Send Me a Sign (18 page)

“Hmm,” Dad muttered into Mom’s hair. “This was before you wised up and decided that geeks were far superior to jocks, right?”

“Far superior,” she echoed, kissing him. “She’s going to be okay.”

“She’s going to be okay,” he repeated, sounding far more confident than she did.

Mom kissed him again.

I was spared from having to slink up the stairs or witness any more embarrassing moments because Dad whispered something in her ear and she laughed and followed him out the back door to his telescope shed. Some small part of me felt left out. I was missing something I hadn’t thought of in years: the
nights we had all spent watching Dad chart stars and show us things through his telescope: me truly interested and Mom pretending to be.

They’d left the sink half-full of plates, cups, and silverware. I hadn’t done anything else productive today; I could handle rinsing them off and loading the dishwasher.

Maybe
. It was such a small word, but it had made Ryan and Mom so happy. Maybe a smaller word, maybe
yes
, would make me happy too.

But everything seemed so fragile in this week before I went back to the hospital for more chemo—and it felt like if I changed too much, everything would collapse like a game of Jenga, or pop like the soap bubbles in the sink.

I slid the last plate into the dishwasher and shut it. Pressed the button to start the wash cycle and dried my hands on my pajama pants.

Just because Ryan had handled the news didn’t mean everyone could. I wasn’t willing to take that risk.

Chapter 22

I thought Ally was driving me home, but when we crowded back into the locker room after practice, the plan changed with last-minute group momentum.

“The boys’ soccer game is about to start,” she said with a sly smile.

“And we haven’t been to any of their games. It’s not good if we just support the football team.” Lauren grinned at Ally.

Hil rolled her eyes. I continued to sit on the locker-room bench, trying to gather the energy to object. “Didn’t they just have a game yesterday?”

“It’s a rain make-up,” answered Ally.

“I’m tired. Can’t we do this another day?” I asked.

“But I already told him you’d be there. Please? Pretty please?”

Hil came to stand next to me. “She said no.”

“Boo.” Ally pouted. “Don’t be like that, it’ll be fun.”

Lauren nudged my shoulder. “You know you want to see Ryan all sweaty.”

“Am I the only one noticing she looks exhausted?” asked Hil. To me, she said, “I’ll take you home.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go,” I said. I didn’t want to be that transparently ill. If I left now it would only raise questions, so I conceded. “Thanks though, Hil.”

Hil slammed her locker but stayed quiet. Whatever Ally had said to her had worked; she hadn’t given me crap about Ryan since the first day of school. Though if she’d known about our conversation last night, I’m sure she’d have plenty to say.

We hiked up the hill to the soccer field where a section of the bleachers was saved for us in the center of the front row—directly behind the bench.

His team was already huddled on the field, but Ryan broke away, jogged toward the bench, took a swig from a water bottle, and—just before he sprinted back to the group—winked at me.

Once the game started, it seemed safe to admire Ryan from afar … until he scored a goal. As the crowd cheered, Ryan turned my direction. Placing one hand on his chest—over his heart—he pointed the other at me. Or he did until Bill and Chris piled on his back with whoops and smacks. Any chance I’d remain unidentified as his target vanished when Lauren stood up and pointed at me too. The crowd awwww’d and a woman leaned forward to ask, “Is that your boyfriend, dear?”

“No,” hissed Hil. “He’s not.”

I hunched my shoulders and wanted to disappear. My flushed cheeks were the only part of me that wasn’t chilly in the cool September air.

The team celebrated Ryan’s second goal without him. Because he kicked it in and continued running, straight to the bench, which he leaped onto. With one hand on the fence separating the bleachers from the field, he reached the other toward me. I took it tentatively and he pulled me to him.

And he kissed me. At first I was mortified; all I could think of was the “Ooh” of the crowd. Then all I could pay attention to were his lips on mine, parting mine, our tongues tangled and my hands woven through his damp hair. I wasn’t cold—I was much too warm. And aware of every link of the fence that kept us apart.

