Send Me a Sign

by Tiffany Schmidt

  His face collapsed under my sincerity. “Maybe I …”

  “Ryan, why don’t I drop you at the school? We can talk tomorrow.” The cold was creeping through my coat; each icy inhale burned my lungs.

  “What about you? You could still come.”

  “I just want to go home and put on pajamas.” My head was heavy, cloudy—sleep would help. “Go with Chris and everyone; you’ll have fun.”

  “Fun? You really think anything that happens tonight could be fun? Mia—”

  I wanted to think through how Ryan must be feeling, but more than that, I wanted to go home. I tried to swallow through my tightening lungs, and choked out a sputtering cough.

  He exhaled and deflated. “It doesn’t matter anymore. C’mon, drop me off and then get to bed.”

  The drive to the school was tense. My fingers wouldn’t stop trembling, even after Ryan redirected all the heat vents at me. He’d sent a few texts, then slumped against his window, fists in his lap. The only time he spoke was to comment on the music.

  “This is Coldplay, right? Can we turn it off? It’s depressing as shit.”

  I nodded.

  Ejected Gyver’s CD.

  Gulped air, then forgot how to exhale.

  My head spun as pieces clicked.

  Coldplay. Gyver. Oh God! “Surrender” song.

  Gyver?

  I bit my lip to keep myself from sobbing. Clenched the wheel to prevent myself from pulling a U-turn and speeding home. What would that accomplish? What would I do? He’d said … And I’d said … My head was too busy tilting and blurring to focus. It took all of my concentration to see the dotted street lines and navigate the roads to East Lake High.

  Hillary, like a shark, scented the blood from Ryan’s broken heart. She hurried to my car seconds after he exited. Ryan dropped his bag in the back of Chris’s SUV and entered the school. He didn’t look back. Hil leaned against my driver’s door, tapping the window with her manicure until I lowered the glass. She looked like petite perfection in a skimpy golden dress and three-inch heels.

  “You broke up,” she stated.

  Her words distracted me from my task: breathing.

  “You know,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lip gloss, “I did tell you it’d happen before Fall Ball. You should’ve listened to me.”

  My mind wanted to say: stop being such a hardass and admit you care. But my body was too tired. “At least I didn’t OD on chocolate.”

  “True, you did follow my advice about that.” She tilted her head and studied me. “Though you still look like crap. Since when do you let your mom pick your dresses? Don’t even try and deny it; you would never pick out something that pageanty, and your mom loves that color.” Her tone wasn’t caustic, it was teasing. She reached through the window and plucked at a layer of the tulle.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it? Good thing I’m not going in.” I managed a few seconds of laughter before it turned to choking.

  Hil didn’t ask if I was okay, but the question was written in the lines marring her forehead. When I stopped coughing, she asked, “Does this mean you’ll be abandoning the soccer players and rejoining our lunch table?”

  “Am I welcome?” My voice was quiet and raspy, masking how desperately I wanted her to answer yes.

  “I don’t know. My best friend wouldn’t be skipping the dance because she’s all pouty about a guy. Even if she does look like a contestant from Toddlers and Tiaras.” There was a challenge in her words.

  But I was too tired to play friendship games or jump through hoops. Every weary cell in my body demanded an end to tonight’s drama. “Well, when you decide, let me know.”

  She opened my door, adding the car’s key-in-ignition beeping to the percussion of my coughing. Leaning forward, she hugged me. A fierce, almost painfully tight Hil hug. She pulled back, eyes wide and sad. “I miss you.”

  Then she turned, her heels clicked on the pavement, and the fabric of her dress looked like molten gold as she practically ran for the school entrance.

  And I was left in silence. Even my coughing momentarily ceased as I shut my door and tried to sort through my scrambled thoughts to make sense of what had happened.

  My head and palms were sweating. I pulled off my wig and reached to direct the heat vents away—I must’ve already turned them off—there was no air coming out.

  Hil had extended an invitation to open my car door and rejoin the group. It was tempting. So tempting. But the parking lot looked huge; the school looked impossibly far away.

  I needed a sign.

  I pressed the Power button on the radio. Nothing happened. I reached for the ignition.

