Send Me a Sign (19 page)

I finally had the floor, but I had nothing to say, so I repeated myself with an added dash of attitude. “I’m still officially single. Calm down.”

“Not for long,” quipped Chris, draping an arm around Hil’s shoulders. “How ’bout you follow your brilliant friend’s example and go out with me?”

She shrugged him off. “Shut up and go away.”

The first bell rang.

“It’s one date. I haven’t broken the pact.” I bit back the words “stupid,” “idiotic,” and “dictatorial,” all of which threatened to sneak into the sentence.

Hil’s eyes narrowed, like she’d heard them anyway. Or
maybe in response to it being five against one. “Yet,” she growled, the heels of her boots clicking on the tile as she stormed down the hallway.

Hil was still angry at lunch. She was like fireworks: beautiful, volatile—and potentially dangerous. “So, you and Ryan,” she mused as I sat down. “Well, since I slept with him freshman year, I guess I can’t say you have bad taste.”

I could play this game. “He could make a good boyfriend. He
really
wants this.”

“By this, do you mean sex? You still haven’t, right?” asked Lauren. I rolled my eyes and she added, “Just checking! I mean, you didn’t tell us you were going to be absent Wednesday or your Ryan news. Who knows what else you’re holding out on us?”

“Or what other promises you’ll break,” muttered Hil.

“It’s one date, Hil. Drop it.” She did, and the table became quiet, making the looks Hil and Ally were exchanging even more obvious.

“About tonight …” Ally played with her pretzels, lining them in rows on her lunch bag. “Coach Lindsey called a captains’ meeting after school—I think she’s going to suggest some changes.”

“Like?” I asked.

Ally exchanged a do-I-have-to? look with Hil. “Like moving Emily up from the JV squad.”

“Did someone get hurt?” I hadn’t heard anything or seen lockers decorated with “Get Better” balloons.

Hil answered me. “We’ve given Emily your spot in lifts. It’s only the third week of school and you’ve missed four practices. Just rest up until you can tumble again.”

Shame colored my cheeks. I’d gone from our best tumbler to an afterthought: a girl who’d step aside and clap when flyer stunts were performed. A sign I was replaceable. “Oh.”

Ally looked closer to tears than I was. “It’s the best thing for the whole squad. It’s Coach Lindsey’s decision, but we thought it’d be better if you heard it from us.”

“You okay?” asked Lauren.

“Clearly she’s not. Mia, I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’ve looked like crap since you got back from Connecticut.” This was Hil’s invitation to confide, but I couldn’t accept it.

“I’m fine. Thanks for your concern and I’m sorry about cheerleading, but I don’t need any more crap about Ryan, or being sick, or how awful I look!”

Ally flinched and Hil’s scowl intensified, but Lauren spoke first, diffusing the anger by deflecting attention. “That is so unfair! Mia looks worse than usual—no offense—and she ends up with Ryan Winters. I lose three pounds and no one even notices.” She frowned at her apple and waited for us all to compliment her, which we did.

“Do you think Bill’s brother will be at the party tonight? He’s …,” she continued.

I tuned her out and took stock of the past forty-eight hours: I’d agreed to a date but lost my spot on the squad. I’d confided in Ryan but alienated Gyver. If I were Dad, I’d create a T-chart with these facts, but what conclusions could I draw?

Chapter 24

“I hate when they have captains’ meetings,” Lauren griped while driving me home after school. “It’s like advertising: hey Lauren, you weren’t picked to be captain, so you can just head out while the important people stay. And it sucks about your spot. If I were captain, I’d fight for you.”

I didn’t care at all—but I knew I should, and before cancer I cared quite a bit.

“Want to come in and hang out until the game?” I offered instead of agreement.

In the kitchen I hunted through the cabinets. “Want some hummus and crackers? Or we have ice cream, but it’s made from tofu.”

“That’s okay, I probably shouldn’t anyway.” Lauren grabbed a water and headed to my room. I swallowed my meds and followed, hoping there wasn’t anything incriminating lying around.

