Send Me a Sign

by Tiffany Schmidt

  “What about your game?” I rubbed my cheeks dry, but new tears wet them.

  “Screw the game. You can’t seriously think I’m going.”

  “But you left. And the coach …” I made a second futile attempt to wipe my face.

  “I’ll tell him something came up. Doesn’t matter! Tell me what’s going on. Leukemia?”

  “You really want to know?” My breathing almost calmed, I almost hoped.

  “I got halfway to school before I asked myself: What are you doing? Mia, this is where I want to be. Please tell me.”

  I told him: the bruising, testing, chemo, and hospital stay. I wanted to think it felt good to share, but I wouldn’t know until he responded.

  “God, Mia, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I could’ve … I don’t know, done something. Who else knows? Anyone?”

  “Not really. Gyver. My teachers. If I told the Calendar Girls, the whole school’d know.”

  Ryan flinched. “Russo knows? That’s why he’s been your shadow all year. I thought he wanted you.”

  “We’re just friends.” Right now, with Ryan’s arm around me, I was honestly okay with that. “He lives next door and my mom works with his dad, there was no way to keep—”

  “I’m glad you had someone.” He tightened his grip. “It could’ve been me, though. God! And all I’ve done is talk about sex—you should’ve told me to go to hell.”

  “I think I did, once or twice.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You didn’t know. You were acting like any guy would.”

  I’d forgiven him, but Ryan wasn’t ready to forgive himself. “Would ‘any guy’ have run away like an asshole when you told him? Is that what Gyver did when he found out? No wonder you said no to me.”

  I pulled away so I was facing him. “That’s not why! You don’t date—how many times did you tell me that last spring? If you hadn’t heard about Hil’s pact …”

  “Okay, so Hil’s stupid pact put the idea in my head—so what? I couldn’t stop thinking about it—us. I don’t want ‘a girlfriend.’ I want you.”

  Could Ryan handle this? Earlier with Gyver, had that meant anything? Did I want it to? Of course I did, but he didn’t. And I wanted Ryan too. It was a knife’s edge and I wasn’t balanced. It was also ridiculous—how had we gotten from leukemia to crushes?

  But crushes are normal and it felt good to worry about something normal. I wasn’t thinking like a cancer patient, but just like me: I wanted this. I wanted Ryan.

  But I was a cancer patient and I couldn’t pretend this decision was as simple as what I wanted. Or what he thought he wanted. “You don’t know what you’d be getting into.”

  Ryan reached across the bed, threaded his fingers through mine and let our hands rest on my knee. “So tell me.”

  Like it was that easy. “Ryan, no. My answer’s no.”

  He looked crestfallen—for half a second. “You still don’t think I’m serious.”

  “That’s part of it.”

  He leaned toward me, dimples flashing in a smile that made my heart skip. “Let me prove you wrong. Fine, say no for now, but give me a chance.”

  I stood and stepped away from his touch. “I really don’t think we’ll work—not as more than a casual hookup.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “Or maybe we’d be great together.”

  “I said no, Ryan.” My voice was more stern than I’d intended, but the sternness was self-directed. I was not going to give in to charm and confidence and dimples. No matter how much my lips wanted me to.

  Maybe Ryan would’ve accepted my answer and left. Maybe he would’ve argued. Maybe kissed me. I don’t know because Mom knocked. That was a sign—with Gyver I’d been interrupted before I did anything I’d regret. With Ryan, all distractions waited until after I’d decided.

  Mom knocked again, then entered. “Hi, Ryan, it’s good to see you. How are you feeling, kitten? Dad said you slept all day. You look—” She paused, noticing my splotchy face and disheveled hair. “A little flushed. Everything okay?”

  “I told Ryan, Mom.”

  With a smile locked in place, she said, “Told him what?”

  “About the leukemia.” I recognized the warning signs in her posture; Mom was tensing for a tantrum. But she wouldn’t do it in front of Ryan, so I met her eyes.

  Her smile didn’t waver. “Dinner’s ready and we’d love to have you join us, Ryan. Why don’t you go downstairs and call your mother? We’ll be down in a minute.”

  He shot me a confused glance, but nodded. “Thanks. It smells great.”

  She waited until he’d left before whirling toward me. “Mia Ruth, what were you thinking? After we worked so hard for your privacy.”

  “I had to tell him.”

  “Why? I thought secrecy was what you wanted.”

  “But why is it a secret?” It had made sense at one point, now I wasn’t sure.

  “It’s what you wanted: no one to know so they would treat you the same.” Her voice was stern and I felt ashamed, like I’d done something wrong.

  “I know. But I had to tell him. He asked me out. I had to explain.”

  “You and Ryan Winters?” The tension ebbed from her face and grasp. “That’s great, kitten!”

  “I said no.”

