“Go fish. I have zero boyfriends. Gyver’s just a friend and Ryan’s …” I finished the statement with a shrug. He’d called to tell me that he and Chris had plans in Summerset tonight—a party with some of the crew they’d guarded with this summer. Though it sounded more like asking than telling. It sounded like an apology. Like a test.
“Of course you should go. Have fun,” I told him. What else could I say? We weren’t dating—my choice—and he’d never be as comfortable in my hospital room as he was at the center of a party crowd. It was just one night, but I knew I’d be gripping my necklace a little tighter until the next time he visited or called to check in.
Mark gave me a dubious look and drew a card. “Okay, no boyfriends. But where’s everyone else? Where are the cards and flowers? To hear your mom talk, you’re Little Miss Popular Pompoms, so why doesn’t your room have a waiting list for visitors?”
I frowned. “My mother exaggerates. Lauren knows, but I haven’t told any of my other friends I’m here.”
“Where do they think you are? Club Med? Well, I guess you could call this ‘club meds,’ but you know what I mean. Your turn.”
“Fives? They think I’m home sick with something normal.”
He handed me the five of spades. “That’s bull. Why wouldn’t you tell them?”
I put down my cards and crossed my arms. “Because I don’t want to.”
“That’s a crap reason. If you’re going to pout like a toddler, I’ll go catch up with paperwork.”
I picked up the cards and refanned them. “I’m not telling them. Not unless I absolutely have to. Don’t you remember high school? You’re not that old.”
“Gee, thanks. Do you have any nines?”
I passed him a card. “High school sucks enough. I don’t need to be ‘leukemia girl.’”
Mark stared at me. “Mia, c’mon, you’re not that naive, are you? This is cancer; it’s not make-believe. You’re not going to be able to hide this. I’m shocked it’s worked so far.”
“You don’t know that! It could work.”
He shook his head and placed his final pair of cards on the tray. “You lose. Better luck next time.”
He left and I knew I’d been immature and bratty. I knew I should press the call button and apologize. Maybe Mark and I could have an adult conversation about this—what my rationale was, what I hoped, what I feared.
But giving those ideas a voice was scarier than answering Hil’s increasingly impatient voice mails. Scarier than losing my hair. Scarier than any cancer fact on Dad’s charts.
Just thinking about it gave me goose bumps, so I put down the call button and picked up my cell phone. A flurry of fib-filled texts later, I felt soothed. Mark was wrong, hiding this was easy. Too easy. Lies no longer paused on my lips, no longer felt weighted by conscience. Lies weren’t naive—they were necessary.
Chapter 27
It was five days before I could sit up without my room spinning and stomach lurching. A week and a half before I returned to school. I let calls go to voice mail. I didn’t have enough energy to fake it, and Gyver, Ryan, and Lauren knew to come by.
My first day back, a Thursday, I only made it to lunch before the smell of food left me retching in the nurse’s room. From there, I spent the day in my bed or on my bathroom floor.
I tried school again Friday with more success. Hil was withdrawn at lunch; Ally studied me as I picked at and threw away most of my food; Lauren chatted like she’d supersized her morning coffee. I was relieved when lunch ended and we headed out of the cafeteria to go to our separate classes.
I avoided the girls at dismissal—instead going from teacher to teacher to collect makeup work. They’d left by the time I finished, gone home to get ready for the night’s game. I stopped by my locker, then hurried to Ryan, who was waiting by the front doors.
In his car, he leaned in for a kiss—then froze.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. Ryan’s eyes were panning my face with anxious sweeps.
“Do I have another bloody nose?” I flipped down his visor—no blood.
“That necklace you always wear, did you take it off?”
“Of course not.” My hand went to my throat—it was naked. I continued searching my collar like it’d reappear. I gulped air, tried not to cry.
“I’ll find it.” His voice calmed into determination. “I’ll take you home. You search your room. I’ll come back and look.”
I felt vulnerable without the weight of the charm against my neck: exposed and unprotected. And the necklace wasn’t in my room, or the kitchen, or my bathroom. Dad checked the shower and sink drains. Mom went through the vacuum bags and searched my car. Ryan called to report he’d had no luck at the school—but he’d alerted the janitors and principal and left notes for all my teachers.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll find it. I’m going to check my car and then the hospital. I’ll meet you at the game.”
I didn’t want to go to the game anymore; I wanted to hide in bed until my necklace was found. Instead I called Hil for a ride so we’d have a chance to talk. I needed to fix us without telling her why we were broken.
“I like your new highlights,” I said as I got in the car.