Except when I entered my room and found her sitting at
my desk paging through the magazine Gyver’d read, I was almost disappointed. It’s not like I wanted her to be trying on a hospital bracelet or reading a chemo pamphlet, but a sign I should tell her or a situation where it was unavoidable—maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. Ryan had handled it.

“You’re staring at me. Is my hair huge and frizzy? I swear I look like a Chia Pet half the time.”

“What?” I laughed. “You’re ridiculous. I love your hair.”

“Sure. Now sit and tell me all about Ryan. I want to hear everything.”

My eyes drifted over the bed, pillows in clean cases since I’d sobbed all over the others. My throat tightened. I couldn’t think of a plausible lie, and I didn’t want to. I was sick, she was my friend; I deserved her support, she deserved the truth.

Lauren sat next to me on the bed. She put an arm around my shoulder and used her other hand to untangle mine from my necklace. “Hey, there’s something going on, isn’t there? You can tell me, you know.”

So I did.

For the second time this week I turned my bedroom into a confessional. Lauren didn’t sob or bolt, just turned so pale her freckles stood out like ink spatter. She hugged me tightly while I explained, then paced while asking questions.

“Who else knows? Did everyone but me?”

“No. Not at all. Just Ryan and Gyver.”

“You didn’t even tell Hil?” Lauren sounded shocked, then answered herself, “Well, duh you didn’t. She wouldn’t be acting so bitchy if she knew. Oh, Mia, I’m glad you told me. I
can’t imagine how hellish this summer must’ve been. I would’ve been an excellent hospital visitor, you know.”

“You can prove it—I go back tomorrow for more chemo.”

The color that had started to creep back into her cheeks faded. “More? It’s not done?”

“Not even close. I’ve got a new round every six to eight weeks.”

“Then I’ll be there.” She stooped to hug me again. “We’ll do movies and manicures and I’ll make it fun.”

“Thanks.” I exhaled this tension and inhaled the stress of my next challenge. “How do you think I should tell Ally and Hil?”

Lauren dropped onto my bed in a tangle of limbs only gymnasts and cheerleaders can accomplish. “Oh … so you are going to tell them?”

I was surprised by the sniff of disapproval in her voice. “Well, yeah. Shouldn’t I?”

She exhaled slowly, motionless for once. “Honestly?” Even her voice was slow, like an idea was coming into focus and she couldn’t quite make it out. “I don’t think you should yet.”

“What?”

“Not right away, at least.” And then she was back up to manic speed. “It’s just that Hil is still totally worked up over the Keith thing. She’s about one stressor away from tearing someone’s head off or locking herself in her room. Did she tell you he texted her again this weekend?”

I shook my head. I guess I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

“All it said was: I miss you, which is totally unhelpful, since last week he posted all these pictures of him with other girls on Facebook. He’s such a toolbox. She can’t handle this right now. And if you tell Ally …”

“Everyone will know,” I finished.

“Well, yeah.” She unwound her arm from around her ankle. “It sucks. And, I mean, this is just my opinion; you do what you think …”

I grabbed a tissue to wipe my eyes. “No, I think you’re right. Once Hil’s in a better place, Keith-wise …”

“And I know we’re not as close as you and Hil, and I can’t replace her or anything, but I’m here for you.”

That’s when the real sobs came. Mine first, then Lauren’s. Until I looked at the clock. “We need to be back at school in thirty minutes.”

“Then we need some deep breaths and some serious cover-up if we don’t want to show up looking like we spent the afternoon watching
The Notebook
.”

I laughed.

“You know, that’s exactly what we’ll tell Hil if she says anything about puffy eyes. Then she’ll be too disgusted by our sappiness to give it a second thought.”

“I’m glad I told you, Laur. Thanks.”

She handed me a tissue and squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome, but no more sappy. We’re done with sappy for today. Now it’s dance music and get ready for the game time.”

“Deal,” I answered, sticking my iPod on its speakers and dialing up the volume.

