Send Me a Sign (13 page)

I had to get over this. This had to be another piece of home-from-hospital readjustment.

I took his pick from my pocket, gave it one last squeeze, then dropped it on top of the tear-soggy tissues in my trash can.

Chapter 14

On Gyver’s second-to-last day of vacation, the last Friday of summer, Mom and I went to a meeting at East Lake High. A meeting about me—and how to accommodate my leukemia.

I hadn’t wanted to go. I wanted my hospital life and school life to stay separate from each other. I wanted to leave my illness at the hospital door and not deal with it until I returned in three weeks for my next round of chemo. I wanted to enter the lobby of East Lake High and be the same girl I’d been on the last day of school in June. I wanted the impossible.

After the meeting, Mom dropped me home on her way to work. Dad was waiting at the kitchen table, a notepad and pens all ready. “How’d it go?”

He’d had an open house that morning, and Mom was pissed he’d missed the meeting, but this worked out perfectly. Explaining it to Dad—logical, list-making Dad—would help it make sense to me. He was the perfect person to rehash this with.

Well, him or Gyver—but I needed to stop depending on Gyver so much. Hil would’ve been a good choice too; she’d get mama-bear protective and point out all the places Principal Baker’s idea of East Lake didn’t match the reality. But she clearly wasn’t an option.

I sat in the chair across from Dad and started with the worst part. “Principal Baker wanted to make a cause out of me. He had all these plans to make me a poster child for leukemia awareness, with assemblies and fund-raisers.”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “I assume your mom had some words to say about that.”

I nodded. “He’s probably already shredded all related documents.”

“God love her, your mother is a force of nature.” He laughed. “Then that’s resolved. Let’s focus on what’s in place. Let me see the paperwork.” Dad took the manila folder,
um-hmm
ing and nodding as he read through the provisions for extended absences, make-up work, and home care.

He took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This all looks pretty standard. It’s in line with what I’ve researched. Does it look good to you?”

“They wanted to change my schedule. Ms. Piper, the guidance counselor, suggested I drop my AP classes and take easier ones.”

“I bet your mom had something to say about that too. What do you think?”

I told him the same thing I’d told Ms. Piper and Principal Baker. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain.”

Dad nodded, looking satisfied. “This looks good, and we can always revisit it later if it needs changes. How about some lunch? Grilled cheese?”

I wanted more from him. Less logic and more acknowledgment that my high school experience was never going to be the same. These sheets of paper were documentation of how much had changed.

If I couldn’t have that, I needed a reprieve. A place to pretend this wasn’t going on. “No, thanks. I’m going to go have lunch with Hil.”

An hour at Iggy’s with a Diet Coke, salad, and Hil chattering about Keith leaving for college and whether or not she should’ve called to wish him luck was exactly what I needed.

“Hey.” There was a tap on my doorframe, and Gyver’s voice floated through the crack.

“Welcome back! How was Martha’s Vineyard?” My arms were full of clothes, so I nudged the door open with my foot. Jinx followed him into my room.

“Warm and beachy. Did you miss me?”

“Of course!” More than I’d admit; more than was acceptable. Dumping the clothes on my bed, I curled into a hug and inhaled his scent. When the embrace stretched to a length bordering on ridiculous, I stepped away and folded a shirt. “Look at your tan. I’m jealous.”

Gyver shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m Italian. Mom’s pleased the plants are looking green and leafy. She says thanks. What’s going on in here? Laundry?”

“Just picking out clothes.”

“Ah yes, the all-important first-day-of-school outfit. Feel free to model for me.” He spun my desk chair and sat.

I ignored him. “Jinx, get off the bed—I don’t need cat hair on everything. Here, you take her.” I passed the cat to Gyver. “It’s my second-day outfit. Hil and Ally want the squad to wear our uniforms tomorrow.”

“Because nothing makes a good first impression like a miniskirt in school colors.”

I crossed my arms and snapped at him, “It’s a spirit thing—you wouldn’t understand.”

Gyver tapped my foot with his. “Probably not, but I didn’t come over to talk about your pompoms. I wanted to see who was driving tomorrow.”

“Actually, Ryan’s picking me up.”

“Ryan? Still?”

“He’s fun.” I scooped Jinx out of his lap, wanting something to hold and hug. “I don’t need a boyfriend right now.”

“You need someone popular to take to parties? Or is that
your
role? You’re the hot girl he gets to drive to school?”

I wanted to ask why he cared. Or explain that Ryan was what people expected of me, a distraction, and an antidote to thoughts of him and Meagan Andrews. Ryan wouldn’t break my heart, and he’d never let me close enough to break his. He was safe.

“Don’t be a jerk. He got a new car and wants to show me. Is it really a big deal?”

“Between the ride and your uniform, you’re starting senior year off with class.” He dug his elbows in his knees and interlocked his fingers.

“You are so judgmental sometimes!”

“I don’t want you turning into one of those girls.”

“What girls? The same ones you were telling me to call the whole time I was in the hospital?”

“Ally’s fine, and some of the others too. But Hillary? That girl’s the inspiration behind the evil-cheerleader stereotype.” He peered up through the messy fringe of his dark hair.

“She’s my best friend. Once you get to know her, she’s not bad.”

“‘Not bad’ isn’t exactly a glowing recommendation.”

“I don’t want to fight.” I reached over to poke him, but he swiveled out of range.

I counted to seventeen—my other lucky number—then spun his shoulders to face me. “So, second day. Are you driving or am I?”

