I wanted to answer him, but my eyes were sliding shut and my lips wouldn’t cooperate.
Mrs. Russo walked through the door carrying a plate of biscotti. Mr. Russo was behind her with a cardboard tray holding four cups of coffee. I didn’t care about either of those things. I cared about Gyver, and when he didn’t appear behind them, my stomach sank.
“Where is he?” I asked, still staring at the door like I could will him into appearing just by wishing hard enough.
Mrs. Russo handed the biscotti to Dad and washed her hands before answering. Then she came to stand beside me and put a warm hand on my arm. “Gyver’s at home.” There was sadness in her voice and eyes, I didn’t want to think about what it meant.
“He didn’t … He hasn’t …” Finishing those thoughts meant acknowledging his continued absence out loud and I couldn’t do it.
“Is there a message we can give him for you?”
I shook my head. Always. When he’d asked if I wanted him to come, I’d told him always. It hadn’t occurred to me that his answer might not be the same.
After four more days I was discharged and sent home, where Dr. Kevin ordered me to spend three more days resting before I attempted school. I was still borderline neutropenic—I didn’t have enough white blood cells to fight off an infection. There were rules about visitors: one at a time and I had to wear a surgical mask. Not that it mattered. Ryan was the only one who came.
I knew the lack of messages from Lauren was a bad sign. The fact that Hil hadn’t stormed my house demanding explanations was an awful omen. I wouldn’t let myself think about what Gyver’s absence meant.
I wanted numb back. I wanted the hospital drugs that had made it possible to sleep and pretend I wasn’t terrified. Instead, the skin around my eyes and nose were raw from tissues and tears. I sometimes woke up and caught Mom standing in my doorway like she was guarding my sleeping body. Dad was constantly on the phone with doctors and on the Internet. He’d started making charts of experimental treatments and new drugs in development.
“We won’t need them,” he told me. “But I feel better knowing what’s out there.”
Mom hovered now. Fingertips always reaching for my forehead, searching for a fever. She fussed with the thermostat and fretted about germs. Her manic kitchen cleaning surpassed Mrs. Russo’s; she vacuumed my room and changed my sheets daily.
That night apart had changed her—I wasn’t sure if it was our fight or my fever. She didn’t ask questions or intrude on my silence; she gave me so much space it started to feel like a barrier. Stuck in my own thoughts, or in my struggles not to think, I didn’t know how to reach out and give her the reassurance she needed. We revolved around each other in careful orbits.
“Kitten, you have a visitor.” She gave the germ masks a pointed look, patted my arm, and disappeared into the laundry room.
I was filling a glass from the dispenser on the fridge door, wishing I could convince myself it was only the metallic distortion that gave my reflection such an ethereal look.
“Hey.” Gyver’s voice was hesitant and soft. He was leaning against the kitchen door, one hand grasping the opposite elbow, his feet crossed at the ankles. It was a casual pose, but his posture was stiff and he was staring at the tile floor.
“Hi. Water?” I lifted my glass, then fumbled like an idiot putting it on the counter. “Want some?”
“No, I’m good.”
I looked at him, waiting for him to look back. He should wash his hands and I should put on a surgical mask, but those reminders seemed less important than bridging the distance between us.
“Can we?” I pointed to the family room behind him. I wanted to leave the kitchen—Mom would be bustling back in to unload the dishwasher and wipe down counters. He let me lead him through the doorway, then chose a recliner across the room from my spot on the couch. Not a good sign. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them.
“Gyver, at the hospital—” I began.
“Ryan said you wanted to see me,” he interrupted.
“He did?”
“Yeah. If you wanted to see me, you should’ve called.”
“I didn’t ask him to say anything.” I leaned my cheek on my knees. “But I did want to see you. Why haven’t you called or visited? I know the hospital’s a pain, but I’ve been home for days. I miss you. I don’t get what’s going on with us.” I pulled my knees in closer, knotting my fingers in front of my shins.
Gyver shut his eyes and groaned, a hurt-animal sound in the back of his throat. “That makes two of us, Mi. I don’t know what’s going on either.”
