Send Me a Sign (21 page)

Dad slept in a chair; his loud snores overpowered the click of machinery. Southern Nurse was at the station in case anything came up. Mark and I played Go Fish.

“What? Of course.” I laid down a pair of eights. Lauren had stopped by today, but she had plans with Ally and Hil, so the visit lasted just long enough for her to give me the play-by-play of how her lab partner was absent and she got to join hot Ben’s group.

“How come this is the first time I’ve seen one visit? That’s the gossip at the nurses’ station: Mia Moore has two boyfriends who come visit her every day. Threes?”

“Go fish. I have zero boyfriends. Gyver’s just a friend and Ryan’s …” I finished the statement with a shrug. He’d called to tell me that he and Chris had plans in Summerset tonight—a party with some of the crew they’d guarded with this summer. Though it sounded more like asking than telling. It sounded like an apology. Like a test.

“Of course you should go. Have fun,” I told him. What else could I say? We weren’t dating—my choice—and he’d never be as comfortable in my hospital room as he was at the center of a party crowd. It was just one night, but I knew I’d be gripping my necklace a little tighter until the next time he visited or called to check in.

Mark gave me a dubious look and drew a card. “Okay, no boyfriends. But where’s everyone else? Where are the cards and flowers? To hear your mom talk, you’re Little Miss Popular Pompoms, so why doesn’t your room have a waiting list for visitors?”

I frowned. “My mother exaggerates. Lauren knows, but I haven’t told any of my other friends I’m here.”

“Where do they think you are? Club Med? Well, I guess you could call this ‘club meds,’ but you know what I mean. Your turn.”

“Fives? They think I’m home sick with something normal.”

He handed me the five of spades. “That’s bull. Why wouldn’t you tell them?”

I put down my cards and crossed my arms. “Because I don’t want to.”

“That’s a crap reason. If you’re going to pout like a toddler, I’ll go catch up with paperwork.”

I picked up the cards and refanned them. “I’m not telling them. Not unless I absolutely have to. Don’t you remember high school? You’re not that old.”

“Gee, thanks. Do you have any nines?”

I passed him a card. “High school sucks enough. I don’t need to be ‘leukemia girl.’”

Mark stared at me. “Mia, c’mon, you’re not that naive, are you? This is cancer; it’s not make-believe. You’re not going to be able to hide this. I’m shocked it’s worked so far.”

“You don’t know that! It could work.”

He shook his head and placed his final pair of cards on the tray. “You lose. Better luck next time.”

He left and I knew I’d been immature and bratty. I knew I should press the call button and apologize. Maybe Mark and I could have an adult conversation about this—what my rationale was, what I hoped, what I feared.

But giving those ideas a voice was scarier than answering Hil’s increasingly impatient voice mails. Scarier than losing my hair. Scarier than any cancer fact on Dad’s charts.

Just thinking about it gave me goose bumps, so I put down the call button and picked up my cell phone. A flurry of fib-filled texts later, I felt soothed. Mark was wrong, hiding this was easy. Too easy. Lies no longer paused on my lips, no longer felt weighted by conscience. Lies weren’t naive—they were necessary.

Chapter 27

It was five days before I could sit up without my room spinning and stomach lurching. A week and a half before I returned to school. I let calls go to voice mail. I didn’t have enough energy to fake it, and Gyver, Ryan, and Lauren knew to come by.

My first day back, a Thursday, I only made it to lunch before the smell of food left me retching in the nurse’s room. From there, I spent the day in my bed or on my bathroom floor.

I tried school again Friday with more success. Hil was withdrawn at lunch; Ally studied me as I picked at and threw away most of my food; Lauren chatted like she’d supersized her morning coffee. I was relieved when lunch ended and we headed out of the cafeteria to go to our separate classes.

I avoided the girls at dismissal—instead going from teacher to teacher to collect makeup work. They’d left by the time I finished, gone home to get ready for the night’s game. I stopped
by my locker, then hurried to Ryan, who was waiting by the front doors.

