen-year-old Zac Meier during a long, grueling leukemia treatment in Perth, Australia. A loud blast of Lady Gaga alerts him to the presence of Mia, the angry, not-at-all-stoic cancer patient in the room next door. Once released, the two near-strangers can’t forget each other, even as they desperately try to resume normal lives. The story of their mysterious connection drives this unflinchingly tough, tender novel told in two voices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Sep 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9780544453272

A. J. Betts

A. J. Betts grew up in Far North Queensland, Australia. She has taught in Brisbane and traveled the world with a backpack and camera. When she’s not writing or teaching, she rides bikes, bakes, and occasionally communes with the sea lions that live near her home in Watermans Bay. Visit her website at www.ajbetts.com.

Book preview

PART ONE

Zac

1

Zac

A newbie arrives next door. From this side of the wall I hear the shuffle of feet, unsure of where to stand. I hear Nina going through the arrival instructions in that buoyant air hostess way, as if this flight will go smoothly, no need to pull the emergency exit lever. Just relax and enjoy the service. Nina has the kind of voice you believe.

She’ll be saying, This remote is for your bed. See? You can tilt it here, or recline it with this button. See? You try.

Ten months ago, Nina explained these things to me. It was a Tuesday. Plucked from a math class in period two, I was bustled into the car with Mum and an overnight bag. On the five-hour drive north to Perth, Mum used words like precautions and standard testing. But I knew then, of course. I’d been tired and sick for ages. I knew.

I was still wearing my school uniform when Nina led me into Room 6 and showed me how to use the bed remote, the TV remote, and the internal phone. With a flick of her wrist she demonstrated how to tick the boxes on the blue menu card: breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner. I was glad Mum was paying attention, because all I could think about was the heaviness of my school bag and the English essay that was due the next day, the one I’d gotten an extension for already. I do remember the clip Nina had in her hair, though. It was a ladybug with six indented spots. Funny how the brain does things like that. Your whole world is getting sucked up and tossed around and the best you can do is fixate on something small and unexpected. The ladybug seemed out of place, but like a piece of junk in the ocean it was something, at least, to cling to.

I can recite the nurses’ welcoming spiel by heart these days. If you get cold, there are blankets in here, Nina will be saying. I wonder what hair clip she’s wearing today.

So, says Mum, as casually as she can. A new arrival.

And I know that she loves it and hates it. Loves it because there’s someone new to meet and greet. Hates it because this shouldn’t be wished on anyone.

When did we last get a new one? Mum recalls names. Mario, prostate; Sarah, bowel; Prav, bladder; Carl’s colon; Annabelle . . . what was she?

They’ve all been oldies over sixty, well entrenched in their cycles. There was nothing new or exciting about any of them.

A nurse darts past the round window in my door—Nina. Something yellow’s in her hair. It could be a chicken. I wonder if she has to go to the kids’ section of stores to buy them. In the real world, it’d be weird for a twenty-eight-year-old woman to wear plastic animals in her hair, wouldn’t it? But in here, it kind of makes sense.

My circular view of the corridor returns to normal: a white wall and two-thirds of the VISITORS, IF YOU HAVE A COUGH OR COLD, PLEASE STAY AWAY sign.

Mum mutes the TV with the remote and shifts in her chair. Hoping to pick up vital audio clues, she turns her head so her good ear is nearest the wall. When she tucks her hair behind her ear, I see there’s more gray than there used to be.

Mum—

Shhh. She leans closer.

At this point, the standard sequence is as follows: The new patient’s significant other comments on the view, the bed, and the size of the bathroom. The patient agrees. There’s the flicking through the six TV channels, then a switching off. Often, there’s nervous laughter at the gray stack of disposable urinals and bedpans, prompted by the naive belief the patient will never be weak enough or desperate enough to use them.