“Is this because of what happened at the hospital?”
“We need to talk about that.” He leaned forward and rubbed his face with tired palms.
“It didn’t mean anything.” I could still picture his anger when he’d seen Ryan help button my pajamas.
Gyver flushed, leaned back in the chair, and pressed his hands flat to his knees. “Got it.”
“He’s a good boyfriend.” I wanted to continue, but words felt too heavy.
“Did I come here so you could tell me about The Jock?” His words were cold and slick as marbles. His eyes were scorching a spot on the wall behind my head.
“No, that’s not why I wanted to see you; I wanted to make sure you’re not mad at me.” It hurt I needed a reason to see him, and he had to be asked to come.
“I’m not,” his voice softened to exhaustion.
“Good.” I wasn’t sure I believed him, and I had so much I needed to tell him. “Thanks for coming to check on me that morning, I never got to say that.”
He raked his hair into unruly points. “Mi, I didn’t sleep that night. All I could think was: you were alone and upset. I didn’t want to leave you and I drove like a maniac to get back.” A riptide of accusation tainted his words. “But you weren’t alone.”
“Would you rather I was? That was the worst night of my life. Yeah, Ryan stayed over. So what? Why do you even care?”
My voice was climbing as I clutched my calves and tried to hold myself together. “You’ve got Meagan—you were so quick to run after her when she was upset. Why do you care if Ryan does the same for me?”
He looked at me—eyes dark and hopeless. I couldn’t stomach the intensity without crying. All I’d done lately was cry. This time, however, I didn’t know whom the tears were for.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t care.” His sigh echoed with resignation and reverberated in my chest. “But what does Meagan have to do with this? I don’t know what you want from me. Now I’m not allowed to have any female friends but you?”
I lowered my chin to the hollow between my chest and legs and peeked over my knees at him. “There’s a big difference between female friends and girlfriends.”
“Exactly.” He stood and paced the room, picking up a throw pillow and mashing it between his hands. “And Meagan will never be anything but a friend to me.”
“What?” I recoiled from his outburst. No. Gyver couldn’t be single. He couldn’t. Because if he was … I’d just said yes to Ryan, after “jerking him along” for a month. And he was a good guy. A great guy.
“Mi, don’t you get it?” He was gripping the pillow so tight his fingers disappeared to the second white knuckle.
I shook my head. I didn’t get it. Nothing made sense.
“I know you have your perfect boyfriend and don’t need me anymore, but wake up! Can’t you see?”
“I didn’t mean—” The words clumped and clogged my throat. “And Ryan—” I shook my head again.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Gyver! Wait. Please?” I stood and ran to him, grabbing his arm with both hands. I tugged on his shirt until he turned around. “Please.”
There was so much I needed to say, but only one thing I’d rehearsed. The idea I’d been battling and gagging on all week. The words it only felt safe to tell him and the words I needed to get out. “At the hospital that night, it was the first time …” I su
cked in a raspy breath. “The first time …”
“Mia, you’ve made yourself clear. I really don’t want to hear any more.” He pulled me into the briefest of hugs, then pushed me away. “Rest up. I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll see you soon.”
Soon wasn’t tomorrow. It wasn’t I’ll call you later. Soon was vague. I watched him walk away, wishing I knew the words to call him back—not just to my house, but back to August.
He hadn’t listened; he hadn’t let me finish my thought: At the hospital, it was the first time I realized I might not beat this. I might die.
Chapter 37
Monday night we got the call that my white blood count had rebounded. My parents reluctantly agreed to let me return to school on Tuesday. After refusing Dad’s offer to drive me, Mom’s “are you sure you don’t want to stay home just one more day?” and armed with extra anti-bac gel and strict instructions to call and check in, they sent me off with anxious first-day-of-kindergarten smiles.
