“I know. But it’s no biggie. After all, it’s my mom’s fault she knew. Mom works with Meagan’s dad, did you know that?”
I shook my head. “So, you two, you’ve hung out a lot?”
“Well, yeah. Anyway, what I was going to say was Meagan’s brother, Max, had leukemia too. When Mom first found out you were sick—before she knew it was a state secret—she asked Officer Andrews about treatments and stuff.”
“Her brother?”
Gyver looked down and his dark hair obscured his eyes. “Yeah. It was years ago. Don’t worry about him, worry about you. I hate seeing you upset like this, Mi. Just tell—”
I held up a hand to stop him. I didn’t want a lecture. “She seems nice,” I managed.
I was proud of myself for the effort, but unnerved by the way my insides twisted when he crunched a cookie and nodded. “She’s great. You’d like her.”
I highly doubted that. “Thanks again—for everything today.”
“If I tell you it wasn’t a big deal for the third time, will you believe me?”
“It’s a big deal to me. I don’t know how to show you how grateful I am.”
“I can think of a few ideas.” Gyver arched his eyebrows.
“Don’t you have homework?”
He stood and grabbed another cookie. “I was just going to suggest you drive tomorrow. And maybe write my English essay.”
“I’ll drive, but you’re on your own with Dostoyevsky. I’ve got my own essay to write.”
“See you later, Mi.” He squeezed my hand and left; leaving me alone with my relief, uneasy thoughts about M.A. and Gyver, fingers that tingled from touching his, and a renewed conviction that I really, truly needed to get over him.
Chapter 19
I couldn’t handle school today. Staying home, I texted.
After hunting for the stupid letters, I pressed Send and collapsed on my pillow. I was drifting off when my phone chirped. No, I didn’t want a response; I wanted sleep.
I sighed and flipped it over: BRT.
Be right there? Which part of my two-word message had he interpreted as a request for visitors? I rubbed my eyes and began a response: You don’t—
But I could already hear him in the kitchen, his morning voice rusty as he greeted my parents. “I’ll take that up to Mi.”
“Thanks. Quiet though, she might be asleep.”
Wishful thinking. I kept my eyes open but didn’t bother sitting up when he and Mom entered my room. “Kitten, look who I found in the kitchen.”
“Hi.”
Gyver filled my bedroom door, his eyes more alert than I’d ever seen them before nine a.m. He balanced a kitchen tray and his mug of coffee. “Hey, Mi. Are you okay? Do you want this?” He nodded toward the tray. It was loaded with juice, fruit salad, toast, a bottle of water, organic cardboard toaster pastries, and granola bars: an arsenal of food for a patient who had no appetite.
I shook my head. Gyver placed it on the floor and sat on the corner of my bed. Mom hovered by my desk. Both of them stared at me like they were decoding a puzzle written on my face.
“I’m just tired. Dr. Kevin said I would be.” I’d slept all weekend, bailing on cheering on Friday and Saturday’s party with a weak excuse of food poisoning. I’d felt recharged enough for school Monday and Tuesday. Enough to feel jealous of everyone’s party stories: Chris peed in a house plant; Lauren hooked up with Bill’s older brother; a JV cheerleader broke up with her boyfriend, so Ally spent the night comforting her and Hil ordered the linebacker ex to leave—even though the party was at the house of one of his teammates. Ryan had, according to Hil, spent the night pouting and texting. While I doubted the first part, I had a half-dozen Saturday night texts from him—all clever variations of date me. I’d spent Sunday morning trying to come up with a response: trying, and failing, and avoiding him at school like some reverse game of hide and seek.
Today school seemed impossible.
“Just tired,” Mom repeated. “Let’s take your temperature.”
“Again? You’ve taken it three times, and it hasn’t been above 99.1.”
“Just once more.” I accepted the thermometer and returned it post-beep. “Okay, 98.9. So, a day in bed? But Mia, I can’t stay home today. I’ve got client meetings. I’ve missed so much work and I’m taking next week off for your chemo. Mr. Russo will be here to get me any minute … But if you need me, I guess I could try to work something out.” She twisted her hands and looked at me with tortured uncertainty.
“I’ll be fine.” I yawned.
Mom started to pace the room. “Your father already left—but I called him. He’s got a showing this morning, then he’ll come home. He’ll be back by noon. Maybe I could go in late? Cancel my nine-thirty meeting?”
“I’ll stay.” Gyver tickled my foot through the blanket.
“Seriously, I don’t need supervision. I’m just going to sleep.”
“Then I’ll sleep with you,” Gyver blurted out.