And then there’s a stretch of silence that follows their gaze from one white wall—with its plugs and label-makered labels and holes for things they can’t even imagine yet—to the other. They track the walls, north to south, east to west, before they sag with the knowledge that this has become real, that treatment will start tomorrow, and this bed will become home for several days, on again, off again, in well-planned cycles for however many months or years it’ll take to beat this thing, and there is no emergency exit lever. Then the significant other will say, Oh, well, it’s not so bad. Oh, look, you can see the city from here. Look.

Sometime later, after unpacking clothes and trying out the cafeteria’s coffee for the first time, the new person inevitably crawls into bed with two magazines and the knowledge that this isn’t a flight after all, but a cruise, and their room is a cabin beneath the water’s surface, where land is something only to dream of.

But whoever is in Room 2 isn’t following the standard sequence of action. There’s a loud thump of a bag and that’s it. There’s no unzipping. There’s no click-clacking of coat hangers at the back of the wardrobe, no rattling of toiletries in the top drawer. Worse, there’s no soothing verbal exchange.

Mum turns to me. I should go say hi.

Only because you’re losing, I say, trying to buy the new patient some time. Mum’s only behind by five points and admittedly we’re both having a crap round. My best word has been BOGAN, which caused some debate. Hers was GLUM, which is pretty sad.

Mum lays out BOOT and adds six points to her score. Nina didn’t mention there was a new admission.

She says this without irony, as if she actually expects to be told of the comings and goings of patients on Ward 7G. Mum’s been here so long, she’s forgotten she belongs somewhere else.

It’s too soon.

Just a tea . . .

My mother: the Unofficial Welcoming Committee of the oncology ward. The maker of calming teas, and the bringer of cafeteria scones with individual portions of plum jam. The self-appointed sounding board for patients’ families.

Finish the game, I tell her.

But what if they’re alone? Like what’s-his-name? Remember him?

"Maybe they want to be on their own." Isn’t that normal? To want to be alone sometimes?

Shush!

Then I hear it too. I can’t make out the words at first—there’s a plaster wall between us, about six centimeters I guess—but I hear a simmering of sounds.

Two women, Mum says, her hazel eyes dilating. Her mouth twists as she listens to the s’s and t’s that spit and hiss. One is older than the other.

Stop snooping, I tell her, but it’s not as if we can help it. The voices are growing louder, words firing like projectiles: Shouldn’t! Stop! Don’t! Wouldn’t!

"What is going on in there?" Mum asks, and I offer her my empty glass to press, spy-like, against the wall.

Don’t be a smartass, she says, and then, That doesn’t actually work, does it?

It’s not as if my family doesn’t fight. There were times, years ago, when Mum and Bec would go right off. They’d be on their feet, vicious as rottweilers. Dad and Evan would back out of the house, escaping to the olive farm, where blistering voices couldn’t follow, but I’d often stay on the veranda, not trusting them to be left alone.

The fights lost their intensity once Bec turned eighteen. It helped that she moved into the old house next door, which was once used for workers. She’s twenty-two now and pregnant, and she and Mum are close. They’re still as stubborn as hell, but they’ve learned how to laugh at each other.

There’s no laughing in Room 2. The voices sound dangerous. There’s swearing—then a door shuts. It doesn’t slam, because all the doors are spring-loaded, closing with a controlled, unsatisfying whoosh. Then footsteps rush the corridor. A woman’s head flashes past my window. She’s short—her head skims the bottom edge. She’s wearing brown-rimmed glasses and a tortoiseshell claw that grips most of her sandy hair. Her right hand clutches the back of her neck.

Beside me, Mum is all meerkat. Her attention twitches from the door to the wall, then to me. After twenty days in Room 1, she’s forgotten that out in the real world people get pissed off, that tempers are short, like at school, where kids arc up after getting bumped in the lunch line. She’s forgotten about egos and rage.

Mum readies herself to launch into action: to follow that woman and offer tea, date scones, and a shoulder to lean on.

Mum.

Yes?

Save the pep talk for tomorrow.

You think?

What I think is that they’ll both need more than Mum’s counsel. They’ll need alcohol, probably. Five milligrams of Valium, perhaps.

I lay down NOSY, snapping the squares onto the board, but Mum doesn’t take the bait.