  It was empty.

  My keys—I knew with sudden, many-years-of-friendship clarity—were being held hostage in the dance. Hil had made the decision for me, just like I’d asked.

  Chapter 47

  The gym was full of students, music, and hot, sticky air. I slipped through the crowd, who nodded greetings, then left me alone. The pulse of the bass made my heart throb, the movement of the dancers made me dizzy, the strobe lights were disorienting.

  They were at the center of the crowd. Of course they were; they were the ones people wanted to watch. I was a watcher now. Chris was dancing like he demonstrated in the cafeteria, making Hil laugh so hard she teetered on her heels. He put a hand around her waist; she leaned against his shoulder and smiled up at him. Ally was here with Bill. Whether it was a date of convenience or more, I didn’t know—but I wanted to. Lauren’s hair glowed like flames under the lights; it was styled and tiara-ready. I scanned for Ryan—found him, found the Ryan of last year: all dimples and charm as he chatted with a pretty junior. But it looked forced. When she turned to whisper something to a friend, his mask slipped, his dimples dimmed.

  The air felt too thick, like breathing through a wet towel that smelled of perfume, deodorant, and sweat. I wanted to slump and sneak out, but I couldn’t without my keys, and I wouldn’t let myself. I’d stay, keep my head high, and watch them crowned. Then I’d head over to congratulate and apologize.

  “Mia! Look at your dress—it’s beautiful.” I turned and found Meagan standing with a tall guy with neat brown hair and a kind smile. “This is my boyfriend, Craig. He goes to Cross Pointe.”

  “Hey, Mia. Megs talks about you a lot. You’re pretty much her hero. I can see why; it’s really brave of you to come here without a wig or anything.”

  “Hi. Oh—” I put a hand to my head, surprised to touch stubble and sweat. Screw it, everyone knew I was sick; I didn’t need to hide behind an itchy wig. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Craig was easy to talk with. He filled my bewildered silences, and Meagan’s sincerity quashed my third-wheel worries. “I heard about Ryan. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay,” I answered, surprised that it was more or less true.

  The longer I stood talking with them, the more people came to join our group, offering hugs and praise for my courage. Courageous? Me?

  Emily linked an arm through mine and leaned her curly head on my shoulder. “Please say you’ll come back to the squad for the winter season. It’s not the same without you there. Ally cried when she told us you were off the squad; Hil and Coach Lindsey are still barely speaking because of Coach’s decision.”

  “It wasn’t Hil’s choice?”

  Emily laughed. “Wait? You’re serious? No. She threatened to quit over it. It was major squad drama. Summary: you’re missed and loved and I’m glad you’re here tonight.” She squeezed me, then let go. “I should probably find my date.”

  I waved good-bye and Meagan stepped closer. “You okay? You look confused.”

  I moved my head. Just enough to indicate a nod. More than enough to make me feel dizzy. I shut my eyes to block out the spotlights. “Tired. It’s so loud and hot in here.”

  “Where’s Gyver tonight?”

  Gyver. Coldplay. I needed to talk to him. I needed to go home.

  The door looked so fa
r away. All the way across an out-of-focus, sequined, gossiping crowd. The opposite direction from the Calendar Girls.

  The music stopped. All eyes in the room automatically flicked to the stage.

  Mr. Bonura picked up the mic and tapped it. “Good evening, East Lakers. You all look nice tonight—what have you done with my students?” He paused for laughter that didn’t come. “It’s time to announce Fall Ball king and queen. Could I have the royal court on stage?”

  It was a bitter Wonderland nostalgia—watching Hillary, Ally, Lauren, and Molly Cohen weave through students who parted to create a path. I could almost see myself behind Lauren; her seeking last-minute reassurances as I tucked one of her escapee red curls back into place. I blinked and they were at the stage. Ryan was paired with Molly; I was in the audience.

  Hil was squinting into the lights—studying the crowd with a frown. It disappeared when she caught my eye, replaced by a smile and a wink. And a flash of my keys as she struck a model pose and dangled them from a finger.

  I lifted a hand to wave back, but the motion knocked me off balance. I shut my eyes and swayed. An arm slid around my shoulders.