Underneath my oh-Mom-I’ll-be-fine facade, I was a mess. Hil wouldn’t call back and Ryan wouldn’t meet my eyes when I asked about the Calendar Girls. I’d promised Hil the truth but hadn’t had a chance to deliver. It wasn’t my fault this time, but the cumulative weight of my past lies marked me as guilty and slowed down my getting-ready routine so I was thirty minutes late.
“Hey, stranger. I didn’t know you were back.”
I shut my locker to see Chris standing there with a sheepish grin. “Hi.”
“Do you have a sec?” He juggled his bathroom pass from one hand to the other, then shoved his free hand in the pocket of his jeans.
“Sure. What’s up? Is Ryan okay?” He was shifting one foot to the other and staring at my legs below my skirt, but not in his typical I’m-checking-you-out way. This was in a I’m-nervous-and-you’re-in-my-line-of-vision way.
“That’s kinda what I want to know. Are you guys okay? I know he doesn’t have a lot of extra money with the car and saving for college.” He looked from my legs to my face as if I was supposed to have a clue what he meant. When I quirked an eyebrow and shrugged, he continued, “I want you to know, if you and Ryan need money or anything, I’ll help.”
“Money?”
“For, you know, diapers and shit. Babies are expensive as hell. At least that’s what Dr. Phil’s always saying.” Now he was holding the bathroom pass with both hands, staring at the Sharpied paint stirrer like it held a hidden message.
“Babies?” The word was a hissed whisper. “Chris, I’m not pregnant!”
“It’s okay,” he reassured me. “We’re gonna be here for you guys. I hope it looks more like you than Ryan or it’s going to be an ugly bastard … er, baby.”
“We’re not. Why would you even think that?”
“You don’t drink or come to parties anymore. You’re eating like a crunchy hippie—all those weird natural foods. You’re always absent. Isn’t that morning sickness and pregnancy shit? And—” As he got worked up, he grew louder. A few of the late arrivers and hallway wanderers looked over.
“Enough! I’m not pregnant.” My voice was low and nearly a snarl. I wanted to be angry with him, but then I remembered why he’d sought me out. Not to spread gossip or mock me, but to offer help. “But thanks. It’s nice to know that if we did need help—make no mistake, we don’t—that we’d have friends we could count on.”
Chris shrugged. “It’s no big deal,” but his pink ears and aw-shucks smile betrayed him.
He started to rock back on his heels, ready to turn and leave, but I wasn’t done. “Wait, who said we were?”
He looked down. “No one.”
“Hil?”
He cleared his throat. “A lot of people have been saying stuff. I mean, something’s going on. You’re a zombie this year. And I’ve known Ryan his whole life and I’ve never seen him like this. Not even when his dad left.”
I flinched and looked down.
“Has she seen you yet?” Even Chris sounded nervous.
“So she’s really mad?” I wanted to put down my French and math books and wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt.
Chris shrugged. “Yeah, but she won’t tell me why. Is this still because of that stupid thing with Ryan? She’s not into Winters. I swear to God, she’s not.”
I leaned against my locker; it used to be the girls would’ve decorated it to welcome me back after any sort of absence. But that was back when the Calendar Girls were the jealousy standard at East Lake—they still were. I, apparently, wasn’t a part of that anymore. “No. It’s not that. Besides, Ryan loves me, he’d never—”
Chris whistled. “Whoa. I knew you’d gone all rebel and started dating, but love? You and Winters are using the L-word?”
“I’m not.” My mind was still on Hil, and my answer was automatic and careless.
“Wait, Ryan—Ryan Winters—says he loves you and you don’t say it back?”
“I like him a lot.” I hadn’t thought about it, but hearing Chris laugh made it seem awful.
“God, you have him whipped.”
“Like Hil doesn’t have you on a short leash?” I shot back, praying my accusation was accurate.
Chris grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You need to work on your poker face.”
He tried, and failed, to stop smiling. “Anyway, I’d better get back before Mrs. Fryer sends out a search party. Good luck at lunch. I’m glad I’m a dude; girls are too much drama.”
I’d need more than luck, but I didn’t know what. Maybe I wasn’t ready for school yet. Maybe I should get back in my car and head home. Climb back in my bed and hide for just a few more days. Instead, I headed down the hall to French, dreading every minute that brought me closer to the cafeteria and my best friends.