Why would anyone argue like that? In a cancer ward? Surely they’d just—

As if through a megaphone, a voice comes booming through the wall.

What . . . on . . . earth . . . ?

Then a beat kicks in that jolts us both. Mum’s letters clatter to the floor.

Music, of sorts, is invading my room at a level previously unknown on Ward 7G. The new girl must have brought her own speakers and lumped them on the shelf above the bed, facing the wall, then cranked them right up to the max. Some singer howls through the plaster. Doesn’t she know it’s our wall?

Mum’s sprawled on all fours, crawling under my bed to retrieve her seven letters, while the room throbs with electropop ass-squeezing and wanting it bad. I’ve heard the song before, maybe a year or two ago.

When Mum gets up off the floor, she’s holding a bonus T and X, a strawberry lip balm, and a Mintie.

Who’s the singer? Mum asks.

"How would I know?" It’s whiny and it’s an assault on my senses.

It’s like a nightclub in here, she says.

Since when have you been in a nightclub?

Mum raises an eyebrow as she unwraps the Mintie. To be fair, I haven’t been in a nightclub either, so neither of us is qualified to make comparisons. The noise level is probably more blue-light disco, but it’s a shock for two people who’ve spent so long in a quiet, controlled room with conservative neighbors.

Is it Cher? I liked Cher . . .

I’m not up to speed on female singers with single names. Rihanna? Beyoncé? Pink? Painful lyrics pound their way through the wall.

Then it hits me. The newbie’s gone Gaga. The girl’s got cancer and bad taste?

Or is it Madonna?

Are you still playing or what? I say, intersecting BOOT with KNOB. The song is banging on about riding on a disco stick. Seriously?

Mum finally pops the Mintie into her mouth. It must be a young one, she says softly. Young ones upset her more than old ones. Such a shame. Then she turns to me and is reminded that, yes, I’m a young one too. She looks down at her hand of disjointed letters, as if trying to compose a word that could make sense of this.

I know what she’s thinking. Damn it, I’ve come to know her too well.

They must be good speakers, don’t you think? she says.

What?

We should have brought your speakers from home, shouldn’t we? Or bought some. I could go shopping tomorrow.

Go steal hers.

She’s upset.

That song is destroying my white blood cell count.

I’m only half joking.

The song ends, but there’s no justice, because it starts again. The same song. Honestly, Lady freaking Gaga? At this volume?

It’s your turn. Mum places BOARD carefully on the . . . board. Then she plucks another four letters from the bag as if everything is normal and we’re not being aurally abused.

"The song’s on repeat, I say, unnecessarily. Can you ask her to stop?"

Zac, she’s new.

"We were all new once. It’s no excuse for . . . that. There’s got to be a law. A patient code of ethics."

Actually, I don’t mind it. Mum nods her head as proof. Bopping, I believe it’s called.

I look into my lap at the T F J P Q R S. I don’t even have a vowel.

I give up. I can’t think; don’t want to. I’ve had enough of this song, now playing for the third time in a row. I try to suffocate myself with a pillow.

Do you want a tea? Mum asks.

I don’t want tea—I never want tea—but I nod so I can be alone for a few minutes, or an hour, if she tracks down the newbie’s significant other and performs emergency scone therapy in the patients’ lounge.

I hear water running as Mum follows the hand-washing instructions conscientiously.

I won’t be long.

Go! I say. Save yourself.

When the door closes behind her, I release the pillow. I slide my Scrabble letters into the box and recline my bed to horizontal. I’m finally granted precious mother-free time and it’s ruined by this. The song begins for the fourth time.

How is it possible that Room 1 can be such an effective sanctuary from the germs of the outside world, but so pathetic at protecting me from the hazards of shit music?

I can’t hear the girl—I can’t hear anything but that song—but I reckon she’s lying on her bed, mouthing the lyrics, while I’m doing my best to ignore them.

