Send Me a Sign

My eyes drifted over the bed, pillows in clean cases since I’d sobbed all over the others. My throat tightened. I couldn’t think of a plausible lie, and I didn’t want to. I was sick, she was my friend; I deserved her support, she deserved the truth.

 

Lauren sat next to me on the bed. She put an arm around my shoulder and used her other hand to untangle mine from my necklace. “Hey, there’s something going on, isn’t there? You can tell me, you know.”

 

So I did.

 

For the second time this week I turned my bedroom into a confessional. Lauren didn’t sob or bolt, just turned so pale her freckles stood out like ink spatter. She hugged me tightly while I explained, then paced while asking questions.

 

“Who else knows? Did everyone but me?”

 

“No. Not at all. Just Ryan and Gyver.”

 

“You didn’t even tell Hil?” Lauren sounded shocked, then answered herself, “Well, duh you didn’t. She wouldn’t be acting so bitchy if she knew. Oh, Mia, I’m glad you told me. I can’t imagine how hellish this summer must’ve been. I would’ve been an excellent hospital visitor, you know.”

 

“You can prove it—I go back tomorrow for more chemo.”

 

The color that had started to creep back into her cheeks faded. “More? It’s not done?”

 

“Not even close. I’ve got a new round every six to eight weeks.”

 

“Then I’ll be there.” She stooped to hug me again. “We’ll do movies and manicures and I’ll make it fun.”

 

“Thanks.” I exhaled this tension and inhaled the stress of my next challenge. “How do you think I should tell Ally and Hil?”

 

Lauren dropped onto my bed in a tangle of limbs only gymnasts and cheerleaders can accomplish. “Oh … so you are going to tell them?”

 

I was surprised by the sniff of disapproval in her voice. “Well, yeah. Shouldn’t I?”

 

She exhaled slowly, motionless for once. “Honestly?” Even her voice was slow, like an idea was coming into focus and she couldn’t quite make it out. “I don’t think you should yet.”

 

“What?”

 

“Not right away, at least.” And then she was back up to manic speed. “It’s just that Hil is still totally worked up over the Keith thing. She’s about one stressor away from tearing someone’s head off or locking herself in her room. Did she tell you he texted her again this weekend?”

 

I shook my head. I guess I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

 

“All it said was: I miss you, which is totally unhelpful, since last week he posted all these pictures of him with other girls on Facebook. He’s such a toolbox. She can’t handle this right now. And if you tell Ally …”

 

“Everyone will know,” I finished.

 

“Well, yeah.” She unwound her arm from around her ankle. “It sucks. And, I mean, this is just my opinion; you do what you think …”

 

I grabbed a tissue to wipe my eyes. “No, I think you’re right. Once Hil’s in a better place, Keith-wise …”

 

“And I know we’re not as close as you and Hil, and I can’t replace her or anything, but I’m here for you.”

 

That’s when the real sobs came. Mine first, then Lauren’s. Until I looked at the clock. “We need to be back at school in thirty minutes.”

 

“Then we need some deep breaths and some serious cover-up if we don’t want to show up looking like we spent the afternoon watching The Notebook.”

 

I laughed.

 

“You know, that’s exactly what we’ll tell Hil if she says anything about puffy eyes. Then she’ll be too disgusted by our sappiness to give it a second thought.”

 

“I’m glad I told you, Laur. Thanks.”

 

She handed me a tissue and squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome, but no more sappy. We’re done with sappy for today. Now it’s dance music and get ready for the game time.”

 

“Deal,” I answered, sticking my iPod on its speakers and dialing up the volume.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25

 

That night I cheered with enthusiasm, fueled by the fact I’d be missing at least a week of practices for chemo and because I needed to prove I belonged. I loved this. In all my efforts to hide my cancer, I’d forgotten. I loved this: the camaraderie of the squad, the energy of the players, the excitement of the crowd, the thrill of feeding off that buzz.

 

When the game went into overtime and Hil grumbled about the party, I just rustled my purple-and-gold poms and began an impromptu cheer, encouraging the crowd to join my chant: “Let’s go, East Lake!”

 

My cheer high floated me through the game and through Hil’s postgame snark: “I can’t believe you’re blowing us off for Ryan. I don’t want you devastated if you sleep with him and he dumps you.”

 

“It’s not like that, Hil.”

 

“How do you know?” she demanded. “He’s going to break your heart.”

 

“He’s not Keith, okay? He’s Ryan. Thanks for worrying about me, but it’ll be fine.”

 

I gave her a hug; she returned it before adding, “But if he does, don’t go the chocolate route or you’ll look like crap at the Fall Ball.”

 

I peeled the purple star stickers from the corners of my eyes and shoved my poms in my locker. Calling “Have fun tonight” back over my shoulder before heading to where Ryan waited by the gym door.

 

“Hey, you.”

 

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