Ryan downed half my Diet Coke. “Then you don’t have to come visit.”
Chris added, “But there’s plenty of room at Beach Casa Matherson for lovely ladies who are ready to party and have fun.” He and Bill banged knuckles with self-satisfied nods.
“Be fair. You know Hil gets cranky when she’s hungover. And we’ll totally be there. Maybe we can drive down Friday,” said Lauren. “You’ll be back by then, right, Mia?”
“Probably not. Sorry.”
Hil put down her fork and rubbed her forehead like she could erase my answer along with her hangover headache. “How long will you be gone? Tell me you’ll be back when the squad goes to camp.”
I studied the neon-pink stars embossed on the tabletop. There was no way I’d be out of the hospital before the squad left for cheer camp at Penn State. “Maybe.”
“But—” Ally began, throwing her arms around me in one of her impulsive hugs.
“Ally, chill. Mia won’t miss camp; it’s still two weeks away. I can never stay long with my grandparents. Old people creep me out.”
“Hil has grandparents? Who knew. I thought you were hatched or spawned in hell,” teased Chris.
Bill choked on a fry and Hil whacked him on the back, then hit Chris. “You’re. So. Not. Funny.”
“Between visiting the elderly and cartwheel camp, you’ll still come down and visit me—us—right?” Ryan asked me.
The banter. Their normal flirty, teasing banter was too rapid for me to process today. They could joke and plan beach trips. Not me: I didn’t belong.
“Right?” Ryan prompted again. The table had fallen silent and watchful as I suffocated from the weight of my secrets and lies.
“I’ll try.” I felt trapped in the booth and trapped by their questions. “My pops isn’t doing well.” I said a silent prayer I didn’t jinx my active, healthy grandfather.
“Old and sick? Gross. Either one of those is bad enough, but together? Yuck! Come on, back me up—I’m not evil, right? Don’t answer that, Chris.” Hil wrinkled her nose in a way she knew looked adorable and looked around the table for support.
Lauren agreed—of course. “Yeah, yuck! I had to visit my gran at the hospital. It smelled weird and people kept shushing me.”
“Hospitals are just creepy—period. Buildings full of sick people, ugh.” Hil shuddered.
“Well, duh, they’re where people go to die and stuff,” added Chris.
As my friends nodded, I curled one hand around my necklace and covered my bruised elbow with the other. Hil’s comment was an unmistakable sign. My cancer needed to be secret. Those grossed-out and disgusted faces would be for me. Ryan would be flinching, not rubbing my leg below the table.
I pushed his fingers off my thigh—too aggravated to be attracted. “I’ve got to go pack,” I snapped. It wasn’t fair I wouldn’t have their support. They should be able to handle this. I would have handled, it for them. Not that I’d wish this on them. Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t have cancer. “Let me out.”
“Already? I thought we’d hang out a little,” Ryan said. He didn’t move, except for his hand, which was back on my thigh.
I needed to get away before I yelled, cried, or confessed everything.
“Can’t. I’m leaving as soon as Mom gets home from work.” I climbed over Ryan and stood at the end of the table, not sure what to say. “I’ll call.”
“Wait!” Ally pushed Ryan out of the way and gave me a hug.
Lauren and Hil followed her.
“You are too good sometimes, Summer Girl. I would’ve told my parents no way. Don’t let them waste your whole vacation. Get back to us ASAP and we’ll make up for all the fun you miss,” said Hil.
“Drunk shuffleboard?” I suggested. I left the restaurant while they were still laughing and making up rules.
“So? How’d it go?” Mom met me at the front door, swallowing me up in a tight embrace like I’d been gone for weeks instead of just an hour.
I slumped onto the bottom step and hugged my knees. “I didn’t tell them. I just … I couldn’t handle all the questions.”
She hovered above me, smoothing my hair, patting my shoulder. “I understand, kitten. Maybe in a few days. We’re all still adjusting to the idea.”
“No. I don’t want to tell them.” This was all I’d thought about on the drive home—I’d asked for a sign and gotten one. I wasn’t telling.
Mom’s forehead puckered. “I guess that’s best. We’ll get through this and you’ll go back to being the girl you were.”
The girl I was? Had the diagnosis changed me that much already? I lowered my chin to my knees in defeat. She stroked my hair again, and I bit back the urge to jerk away and tell her to stop touching me.
Dad walked out from the kitchen, a book in one hand, a stack of printouts and a highlighter in his other. “All right, kiddo, I carried your suitcase down. It’s time to go.”