Chapter 25

That night I cheered with enthusiasm, fueled by the fact I’d be missing at least a week of practices for chemo and because I needed to prove I belonged. I loved this. In all my efforts to hide my cancer, I’d forgotten. I loved this: the camaraderie of the squad, the energy of the players, the excitement of the crowd, the thrill of feeding off that buzz.

When the game went into overtime and Hil grumbled about the party, I just rustled my purple-and-gold poms and began an impromptu cheer, encouraging the crowd to join my chant: “Let’s go, East Lake!”

My cheer high floated me through the game and through Hil’s postgame snark: “I can’t believe you’re blowing us off for Ryan. I don’t want you devastated if you sleep with him and he dumps you.”

“It’s not like that, Hil.”

“How do you know?” she demanded. “He’s going to break your heart.”

“He’s not Keith, okay? He’s Ryan. Thanks for worrying about me, but it’ll be fine.”

I gave her a hug; she returned it before adding, “But if he does, don’t go the chocolate route or you’ll look like crap at the Fall Ball.”

I peeled the purple star stickers from the corners of my eyes and shoved my poms in my locker. Calling “Have fun tonight” back over my shoulder before heading to where Ryan waited by the gym door.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi,” I answered, feeling shy and nervous.

It was chilly now that I wasn’t flitting around under the stadium lights, but Ryan responded before I had time to shiver. He stepped behind me, rubbing my arms. “Longest. Game. Ever.” He took my hand and towed me to his car.

I felt twelve again, flush with the excitement of liking and being liked. Except when I was twelve, I hadn’t felt quite this way about the still-hadn’t-mastered-deodorant boys in my class.

He started the ignition before he shut his door. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m better already.” I slipped cool hands beneath his shirt: warming them, kissing him.

He turned the heat on high and I leaned in again. Now that the car had heat, I was in no rush to leave our out-of-the-way space in the school parking lot.

“Oh, hang on a sec.” Ryan reached into the backseat and grabbed a bottle of Listerine.

“Your breath is fine.” I laughed.

“No, look, it kills germs—see?” He spun the label facing me. “I thought it might help. I know you can’t be around germs.”

It was a struggle not to laugh. Or cry. I’d forgotten I was sick—he hadn’t.

He opened his door and spit the mouthwash on the cement. “Are you hungry? We missed our reservation.”

Ryan’s eyes were on my lips and I’d barely managed “not really,” before his were on mine.

“Me either,” he added as he kissed down my jawline.

I shivered and he froze. Pulled back and looked worried. “You’re cold. I’m an idiot.”

“What? No. That’s not why—” I hadn’t been cold, but now, with him looking at me like I might fall to pieces, reaching out to pull my shirt down so it covered instead of uncovered, I felt icy.

“You’re headed to the hospital tomorrow, I should take you home.” The look on his face was everything but desire.

I sighed. “I guess.”

“Can I come visit? Are there rules?”

“Visiting hours are eight to eight. You don’t have to come.” I wrinkled my nose, trying to imagine healthy, handsome Ryan on a ward with sick kids.

“I’ll be there.”

“I told Lauren today.” I figured I’d practice confessing to him before I told my mother.

“Lauren? Really?”

“Why are you laughing?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I guess I always saw her as your fourth Musketeer—a spare in case one of you moved away or got fat or something.”

“Cute.”

“Don’t get pissed. I know she’s your friend and all, I just thought you’d start with Hil.” He shrugged. “Now I’ll have someone to drive with to Lakeside. How long will you be there?”

He asked me questions for the rest of the drive, and when he pulled into my driveway, I wasn’t ready for The End.

“Want to come in?” My parents’ light was on, so I told him to help himself to whatever in the fridge and went upstairs to say good night.

“How was the game?” Mom put down her magazine and pulled off her reading glasses.

“Good.” I preempted her questions. “And I feel fine, I don’t have a temp, I didn’t get too cold, and I took my meds.”

“Good girl.” Mom’s smile was sugary.

My father cleared his throat. “Is Ryan here? I didn’t hear a car leave.”

“We’re going to watch some TV.” I prayed they wouldn’t decide to go downstairs and greet him in their pajamas. Dad’s had “For Sale” signs all over them.