  “But why? It’s Ryan, honey. You used to glow when he’d drop you off after a party, and you’d blush and run to your room if he called.”

  “That was last year.”

  “So? As you’ve gotten to know him better, you like him less?”

  “No.” I sighed. She’d never understand how I could turn him down. In her mind he was perfect—we were perfect together. “It just won’t work.”

  “Because you won’t give it a chance! This is exactly what you need right now: a distraction and someone who makes you happy.”

  This type of debate could go on all night, or at least until I gave in. I couldn’t concede, but perhaps if I offered her a partial victory. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

  Mom kissed my forehead, her face radiant with the same smile she’d worn when I first made the squad. She jumped up. “Oh no! We’ve left him alone with your father. He’s probably filling Ryan’s head with all sorts of cancer facts.”

  I followed my maternal hurricane down the stairs, praying dinner wouldn’t be a disaster.

  Chapter 21

  Over pork chops and mashed potatoes Ryan was fully indoctrinated into Team Cancer. Dad went into excruciating detail about treatments and warnings: keep Mia away from germs, wash your hands, stay away if you feel sick, don’t get her too tired, absolutely no drinking because of the meds …

  Mom beamed at Ryan and repeated, “But she’s going to be fine. All the doctors say so. Don’t worry.” I could practically see the thought bubble hovering above her head: This is the popular, athletic boyfriend I’ve always wanted for Mia. Can’t let him get away.

  I’d said “maybe” in my bedroom, but Mom chose to hear “yes.”

  Dad continued. “I know you don’t play football, but this is the only sports analogy I can think of. The first round of chemo switched the cancer from offense to defense. It’s no longer attacking Mia’s body. We’ve got control of the ball now and each consolidation round of chemo—like the one she’s starting on Saturday—is a new first down. It keeps us in control. And when she’s had enough …”

  “Touchdown?” Ryan guessed.

  “Something like that,” Dad agreed. “When she’s done the maintenance chemo, she’ll be cancer free, hopefully for good.”

  He wasn’t exaggerating, but it was an intimidating speech. Combined with Mom’s over-the-top enthusiasm, I wouldn’t have blamed Ryan if he fled. But he didn’t. He paid attention and asked questions. He nodded and smiled at Mom’s repetitive reassurances. He borrowed books from Dad’s library of leukemia resources. He squeezed my knee under the table.

  I started to doubt myself—to believe him. Could he possibly be serious?

  “Can I pick you up tomorrow? Are
you going to school?” he asked at the front door.

  He looked nervous, like I’d never ridden in his car before, like I might say no. “Sure.”

  He kissed my forehead and we hovered close for a second before he stepped back. Apparently the time for casual kisses had ended. “It means a lot that you trusted me, even before you told the girls. I’m not going to screw this up.”

  “I know.” And I meant it. There was something about seeing him vulnerable that made me feel protective. I’d done this to him, drained him of the confidence and carefree attitude—the things that made him Ryan.

  I touched his cheek, smoothed over the skin where his dimples should be. “You’re a good guy, Ryan Winters.”

  And they were back—the confidence, the charm, the dimples. “Then go out with me.”

  “Ryan—” It was a sigh-yawn hybrid. I’d slept all day, but tonight had depleted me and left me more exhausted than I’d been this morning.

  “Fine, I’ll stop asking, but let me try and change your mind. Every girl wants to be chased, right? Let me chase you and we’ll see what happens.”

  I looked at him. Looked beyond him through the glass door to the shape of Gyver’s Jeep in his driveway. “I really don’t think I’ll change my mind.”

  He pulled me closer. “I consider myself warned. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

  I could feel his breath across my cheeks. If I looked up, I knew he’d kiss me now. I wanted to.

  Instead I squeezed his hand and stepped away. “As long as you understand I’m being honest when I say—”

  “I understand.” His smile was contagious. “I’d better go before you change your mind. See you in the morning.”

  I watched him walk to his car, saw the fist pump he made in the darkness. He pulled out of the driveway and his taillights were swallowed by the night, leaving me wondering what I’d agreed to.

  I was still standing by the door when Mom’s self-satisfied voice drifted from the kitchen, catching my attention. “That went well.”

  “Think so?” asked Dad.

  “Yes. No thanks to you. Hon, I can’t believe you gave the boy homework! He wants to date our daughter, not write a research paper on the horrors of cancer.” But she was laughing now.

  “He asked for the books,” Dad answered. Through the doorway I could see him take the dishtowel out of Mom’s hands and put his arms around her. “And if he makes Mia happy …”

  “Of course he does.” She tipped her forehead against his chest. “I was so worried how he’d react. So worried. If he rejected her …”

  “But he didn’t. And remember, Gyver didn’t either.”

  Mom shrugged this off. “She reminds me so much of me at her age—and Ryan’s exactly the type of guy I dated.”

  “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.