Room 2 is pretty much identical to mine. I know; I’ve stayed there before. They have the same wardrobe, same bathroom, same paint and blinds. Everything is in duplicate, but as a mirror image. If looked at from above, the bed headboards would appear to back onto each other, separated only by the six-centimeter width of this wall.

If she’s lying on her bed right now, we are practically head-to-head.

Farther down the corridor, there are six other single rooms, then eight twin-bedders. I’ve been in each of them. When I was diagnosed the first time in February, I became a frequent flyer for six months, moving through cycles of induction, consolidation, intensification, and maintenance. At the end of each chemo cycle, Mum would drive us the five hundred kilometers back home, where I’d rest, get some strength, and make it to a day or two of school, even though my classmates were preparing for exams I wouldn’t get to take. Then we’d yo-yo back to Perth, settling in to whichever room was free and bracing ourselves for the next hit.

We both expected chemo to work. It didn’t.

If you can’t zap it, swap it, Dr. Aneta had rallied when I relapsed. On a planner she highlighted a fluorescent yellow block from November 18 to December 22. Zac Meier, she printed. Bone Marrow Transplant. Room 1. The first eight or nine days would be to zap me again, she explained, ready for the transplant on Day 0. The rest of the stay would be for strict isolation, to heal and graft in safety.

Five weeks in the same room? Shit, even high-security prisoners get more freedom than that.

She clicked the lid back onto the pen. At least you’ll be out in time for Christmas.

Before leukemia, I had enough trouble sitting in a room for two hours, let alone a whole day. Everything interesting happened outside: football, cricket, the beach, and the farm. Even at school, I’d always sit by the window so I could see what I was missing out on.

Room One’s got the best view, Dr. Aneta said, as if that could sweeten it. As if I had a choice.

The song ends and I hold my breath. For a moment, I hear only the predictable sounds: the whir of my drip, the hum of my bar fridge.

I wonder if the newbie is counting the squares on her ceiling for the first time. There are eighty-four, I could tell her. Eighty-four, just like mine. Or maybe she’s already recounting them the opposite way, just to be sure.

• • •

Eighteen freaking times? Methotrexate is nothing—this is killing me.

The nurses are still in their weekly meeting, so there’s no one to save me from this endless cycle of crap. Who would listen to a song eighteen times? Make it nineteen. Is this girl mental? Is she experimenting with a new form of therapy, trying to make her cancerous cells spontaneously self-destruct? Is there some Lady Gaga Miracle Cancer Cure I haven’t heard of?

Old patients never do this kind of thing. They have respect. Admittedly, Bill can turn his radio up too loud for the dog races, but the volume only reaches mildly annoying, not all-consuming. Then there’s Martha, whose high-pitched cackle is grating, but only when she’s drinking rooibos tea.

It’s not as if I can get up off this bed, walk out the door, and find a quiet broom closet to hide myself in. Thanks to Bone Marrow Transplant Protocol I’m stuck in this four-by-five-meter room. Twenty days down, fifteen to go—which is too long to be held hostage to the obsessive compulsions of a girl next door. All I can do is put my pillow over my head and hope she’s got Hodgkin’s lymphoma, with a one-day-a-month cycle. I can’t contemplate the possibility of her being an AML or ALL. If she’s getting a BMT, I’m legging it.

The song begins again, making it twenty—the number I decided would be my breaking point. I have to do something before my ears start to bleed.

A shout won’t penetrate her Gaga-thon. How else can I communicate through a six-centimeter-thick wall?

I get up off the bed and notice my hands are bunched into fists. So I use one.

I knock. Politely at first, as if I’m a visitor to someone’s house. I knock, hoping the message gets through.

No. It doesn’t seem to.

I knock again, in sets of three, as insistent as a courier this time. Knock knock knock. Wait. Knock knock knock.

The song reaches the chorus I’ve come to hate so much. Worse, I now know all the lyrics.

I bang harder, like an annoyed brother locked out. My fist thumps every beat in time, banging them so loudly, she must be hearing them in stereo. The wall on her side has to be bouncing with the impact.