  “It’s got to be hard watching Ryan up there. But he’s really not the guy for you,” Meagan soothed.

  I leaned against her, grateful for the support. If she wanted to blame it on my breakup, I was okay with that.

  I could hear Mr. Bonura fumbling with the mic and a piece of paper. Ally’s chipper voice: “Can I hold that for you?” Laughter from the audience.

  “Thanks, Ally. Let’s see here: East Lake’s Fall Ball king is … Ryan Winters.” Clapping. I kept my eyes shut. I could picture Ryan stepping forward and bending for the plastic crown better with my eyes closed; when I opened them colors blurred and spun. Was I crying? I felt like crying, but I didn’t feel like I was crying.

  “And his queen is …” There was the inevitable clumsy-envelope dramatic pause. I stared at the room with eyes that wouldn’t focus.

  “Lauren Connors!” Applause as she sauntered forward and ducked for the rhinestone tiara.

  Mr. Bonura announced, “Now the king and queen will share their royal dance. Please clear them a spot on the floor.” Between blinks the crowd closer to the stage melded into an indistinct blob; they pulsed and a space appeared. A space with Ryan and Lauren in it. I hadn’t seen them leave the stage or heard the music start.

  Meagan’s hand felt cold and heavy on my arm; when she stepped backward, I stumbled and fell.

  There was a localized whoosh of gasps and curses. Craig carefully helped me up, but now two spots had been cleared on the dance floor: the one where Lauren twirled, tiara’d and oblivious, and the one of concerned attention around me.

  “I’m okay.” I’d said that so many times tonight the words tasted worn out. I needed to go. I needed space. And quiet.

  “I’m fine. I just need air.” I held out a “stay there” palm to Meagan and Craig, moving it to cover my mouth as I coughed, the sound overpowering the song’s instrumental interlude.

  “Mia? Is that—?”

  “Ryan, the song’s not over. Where are you going? Get back here.” Lauren’s anger was ill-concealed in her pretty-me voice.

  “Mia, baby, wait up!”

  All of my strength was directed at making progress through the gym. I passed through the doors and into the foyer before pausing. “What?”

  Ryan looked smaller, like the events of the night had shrunken him. He removed the crown from his head and dropped it on a bench. “I wanted to see if you’re okay. To drive you home if you want. I’m sober now, I swear. I had no idea you were in there.”

  “I’m okay, and thanks, but I just need to be alone right now.”

  Ryan nodded again, eyes tortured. He turned to leave me, then turned back. “Drive safe. I’ll call tomorrow. We’ll talk.” He gave me a long look before stepping back through the doors.

  They shut, closing in the gossip, music, and teenage normalcy. I wanted to slump against the wall and put my head on my knees. I ached. Today had been draining—breakfast to breakup—I wanted it over.

  I shook as I tried to take my coat off the rack. I used both hands; it took four tries to unfasten the top button and get it off the hanger. Draping it over my arm, I pulled my cell phone out of the pocket, waiting impatiently for it to load and pull up Gyver’s number. It was so hot in the foyer. The air was oppressive. The hall seemed to throb with a pulse, contracting and expanding with the beat from the gym. I started for the door and the frosty air of the parking lot. My arm spasmed under the weight of my jacket. I let it slip through my fingers and used one hand to steady the other as I held the phone to my face.

  The ringing sounded far away, but I couldn’t remember how to turn it up. “Hi. You’ve reached Gyver. I’m not here. You know—”

  I heard the clatter of its impact on the tile floor before I realized I’d dropped my phone. Picking it up was impossible. It was so far away. I leaned forward, but the world leaned more—the walls and doors at odd angles. I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see them.

  “Get the hell out of my way.” I knew that voice. “Mia? Your idiot ex-boyfriend wouldn’t let me through the door. Mia?” Hil’s voice was echoing off the walls. It hurt my ears. “Mia! Are you okay? Ryan! Ryan!” Something icy touched my cheek, jolted my eyes open. She was right next to me, kneeling on the floor in her formal dress. I was on the floor. When had that happened?

  “Mia!” Ryan’s feet appeared, then the rest of him. “What happened?”

  I shut my eyes to block out their anxious faces.

