“Thanks.” She turned on the radio.
I turned it off. “Lauren says one of the freshmen is becoming a great tumbler.”
“Monica. You were better, but she’ll do.” Hil swore at a slow car in front of her and drummed sparkly nails on the steering wheel.
“Anything else new? I feel so out of it after missing all that school.” I was embarrassed to be asking; I should know.
“Not really.”
Maybe the direct route was best. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” The slow car turned into a driveway and Hillary accelerated with a jerk.
“Sorry I’ve missed so much practice.”
“Whatever. It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then what? Because of Ryan?” I instinctively grasped the empty air at my neck.
“What, you mean how you’re supposedly not dating him, yet he’s been your spokesperson for the past two weeks?”
“He has not.”
“Really? He and Lauren are the only ones you bother to talk to anymore. Explain why I should tell you anything when you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on?” She glowered at the yellow lines blurring ahead of us.
“I’m here now. Hil?”
“Forget it.” She sucked in a breath and asked, “So, are your parents splitting up?”
“What? My parents? No. Why?”
“I thought—the whole Connecticut thing? My parents sent me away when they tried a last-ditch effort to fix their crap marriage.” She sniffed once, her voice raw. “I thought maybe your parents—you’ve been totally non-Mia since you got back.”
“No. They’re fine.”
“Oh. Forget I said anything.”
“I’d tell you—if my parents were divorcing. I’d tell you that.” That would be easy.
“Would you? You know Ally has all these theories about what’s going on with you. Mia’s depressed, Mia’s anorexic, Mia’s in rehab, Mia’s got mono.”
I tried to laugh but it came out mangled and fake. “Ally’s so dramatic.” Though mono would’ve been a great cover and part of me wished I’d thought of it.
“Is she? Where’ve you been? I stopped by your house more than once and there was never anyone home. Once I ran into Mac ’n’ Cheese—he was coming out your front door and said he was feeding Jinx. Why did Gyver have to feed your cat if you were home sick?”
“You must be spending too much time with Ally—now you’re being a drama queen too.” I sounded like my mom—pacifying, belittling.
Hil flinched. “I’m worried about you. Don’t you get it?”
I stared out the window and directed my lie to the row of mailboxes. “I’m fine.”
Hil sighed. “Never mind. After the game we’ll go to Lauren’s party—thank God her parents are away. We’ll talk there, okay? You can tell me how Winters is wonderful and I’ll try to believe it.” She gave me her pretty and persuasive smile and I wanted to nod, but I couldn’t. “You are going, right? It’s at Lauren’s. You know, your new best friend’s house? Wait … let me guess; you’re busy with Ryan?” Her voice was acid and ice.
“You’re still—” The rest of that sentence, “my best friend,” felt awkward and forced. “I can’t go, but he can if he wants.”
“But he won’t. He’s like a puppy.” She relented. “Please, Mia.”
“Sorry.”
“You two are so lame. He used to be hot and you used to be fun. He’s just a guy. It’s not worth it!” She pulled into the parking lot behind the field house.
“Is this the part where you explain to me how it’s so different than what you and Keith did for a year and a half? You’re such a hypocrite!” I snapped.
She got out without answering, but the parking lot lights reflected off tears on her cheeks.
I stayed curled in the passenger seat, knees to chin, bloomers visible to anyone who walked by, and tried to convince myself I hadn’t just made things worse.
A knock on the window made me jump. Ally waved and mouthed, “You okay?” I nodded and uncurled my knees, wishing I’d stayed home, wishing Ally wasn’t waiting with a what’s-wrong? expression. Wishing I didn’t have to smile and lie.
Chapter 28
I should’ve been expecting it. Every morning there was more hair on the pillowcase and less on my head. I couldn’t wear dark colors because the contrast with my blond hair drew attention to my excessive shedding. Still, I went down to breakfast on Saturday unprepared.
“Kitten, have you thought about when you’d like to go back to the hairdresser?” Mom looked at a box on the kitchen table.
“There’s not much left to cut.” I resembled one of those toddlers with stringy, wispy hair.
“I think it’s time to accept the inevitable. The best thing would be to cut it off and wear this.” She reached into the box and pulled out a wig packaged within some sort of netting. “It’s real hair—your hair. Remember?”
“Oh.” My hands strayed upward. “It’s that bad?”