The

Reviews for Zac and Mia

[readingbeader · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Zac & Mia wants to be the next TFIOS. It doesn't make it, but it's a pretty good attempt. It makes a good read alike.

[leslie398 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I found Zac a lot more interesting than Mia. Mia's total self-absorption was realistic of some (many?) teenagers but she just pissed me off!

[tonifgmamtc · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is the story of two teens going through cancer treatment. They have all of the usual issues with relationships, self-image and everything else that comes at that difficult age. Plus, they have cancer and treatments. It’s very relatable even to an adult or someone without a major illness. Readers nearing adulthood are the best audience probably, but I really liked it.

[mtlkch-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Getting tired of books trying to be like The Fault in Our Stars

[lillibrary · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An engaging read with realistic characters, a strong supporting cast and a detailed and believable hospital setting. Zac and Mia are opposites: he's level-headed and she's explosive, he's logical and she's emotional, he has empathy, she has ego. Both have cancer, but Mia is not exactly grateful when Zac points out that she's the luckiest one in the oncology ward.

Unfortunately, this book has already been compared to John Green's The Fault in Our Stars (as will any book written about teens with cancer for the next 30 years). While the subject may be the same, the books are vastly different in tone and style and, to Zac and Mia's credit, should stand on their own merits.

[heatherlinc · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In my opinion, this was a copy-cat of "The Fault in Our Stars" right down to one of the protagonists having part of their leg amputated but, overall, John Green did a far better job. While I liked Zac's voice from the beginning, Mia annoyed me with her continual self-pity and her crazy antics. She never felt real to me and I found it difficult to empathise with her. Zac, on the other hand, was far more authentic with his vulnerability, strength and sense of humour. However, despite my misgivings about the book, I think lovers of "The Fault in Our Stars" will gravitate towards this book.

[kateh.g1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Zac and Mia starts out in a hospital. Zac has cancer and his mom is staying by his side every step of the way. Zac is bored out of his mind sitting in the hospital room because of treatment until Mia shows up. She is a mystery to him, the only interesting thing at this point. He tries to imagine what she is going through and her life,but that doesn’t go so well for him. She is trying so hard to keep her lives separated. Its when she realizes that there is nothing more she can do and she needs to accept it. She gets bored of life and Zac has left. She leaves to early, before she is healed and she pays for. Zac is healed, but before he knows it he is in relapse. Mia has gotten back to life and her mom and her are finally getting along again. Mia thinks that Zac forgot about her and she becomes depressed. It turns out that he is in relapse and he doesn’t want to go through chemo again. A.J. Betts did a great job writing this. It started out as Zac telling the story from his point of view,but by the end, Mia was telling it. There were a few unexpected events, it was like The Fault in our Stars. I think that Mia’s character and personality added a lot of unexpected events and twists to the story. The fact that Zac memorized statistics about cancer treatments really added his character to the book. I thought Mr. Betts kept the story moving and there wasn’t a boring or slow part throughout the book.

[tjsjohanna_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The development of both Zac and Mia is what makes this book so good. Watching Zac try to help Mia cope with cancer is particularly meaningful when the giving comes full circle.

[mjspear_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Zac and Mia meet in a hospital cancer ward; their communication starts with a tap on the wall, since Zac is confined to his room following a bone marrow transplant. From there, their relationship develops into a friendship (with hints of a romance) of two very different kids, in different situations. Zac is a good guy: solid, level-headed and well adjusted. Mia is a spit fire: angry, defiant, and morally challenged. Zac comes from a middle-class, loving family; Mia has only a mother who can't deal with her free-spirited daughter. Mia has a cancerous tumor on her leg and Zac has leukemia. Satisying story... not too cloying or sentimental. Nonetheless, comparisons to FAULT IN OUR STARS and the TV Show, RED BAND SOCIETY are inevitable Z & M holds its own.Some readers may be put off by Western Australian setting and the fauna (Zac's family lives on a small farm). The language and brief sex scenes are jarring in an otherwise PG rated narrative.

[fueledbycoffee · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh, so good. Fantastic book. Those Aussie writers. Wow.