In his car, he leaned in for a kiss—then froze.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Ryan’s eyes were panning my face with anxious sweeps.

“Do I have another bloody nose?” I flipped down his visor—no blood.

“That necklace you always wear, did you take it off?”

“Of course not.” My hand went to my throat—it was naked. I continued searching my collar like it’d reappear. I gulped air, tried not to cry.

“I’ll find it.” His voice calmed into determination. “I’ll take you home. You search your room. I’ll come back and look.”

I felt vulnerable without the weight of the charm against my neck: exposed and unprotected. And the necklace wasn’t in my room, or the kitchen, or my bathroom. Dad checked the shower and sink drains. Mom went through the vacuum bags and searched my car. Ryan called to report he’d had no luck at the school—but he’d alerted the janitors and principal and left notes for all my teachers.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll find it. I’m going to check my car and then the hospital. I’ll meet you at the game.”

I didn’t want to go to the game anymore; I wanted to hide in bed until my necklace was found. Instead I called Hil for a ride
so we’d have a chance to talk. I needed to fix us without telling her why we were broken.

“I like your new highlights,” I said as I got in the car.

“Thanks.” She turned on the radio.

I turned it off. “Lauren says one of the freshmen is becoming a great tumbler.”

“Monica. You were better, but she’ll do.” Hil swore at a slow car in front of her and drummed sparkly nails on the steering wheel.

“Anything else new? I feel so out of it after missing all that school.” I was embarrassed to be asking; I should know.

“Not really.”

Maybe the direct route was best. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” The slow car turned into a driveway and Hillary accelerated with a jerk.

“Sorry I’ve missed so much practice.”

“Whatever. It has nothing to do with that.”

“Then what? Because of Ryan?” I instinctively grasped the empty air at my neck.

“What, you mean how you’re supposedly not dating him, yet he’s been your spokesperson for the past two weeks?”

“He has not.”

“Really? He and Lauren are the only ones you bother to talk to anymore. Explain why I should tell you anything when you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on?” She glowered at the yellow lines blurring ahead of us.

“I’m here now. Hil?”

“Forget it.” She sucked in a breath and asked, “So, are your parents splitting up?”

“What? My parents? No. Why?”

“I thought—the whole Connecticut thing? My parents sent me away when they tried a last-ditch effort to fix their crap marriage.” She sniffed once, her voice raw. “I thought maybe your parents—you’ve been totally non-Mia since you got back.”

“No. They’re fine.”

“Oh. Forget I said anything.”

“I’d tell you—if my parents were divorcing. I’d tell you that.” That would be easy.

“Would you? You know Ally has all these theories about what’s going on with you. Mia’s depressed, Mia’s anorexic, Mia’s in rehab, Mia’s got mono.”

I tried to laugh but it came out mangled and fake. “Ally’s so dramatic.” Though mono would’ve been a great cover and part of me wished I’d thought of it.

“Is she? Where’ve you been? I stopped by your house more than once and there was never anyone home. Once I ran into Mac ’n’ Cheese—he was coming out your front door and said he was feeding Jinx. Why did Gyver have to feed your cat if you were home sick?”

“You must be spending too much time with Ally—now you’re being a drama queen too.” I sounded like my mom—pacifying, belittling.

Hil flinched. “I’m worried about you. Don’t you get it?”

I stared out the window and directed my lie to the row of mailboxes. “I’m fine.”

Hil sighed. “Never mind. After the game we’ll go to Lauren’s party—thank God her parents are away. We’ll talk there, okay? You can tell me how Winters is wonderful and I’ll try to believe it.” She gave me her pretty and persuasive smile and I wanted to nod, but I couldn’t. “You are going, right? It’s at Lauren’s. You know, your new best friend’s house? Wait … let me guess; you’re busy with Ryan?” Her voice was acid and ice.

“You’re still—” The rest of that sentence, “my best friend,” felt awkward and forced. “I can’t go, but he can if he wants.”

“But he won’t. He’s like a puppy.” She relented. “Please, Mia.”

“Sorry.”