Chapter 38
At lunch I saw Ryan waiting at my locker before he saw me. He looked anxious, exhausted, then relieved—all of this before his dimples appeared. He asked, “How are you?”
“Hanging in. Can I have a hug?” I wanted to stay like that, with my cheek against his chest and his arms tight and warm around me. Just a few more seconds, minutes, and I’d have the courage to go to the cafeteria and face the girls.
“Do a guy a favor—it’s lunchtime and I’d rather not feel sick before I eat the school pizza.” I heard Chris’s voice and footsteps as he walked the five lockers between us, but I didn’t pick up my head and look.
I felt Ryan shift as he responded with a hand gesture, but I didn’t look then either.
Chris laughed. Ryan squeezed me tighter for a beat and I knew that was my cue.
Lunchtime.
Showtime.
Showdown.
Neither of us encouraged Chris’s stupid jokes on the walk to lunch, but that had never stopped him from having a conversation with himself. Today, however, even he was quiet as we approached the cheerleading table. Everyone stopped eating and regarded us silently.
Chris coughed. “Hey, Hil, look who I found.”
“I wish you hadn’t,” she said icily, and resumed dismantling a bunch of grapes. Ally dropped her bagel. She was the only one who returned my “Hey, guys,” with a quiet, guilty “Hi, Mia,” before Hil shot her a look that made her drop her bagel again.
I kissed Ryan on the cheek and told him I’d see him later. I wanted him to stay and sit beside me and hold my hand, but he and Chris didn’t sit at our table on a normal day, and I wanted to pretend this was normal.
It was lunchtime, where the main event was everyone watching Hil ignore me; Ally and Lauren following her lead.
This wasn’t where or how I’d planned it, but after my third lame question about cheerleading was met with silence, I couldn’t take the tension anymore. “Can we talk?”
“No,” Hil said and stood.
I turned to Ally, who was too busy chewing her lip and watching Hil to notice. Lauren wouldn’t meet my eye, which made no sense. She knew, so how could she possibly feel betrayed or left out or whatever was fu
eling Hil’s pissy mood?
I tried for faux sternness, but only managed desperate. “Hillary, sit down and listen to me. I know you’re mad I didn’t call, but I really had a good excuse.”
She whirled, her burgundy fingernail pointed a few inches from my nose. “I don’t want more excuses. I don’t even care anymore—why should I? It’s been eleven days since you promised to call. I’m obviously not important to you.” Her hand dropped back to her side, clenched in a fist as she began to walk away.
This stupid secret seemed the only card left to play, and even more than I hated telling, I hated telling her this way. “Of course I care. Hil, wait!”
She didn’t. Kept widening the gap between us. Two lunch tables. Three. Tables full of students watching us with open fascination and hope for a scandal.
“I have cancer!” I yelled the words across a five-table chasm and hurried to where she’d finally stopped, two-thirds of the way across a room that was lined with gawkers. Her back was still to me, so I took a deep breath and plunged on. “Leukemia.”
With shaky fingers I reached up and removed my wig. It was like the world had a mute button. Some of the students shifted uncomfortably and others leaned forward—the rustling of lunch wrappers and a whispered echo of leukemia were the only sounds.
“Hil? Did you hear me?”
She turned, revealing a face of wet eyes and trembling lips.
And hands in fists, as she crossed her arms in an angry self-hug. “I heard.”
The cafeteria resounded with shh and buzzed with the giddy energy of eavesdroppers. “I also heard it from Lauren a week ago. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I kept waiting for my turn—God knows I gave you plenty of opportunities. How could you not tell me?”
“Hil, it wasn’t like that …” I felt more people join us, but my words weren’t for Ally or Lauren or Chris. Ryan put a hand on my shoulder, but I shook him off.
“Wasn’t like what?” she asked. “Like you told Gyver, Ryan, and Lauren? God, Lauren! But you didn’t tell me?”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
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