[lostinalibrary · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Seventeen-year-old Zac is in isolation in the Adult Oncology Ward after a bone marrow transplant. He’s allowed no visitors except his mom and pretty much everyone else on the ward is old enough to be his grandparent. So when he starts hearing a Lady Gaga song played repeatedly and at high volume through the wall, he begins to wonder about the patient in the next room. He learns her name is Mia, they’re the same age and she too suffers from cancer although a less deadly form (Zac knows because he collects cancer stats). What starts as a few knocks on the wall soon becomes a sort-of friendship over text-messaging and Facebook but over time it will become a true friendship built around more than their disease. Since John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars, it seems like every other YA novel these days is ‘sick-lit’, kids with devastating and preferably terminal diseases. Too often, these books just feel like deliberate attempts to pluck at our heart-strings – maudlin stories of brave kids who refuse to be beaten emotionally even as their disease of the week is beating them physically. The problem with this is that some very good books can get lost among all the rip-offs.I’ll admit that I expected more of the same when I began Zac and Mia by author AJ Betts and I’ll admit I was wrong. This is more a story of friendship between two young people who are brought together by their illnesses but who form a real bond. The book is divided between the two characters and their voices are very distinct. Zac is much more likeable, more able to rise above his illness thanks to a large and loving family - it also doesn’t hurt that he lives on a farm that contains a veritable petting zoo including a kangaroo. Mia is less likeable but perhaps more like a real teenager – she’s the only child of a single mother, she whines, she’s obsessed with the things that most teenaged girls are, her looks, her boyfriend, and the perfect dress for the prom, and she blames everyone from her mother, to the doctors, to Zac for what happened to her because she doesn’t know how else to deal. In the end, Zac and Mia is less about their disease and more about friendship and family. It is a sweet and sweetly funny novel, the kind that will bring a smile where a less well-written book would wring a tear. But, still, you might want to keep a box of tissues near by just in case.

[edgoldberg · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

You’ll need your tissue box for this one folks…well at least I did. Zac has had a few rounds and relapses ofZacAndMia leukemia and is now in the hospital (Room 1) recovering from a bone marrow transplant. It’s pretty much isolation other than the fact that his mother stays with him, despite his entreaties for her to go home.A new patient enters Room 2. Typically they’re older people but this one seems young. Since the walls are thin (6 centimeters according to Zac who is a numbers, statistics person) he can hear the arguing in the next room. When Lady Gaga is put on a continuous loop, as loud as it can go, Zac’s sure it’s a young girl. It turns out that the pain in her ankle wasn’t due to a sprain. It was cancerous.Unlikely as it is, since they are both isolated, Zac and Mia develop some sort of friendship through the walls and notes passed back and forth via Nina, the nurse.Zac and Mia are a contrast in personalities. Zac is the old pro at this and wishes he could tell Mia what to do–crushed ice helps, grilled cheese with ketchup when your taste buds dull due to chemo. He’d also like to tell her that statistically, her chances are 98% that she’ll be cancer free for 5 years once her treatment is over. Mia on the other hand is mad, belligerent, despondent. Yet, at 3 AM, the cursed hour, when both are up, they communicate through Facebook.If John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars set the kids with cancer standard, Zac & Mia by A. J. Betts is not far behind. The locale is Australia and is peppered with alpaca and kangaroos. It’s poignant, funny, sad, teary. Readers will fall in love with Mia and Zac, absolutely. While no one can understand what they go through unless they’ve been there, readers will get a good idea.I’m going out on a limb and saying this will make my Top 10 list this year, it’s that good. So, on a day when you’re indoors, it’s dreary out, and you need to involve yourself in a book, sad story, get out your tissue box, put up a hot chocolate, put your feet under the blanket and read. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. But you’ll be better for it.