My lips were suddenly chilled and lonely. I opened surprised eyes to see Bill tug Ryan off the bench by his jersey. “C’mon, Romeo, we’ve got a game to win.”

As Ryan ran backward toward the kickoff, he caught my eye. “Go out with me!”

I remembered the crowd then—as they exploded with cheers and support for the handsome soccer star.

“Say yes!” Ally enthused from my left.

“That was like a movie. Things like that never happen to me,” said Lauren.

I sank onto the bench and put my head down, trying to block out the crowd’s encouragement and my own desire to agree. “Can we leave now?”

“You’re not going to stick around and answer him?” asked Ally.

“He doesn’t want to know my answer.”

“Seriously? You’re leaving? That’s crazy. Like certifiable. Look at him!” Lauren pointed to the field.

“Enough!” snapped Hil. “Do you ever think about anything but boys? If she said she doesn’t want to date him, why are you pushing it?
Mia
is your friend. Not Ryan,
Mia
. Shouldn’t what she wants matter? And why is this so important to you? When I suggested we stay single, I thought we’d all hang out more. Like, do stuff
just us
, not have everything revolve around what the guys want to do. Is my company that boring? Because I think you all are a hell of a lot more interesting than them.”

Ally and Lauren didn’t move except to blink rapidly, then lower their heads. I put a hand on her arm—it was a gesture that I hoped communicated both “thank you” and “calm down.”

“If you still want to leave, I’ll take you home,” offered Hil.

I stood. The motion broke through Ally’s shamed silence. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Lauren echoed. “We’re sorry. But he’s—”

Ally elbowed her and she shut up.

I muttered, “It’s okay,” and Hil shrugged.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I called, then followed her off the bleachers.

Risking one glance at the field, I saw Ryan collide with an opponent as he passed the ball. He was helping up the Hamilton player and didn’t see my exit. How would he feel when I
wasn’t here when the game ended? What if he scored again? I was tempted to turn around, but what if he asked again? I didn’t need a crowd to pressure me; I wanted to say yes. I wanted his ability to erase Gyver from my thoughts. I wanted his smiles and kisses.

But I couldn’t. Not because of Hil’s pact, because of him.

Ryan wanted a girl to kiss in front of a crowd. He wanted a blonde to take to parties—wasn’t that what Gyver said? If this was his idea of “proving he was serious” then he didn’t get me at all.

I’d slunk away like a coward, yet when my phone rang later, I answered. “Hi.”

“You left,” he said.

“Sorry. I got cold.”

“You must be my good-luck charm. I didn’t score after you were gone.”

“Me? Good luck?” I choked. My fingers sought my own lucky charm and twirled the chain. I searched my room for signs to indicate what those words could mean and found nothing.

“So, did I change your mind?” The laugh he tacked on sounded nervous.

“No,” I whispered.

“No? Come on—that kiss didn’t feel like a no to me.”

I could feel the blush creeping up my neck. I was twisted into guilty knots. I needed Ryan’s kisses and confidence boosting
as much as I needed Gyver’s friendship. And he was the guy Mom wanted for me, the guy my friends wanted for me, even Hil, once she got over this stupid pact. “Ryan, I like you. You know I do.”

“But?”

“But I was flattered today—and also embarrassed. I don’t want to play games. And right now I really don’t want to be the center of attention.”

“I wasn’t playing games and I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I was just showing you I mean it. I’m crazy about you—and I don’t care who knows it. How about after you cheer at tomorrow’s game, we go out, just you and me? No spectacle, I promise. Just us.”

I wanted to believe him. One date. How much damage could that really cause? If I turned him down after that, at least I could say I’d tried.

I flipped my Magic 8 Ball over:
Signs point to yes
.

“One date,” I agreed.

Chapter 23

Gyver was quiet in the car on the way to school the next morning, so quiet I dozed lightly until we pulled into a parking space. We were both avoiding any conversation about what almost happened in my bedroom on Wednesday and the avoidance seemed to swallow all possible words.