Chapter 15

I wasn’t ready when Ryan pulled his red sports car into my driveway at 6:40, but I didn’t worry. Unlike Gyver, who couldn’t string together a coherent sentence until after nine a.m. or his third cup of coffee, Ryan was a parent pleaser 24/7. I popped downstairs to tell him I’d be a few more minutes and found him sitting at the kitchen table with my dad. They were having bowls of organic corn flakes and a conversation about soccer.

“Basketball’s my real sport, but soccer keeps me in shape during the fall, and the team has a good chance of making states.”

I greeted him and pointed to my pajamas. He nodded. “We’ve got time.”

I stood in my bathroom with a headband in one hand, a brush in the other, and considered my reflection. I think my hair was my initial pass to the in-crowd. It had been my best feature: long, shiny, and blond. Now it was short, duller, and
thinning. The nurses told me the hair loss would stop in a few weeks—but there were only eighteen days until I’d be heading back in for more chemo, and the cycle would start all over again. How long until it would be unmistakable? My weak excuse about a bad salon wasn’t going to last forever.

Mom had gotten overzealous at Sephora, and dozens of bottles and jars cluttered my sink space. I dabbed and smeared vitality on my face and tugged on my purple-and-gold uniform, frowning at how loose and sloppy it looked.

The last thing I did before leaving my room was flip over my Magic 8 Ball: “Will I have a good first day?”
Better not tell you now
. I shivered.

Putting on a smile, I went downstairs and tried to calm my parents while pretending for Ryan that today was a regular school day and I was a regular student.

Dad pressed me to eat. Mom fussed, fluttered, and stopped just short of taking my temperature (again). I couldn’t talk her out of first-day photos: “It’s tradition, kitten.”

Tradition was Gyver and I hamming it up at our old bus stop. This was Mom with an agenda.

Ryan smiled tolerantly, posed with his backpack and a hand around my waist. I faux smiled through four flashes, then stopped her. “We need to go.”

She gave me a kiss on the forehead—sneaking in a final temp check. “Seniors already? That makes me feel ancient. Where’d the time go?”

“We’ve got to go,” I repeated, my hand on the doorknob.

Ryan opened the passenger door for me. His car smelled
new and beachy. A sprinkling of sand stood out like sugar on the gray surface of his floor mats.

“I like your car,” I said once he’d gotten in his own seat.

“Thanks. Isn’t it great?” He leaned toward me. “Now how about a real hello?”

“Welcome back.” But I flinched when I saw my parents watching from the kitchen window. “We’ve got an audience.”

Ryan groaned but started the car. “You’re killing me.” He filled the rest of the drive with chatter about the shore. I nodded and said
mm-hmm
at the appropriate times, but my mind raced ahead to identify potential obstacles and secret-exposing scenarios.

We only had time for a brief parking lot kiss before I suggested that being late on the first day probably wasn’t a smart move.

“To be continued,” Ryan said with a laugh as he opened his door.

I hesitated a moment at the top of the stairs and looked up at the wooden sign on the stone wall:
EAST LAKE HIGH SCHOOL
in gold letters on a purple background. The building hadn’t changed—the same lockers with sticky doors and gym-sock smell, the same crowd of kids who pushed, called greetings, and discreetly checked their reflections in classroom windows as they passed.

School was exactly the same, but I felt like I didn’t belong.

“I’ve got to pick up my schedule at the office—want me to get yours?” Ryan asked.

“I already have it.” I’d gotten it during my medical meeting.

“Right. Of course you do. I forgot what a little nerd you are.”

I frowned and he laughed. “Did I mention you’re the hottest nerd?”

“That’s better.”

“I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for … ha, I won’t know what till I get my schedule.”

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Have fun. Play nice with the other nerds.” He winked, a dimple tempting me when he nudged his shoulder against mine in farewell. I watched his blond head wind through the crowd, distributing greetings, hugs, and high-fives.

I adjusted my bag. With a quick shake to clear my head and smile frozen to my face, I melted into the hallway traffic.

I ran into Ryan between my first two classes. Literally ran into. I turned a corner in a preoccupied daze and he careened into me while catching something Chris threw from down the hall.

As he hit me, Ryan switched from trying to catch the Snickers bar, which crashed to the floor, to catching me. “Mia! Sorry. You okay?”

Chris’s laugh and “sorry” boomed toward me, but he didn’t stay to see if I was pissed.

“I’m fine.”

“Figures I run over you. But seriously, you’re okay?”

“I’m not that fragile.” I was defensive—I hated being
asked how I was. Perhaps because it was all Mom said to me anymore.

“I’d better walk you to class, just to make sure,” he teased.

“Then you’d better watch out,” I answered with a flirty smile and prayer of gratitude for a normal moment. “Because if it gets me an escort, I might start staging hallway collisions before all my classes.”

“You think I’d complain about slamming into you a few times a day?” Ryan followed me down the hall. I paused at the door to my calculus class. He leaned in and pecked my startled mouth before disappearing into the crowd.

I stood there, too shocked to do more than press fingers to my tingling lips.

“Miss Moore, if you wouldn’t mind joining us in the classroom, I’d like to begin,” the teacher suggested. I hadn’t heard the bell or noticed the students shuffling past me.

“Choosing a seat might be helpful. Unless you plan on standing all period,” Mr. Bonura joked before turning on his projector and launching into a well-worn introductory lecture about his love for mathematics.