[shelleyraec · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A.J. Betts won the Text Prize for YA and Children’s Writing in 2012 for her unpublished manuscript of Zac and Mia. Set in Western Australia, it is the story of two teenagers who meet while receiving treatment for cancer.Seventeen year old Zac Meier is partway through an enforced period of isolation after a bone marrow transplant to treat his second re-occurrence of acute myeloid leukemia. Stuck in the adult oncology ward, with only his mother and the nurses asking about his bowel movements for company, when a blast of Lady Gaga penetrates the thin adjoining wall of his hospital room, Zac is intrigued by his new neighbour, Mia.Before her diagnosis of osteosarcoma Mia gave little thought to the future but she could never have imagined she would face it as a ‘one legged freak’. Furious with everyone and everything, including herself, and desperate to deny the reality of her situation, Mia tries to run as far away as she can from her old life.The narrative is shared between the perspectives of Zac and Mia. Betts characterisation is credible and I felt her portrayal of her protagonist’s emotions and behaviours was realistic.Zac is an easy character to like, he is sweet, thoughtful and deals with the indignities cancer treatment forces upon him graciously. His family is supportive, with his mother rarely leaving his bedside. He has a sense of humour about his situation, and remains hopeful even despite his bleak odds of long term survival.“I don’t moan about treatment because what’s the point? The way I figure it, this is just a blip. The average life span for an Australian male is currently seventy nine years or 948 months. This hospital stay, plus the rounds of chemo and the follow up visits, add up to about nine months. That’s only 1.05 percent of my life spent with needles and chemicals, which, put into perspective, is less that one of the tiles of the eighty-four on the ceiling. So, in the scheme of things, it’s nothing.”Mia is a seemingly less sympathetic character, she is bitter, angry and absorbed by her own misery after her diagnosis, however I never held that against her. In truth, Mia is simply terrified and, completely overwhelmed, lashes out indiscriminately.“Lucky?While my friends were dancing at Summadayze, I was kept in observation with intravenous morphine. I pitched in and out of the world, visited by shrinks who attempted to talk about change and perspective and body image and luck. Then they hooked me up to more chemo. I couldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk, didn’t watch when the wound was unbandaged or the staples taken out. I tried to trick myself beyond my fucked-up body, slipping between vivid dreams until the morphine was taken away and I was left to live like this.”The relationship that develops between Zac and Mia is well crafted and believable. Despite their differences, the pair form a tentative friendship, starting with a few taps on the hospital wall dividing them. It isn’t until Mia unexpectedly turns up on Zac’s doorstep once he is home though that the pair really begin to get to know one another.While there is a touch of romance, it is important to note that Zac and Mia isn’t a love story. This is a story about friendship, understanding, family and finding the strength to face life’s difficult challenges. It is poignant and sweet, though Betts doesn’t gloss over the darker realities of battling cancer.The comparisons between Zac and Mia and John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars are almost inevitable given the similar premise, so I think it is important to point out that author interviews have them drafting their novels at about the same time and published only months apart (Text publishing 2012) . I loved The Fault In Our Stars but of the two, I think Zac and Mia is the more genuine story.

[muddyboy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A novel told in two voices, both young cancer patients in a treatment center and beyond. Their evolutionary relationship starts as bumping through a mutual wall, growing through social media and ultimately in a face to face relationship. Zac has Leukemia and Mia has a cancerous growth on her ankle which causes her leg to be partially amputated, These two could not be more different but are able to bond together in a very special way. A realistic and sensitive story of teenagers struggling through a very hard time. Nice.