  “Should we take her to the hospital?”

  “Mia?”

  “Her face feels so hot.”

  “Call an ambulance.”

  Chapter 48

  My head hurt.

  I tried opening my eyes, but everything was too bright and too white. It was noisy: hushed conversations and rhythmic beeping. The talking stopped when I blinked, but the beeping continued. I was in Lakeside Hospital. In pajamas from the just-in-case suitcase Mom kept in the front hall closet.

  “Kitten? Are you awake?”

  “Mom?” I coughed and forced my eyes open, looking around the room until I located her: Hil, Ryan, doctor-I-didn’t-know, Gyver, Mom, Dad. I panned the room, but went back to the face that mattered most. “Hi.”

  “Mia Moore—you get passed over for Fall Ball queen and react by collapsing?” Gyver said. He’d been leaning against the wall playing with a pick, but stepped forward and placed his hands on the bed rails. “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  I smiled. My brain felt fogged. “Hi,” I repeated.

  “Hi.” His voice was soft, almost shy.

  “How are you feeling?” Dad startled me—I’d forgotten there were other people in the room.

  “I feel … lousy.” My throat clenched in coughs to punctuate my statement.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “I’d imagine you do. You have pneumonia. In fact, now you’ve all seen she’s okay, the best thing we can do for Mia is to let her get some rest. Then no more than three visitors at a time.”

  Mom kissed my forehead. “I’m going to go call Dr. Kevin. Say good-bye to your friends, then get some sleep. We’ll be back.” Dad squeezed my hand and followed.

  “Five minutes, then go,” the doctor ordered. “I’ll be back to check on you.”

  Ryan, Hil, and Gyver hesitated. They each had an agenda; I owed each an explanation. Ryan stepped forward first. He touched my cheek. “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words grated against my throat and I coughed to clear them.

  If possible, he paled further. “Don’t apologize; just get better.”

  Hil stepped forward and pushed Ryan out of the way. He looked like he might argue, then didn’t. Simply drifted back to lean against the wall. She opened and shut her mouth three times before she could get the words out. “I thought it’d be easier to be mad at you than scared. It wasn’t.” Her eyes were anguished
; they flitted between my bare head and the needle in my arm. “Don’t ever lie to me like that again.”

  “I won’t. I’m sorry,” I rasped.

  “I’m sorry too.” She hugged me, wary of my tubes. “I thought you didn’t need me anymore.” She was tearing up and I was too.

  “Not possible, Hil. I was stupid.”

  That was the limit of Gyver’s patience. He pressed past Hil and sat on the side of the bed—claiming his spot and my attention. “Not stupid. Scared.”

  Over his shoulder, Hil gave me an amused smile. “I’ll visit soon—I’ve got some questions and want answers.” She rolled her eyes in the direction of Gyver’s back, then propelled Ryan out the door.

  I leaned close to Gyver, inhaled a painful breath, and began. “You were right. I was selfish. And really, really hurtful. I’m so sorry. I need you to forgive me. I need you.” Tears again.

  Gyver waited until I was done coughing. “As much as I’m convinced you’re perfect, the doctors keep telling me you’re only human … Though there’s nothing only about you. You were scared. Sorry I was so judgmental.”

  “I didn’t get your CD before, but I do now.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so. I hope so. I listened to more of it. ‘Fix You,’ by Coldplay. That’s a ‘surrender’ song. Isn’t it?”

  “That’s why I picked it. What do you think?”

  “I think—” There was so much I needed to say, but my head was clouded with fever and fatigue. I reached for his hand. “I think you’ve given me another reason to prove the psychic wrong.”

  “Time’s up,” the doctor said from the door. “Let her rest. You can come back tomorrow.”

  Why couldn’t it be Dr. Kevin, who knew it was Gyver’s right to be by my side now and whenever?

  “I didn’t get to listen to all of it yet. And my car’s at the school.” Alarm tightened my grip on his hand.

  Gyver removed his iPod from the pocket of his jacket and scrolled through its screens. “It’s on here too. I’d tell you to sleep now and listen later, but you’ve got a history of falling asleep to my music.” He gently tucked the earbuds in my ears.