Ryan was waiting for me, leaning against the trunk of his car and smiling. He stepped over and opened my door for me. “Good morning, gorgeous. ’Sup, Russo.”

“Hey.” His eyes flicked down to Ryan’s hand around my waist and back to my face.

“Hi.” I was clutching my necklace and trying to prioritize my last day in school before next week’s chemo: I needed to smooth things over with Gyver, I had to talk to the girls, I needed to collect all my schoolwork for next week—hopefully I’d only be gone a week—and I had to figure out the right lies to cover my absence.

Gyver first. I smiled at him. “Thanks for the ride. Are you around tomorrow? Let’s do breakfast before I check in.”

“Check in?” His eyes narrowed. Ryan responded by pulling me closer. Neither was a good sign, but I didn’t have the energy for their stupid macho competitiveness.

“I told Ryan about my cancer. He knows I’m going back to the hospital.”

There was more than shock on Gyver’s face. Was it confusion, betrayal, or pain?

Ryan was calm. He clapped his free hand on Gyver’s shoulder—perhaps a little harder than necessary. “Thanks for being there this summer—when I couldn’t be. I appreciate it, man.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Gyver snarled.

“I know, but still, thanks.”

Gyver looked at me; I studied my shoes. “Breakfast sounds good. I’ll see you in math class, Mia.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed into the building.

“I think he liked being the only one who knew,” Ryan said.

“He’s just not a morning person.” I watched Gyver’s back disappear through the school doors.

“Apparently. Well, at least we can count on Ally for some OMGs about our date. What did the rest of them say? Do I need to stay away from Hil’s claws?”

“I didn’t tell them.” It hadn’t even occurred to me and now I felt like an idiot. A slightly panicked idiot.

“Really? Aren’t you four psychically connected?”

The joke fell flat because it used to be true. Maybe if I
wasn’t busy lying to them, debating whether to lie, and being exhausted by the reason for the lies, maybe then the Calendar Girls would know about the date.

“Did you tell anyone?” I asked.

“Yeah. Chris. Was I not supposed to?” We were at the top of the steps and Ryan opened the door. Chris was waiting for us—with Hillary and Lauren. “Shit,” he said under his breath.

“Mia, do you have beer-flavored panties or something? Because I never thought I’d see this guy whipped!” Chris jumped on Ryan’s back, and I stepped away to avoid being trampled.

“You mean it’s true?” Hil latched onto my arm and shook me. “I told Chris he must be lying because I’d know.”

Lauren watched the boys, but her words were for me. “You would’ve told us, right?”

“I didn’t plan it, it just kinda happened. And then it was late.”

“It was late? That’s your excuse?” Hil’s face was pinched with hurt. “I can’t believe I had to find out from Chris.”

“So it
is
true?” Ally’s feet hadn’t stopped sliding on the floor, but her arms were already around me—crashing me into Lauren, who laughed and joined in the hug.

She turned to Hil. “See? We weren’t pressuring her into anything she didn’t want to do.”

Hil rolled her eyes and sighed. “So much for Single Senior Year. I guess if you’re happy …”

“We’ll do a toast tonight!” said Ally.

“Definitely! I can’t remember the last time you came out,” Lauren added. I could. Every detail. What I was wearing and
the song that was playing when Gyver showed up and dragged me out.

“Wait. I’m still single.” Wasn’t I?

“See! I told you, Chris. You’re full of bullshit.”

Chris raised his palms in an I’m-innocent gesture. “Ryan said—”

“I said I was taking her out after the game.” Ryan carefully extracted me from the crush of girls. “Give it a rest, Hil. Mia’s a big girl and can make her own decisions. You’d know this if you’d quit bitching long enough to hear her.”

When had people stopped listening when I spoke? It used to be I opened my mouth and had an audience, now they needed to be prompted to pay attention. And, ironically, Ryan used the same argument on Hil that she’d used on Ally and Laur yesterday: that what I wanted should matter more than what she wanted for me.