[brandileigh2003 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I wanted to read Zac and Mia because I am drawn to stories about sick kids. I blame Lurlene McDaniel because she is one of the first authors who wrote about something like that I picked up and it totally made me emotional and I loved every second. Now, that has opened the door for me picking up all kinds of different novels dealing with illnesses and kids facing hard times, and I still fall for the emotional as well as the strength and hope in the kids even if they are facing down death or situations they should never have to. It starts with Zac's point of view, and you could tell that he knew the routine of being in the hospital. He knew the welcome speech, and could anticipate the questions his mom would ask him. Questions that moms usually don't get away with asking teenage boys, but he has cancer and is post bone marrow transplant. He keeps his sense of humor though, and tries to stay positive. Most of all I like him even more because he humors his mom, and he plays games with her since their family is further away and she sticks by his side. I love that added family element and you can tell that his mom cares a lot for him, and tries to be hip and do things he would want like asking to play CUD (should be CoD--Call of Duty) something that I think she would normally never get into or enjoy. His mom is also the unofficial social coordinator. She will have tea (its australian) with other spouses or parents and be an ear to talk about what they're going through, and also I think to give her an outlet to talk with other adults. It functions also to let us know what is going on outside Zac's room since he can't leave for awhile because of his treatment. There is a major shift about halfway through, we start getting Mia's point of view and Zac is finally released. It is amazing to see how their friendship grows... From the taps and knocks to facebook to real life. How much they need each other, and help each other through the really dark time. While there is some chemistry between the two, I like the predominant focus being on healing and figuring how to deal with the hand that life has dealt them. I loved getting to know Zac's family. The dynamics there are even better once he is released. They live on an olive farm, where people come to pick them, and they also have all the barnyard animals for people to pet, and it falls on the family to take care of the farm, but you can tell they love it and want their hands to be in dirt or on fur somehow or another. His older sister also stole my heart. She lived in a seperate house and was able to help Zac at a time his mom wouldn't have understood. She is so understanding and hip, and wants the best for Zac and also able to help and encourage him. While there are the light things, especially Zac's fascination with Emma Watson (Hermione from Harry Potter). He was very focused on statistics on death and cancer... survival rates, remission and relapse percentages, and also to some extent numbers about other kind of death. There is also talk of losing hair, bowel movements, and puke. It never really gets too graphic but there are some darker themes that we get via Zac. Oh and yes, some compare to Fault in Our Stars... Its two kids with cancer, a boy and a girl. Mia has the osteosarcoma, and there is some sarcasm. But. There were cancer books about teens before TFiOS and will be after as well. A lot of cancer books have certain themes in common, but so do books about vampires. The author's style of writing, and the character journeys and personalities are what makes books different. One thing that kept things light was the sarcasm and Zac's sense of humor. I really like him and how real he was... But at the same time while he didn't sugarcoat things, he also was able to laugh at himself. The setting was also unique. We are in australia with Zac and Mia, and his farm with the joeys (roos). There was some slang that I wasn't used to and a few that I didn't know what it meant, but it really didn't effect my enjoyment. I liked the ending and also seeing the role reversal of sorts. They had both learned so much from cancer, from their family, even though Mia pushes hers away and is angry at some of the choices. It ended on a hopeful note but for the type of novel, it was perfect and not too over the top or unrealistic, but enough for me to be satisfied. Bottom Line: Emotional journey of two teens with cancer and their friendship.

[radioactivebookworm · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Goodreads Synopsis: The last person Zac expects in the room next door is a girl like Mia, angry and feisty with questionable taste in music. In the real world, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—be friends with her. In hospital different rules apply, and what begins as a knock on the wall leads to a note—then a friendship neither of them sees coming.You need courage to be in hospital; different courage to be back in the real world. In one of these worlds Zac needs Mia. And in the other Mia needs Zac. Or maybe they both need each other, always.My Review: I read the beginning of this book in that YA Buzz Books 2014 book, and absolutely fell in love with it. So I downloaded it. And started reading it. And I was definitely not disappointed. At the beginning of the book, Zac is in isolation. His only friend, his mom, has overstayed her welcome in his hospital room, but who is he to tell her to leave? There's a newbie moving into the room next to him, blasting some lady gaga song, and all he wants is a little peace and quiet. Until they start getting to know each other. It starts with some knocking on the wall, passing notes, and then adding the other on facebook. It only goes up from there. It's a heartwarming story about the two of them, starting by getting to know Zac, and then every other chapter is about him, and by the end, it's all about Mia. I absolutely loved it. Definitely check it out if you get the chance, you won't be disappointed! Thanks for reading. (Radioactivebookreviews.wordpress.com)