“You two are so lame. He used to be hot and you used to be fun. He’s just a guy. It’s not worth it!” She pulled into the parking lot behind the field house.

“Is this the part where you explain to me how it’s so different than what you and Keith did for a year and a half? You’re such a hypocrite!” I snapped.

She got out without answering, but the parking lot lights reflected off tears on her cheeks.

I stayed curled in the passenger seat, knees to chin, bloomers visible to anyone who walked by, and tried to convince myself I hadn’t just made things worse.

A knock on the window made me jump. Ally waved and mouthed, “You okay?” I nodded and uncurled my knees, wishing I’d stayed home, wishing Ally wasn’t waiting with a what’s-wrong? expression. Wishing I didn’t have to smile and lie.

Chapter 28

I should’ve been expecting it. Every morning there was more hair on the pillowcase and less on my head. I couldn’t wear dark colors because the contrast with my blond hair drew attention to my excessive shedding. Still, I went down to breakfast on Saturday unprepared.

“Kitten, have you thought about when you’d like to go back to the hairdresser?” Mom looked at a box on the kitchen table.

“There’s not much left to cut.” I resembled one of those toddlers with stringy, wispy hair.

“I think it’s time to accept the inevitable. The best thing would be to cut it off and wear this.” She reached into the box and pulled out a wig packaged within some sort of netting. “It’s real hair—
your
hair. Remember?”

“Oh.” My hands strayed upward. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s not bad. You still look beautiful. It’s just, if you want to pretend you have hair, we need to switch to the wig before what’s left on your head is gone.”

The wig looked like a shiny dead animal. “Today?”

“It doesn’t have to be. Whenever you’re ready—I’ve already talked to the salon. So, when you’re ready …” Her eyes skipped by me and fixed on the telephone.

“I guess today works. There’s no point in waiting, right?” I looked at my feet; my toes were clenched within my socks.

“Absolutely! I knew you’d make a mature decision. I’ll reserve the salon so you have privacy. Don’t worry, you’re going to look just as pretty in the wig.”

I ducked out the front door while she was on the phone. Mrs. Russo answered my knock. “Mia? What are you doing over here so early? And in your pajamas? Get in here before you freeze.”

“Is Gyver up?” I asked.

“This early? I don’t expect him to surface before noon. He was at a concert last night.” She took a plate from the cabinet and piled it with fresh fruit and toasted raisin bread.

“Oh.” I sat at the table and poured juice. “Thanks. Did you and Mr. Russo already eat?”

“Yes. Why don’t I go wake lazy boy up to keep you company?”

“It’s okay.”

“Dearest, you would not be over here at nine in the morning on a Saturday—in your pajamas—if everything was okay.”

I stared at the tablecloth. “Mom thinks I should shave my head and wear a wig.”

Mrs. Russo refreshed her coffee and joined me at the table, leaning in and giving me her complete attention—the same way Gyver did. “How do you feel about that?”

I shrugged. “It makes sense. It’s not like I have much choice, and my head’s itchy.”

“You wouldn’t have to wear a wig.”

“Walk around bald?”

She put a hand on my arm and waited me out.

“I don’t want to be bald.” Once I started to cry, I couldn’t stop. Mrs. Russo bundled me in her arms and rubbed my back, rocking and cooing comforting words.

“I. Don’t. Want. Any. Of. This.” And finally the words I’d been fighting against since July came spewing out. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” she soothed.

“I just want—”

“Nancy? Is Mia here?”

At the sound of my mother’s voice, I jerked upright, stifled a half-formed sob and wiped my cheeks on my sleeves.

Mrs. Russo pressed her lips together for a moment, then leaned over and touched them to my cheek. “We’re in here. Eating some breakfast.”

Mom walked in. “There you are, kitten! Good news, we’re all set for ten thirty today.”

I examined my raisin toast and hid my giveaway splotchy cheeks. “Great. Thanks, Mom.”

“Would you like some fruit? Bread? Coffee? There’s plenty.” Mrs. Russo pointed to the mugs on the table and began assembling a plate.