I sat on his bed—the way he’d sat on my hospital one. He gave me a sleep-warm hug. “You okay? You want to cry?”
“Did that already. I’m just so tired of it all, Gyver.”
He leaned his cheek against the top of my head; I could feel the heat from his bare chest radiating through my pajamas. “I worry about you, Mi. It seems like you’re more worried about people finding out you’re sick than the fact that you are sick.”
I heard him, but I didn’t have an answer. I continued to fidget: tracing lines with my fingertips on the inside of the arm he’d wrapped around me.
“Maybe you should give them a chance. If your friends aren’t there for you when you need them, what good are they?” he asked.
I needed to push things back to safe waters—I should push away from him. I forced a laugh. “Maybe you just make it too easy; I don’t need them when I’ve got you.” I’d planned to add “and Ryan,” but my voice betrayed me and I was suddenly nervous. “We should go downstairs. Mom’s waiting in the kitchen.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Both.”
“So I guess I can’t pull you under these blankets and take advantage of your fragile emotional state.” Gyver laughed at my startled expression and rolled away from me to reach for something on the far side of the bed—revealing a pair of light-blue boxers decorated with purple musical notes. My cheeks burned again. I shifted my gaze and tried to shift my thoughts.
“Here.” Something landed in my lap. I looked down at a black newsboy cap with a band logo on the front. “I got it last night, but it’ll look better on you.”
He gently brushed my hair back and placed it on my head. My “thanks” was breathless.
“No problem. Now, can you get out of my room so I can get dressed? If you’re going to wake me up early to go to a salon, the least you can do is properly fortify me with caffeine first.”
“What? You don’t have to—”
“Go.” Gyver nudged me through the blanket with his foot.
“You don’t have to beg. I’ll come with you—but most public places require pants. And I require coffee.”
I forced myself to laugh, half-relieved and half-disappointed to be leaving his room. “I’ll have a mug ready for you.”
“Yes, please. And Mi?” I paused at the door and turned around. Gyver grinned. “I caught you checking out my boxers. Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”
My face blazed again: embarrassment plus anger. I pulled the door shut—loudly—and headed downstairs to make him an overly sweet cup of coffee.
Chapter 29
“Be honest.” My posture was debutante perfect in the salon chair. “Do I look like an anorexic alien?” I hadn’t seen myself yet, but I could imagine a huge, bald head on a too-skinny neck.
Mom was horrified. “No! Of course not. You look beautiful.”
Gyver spun my chair toward the mirror. “Actually, you’re kinda right—as usual.”
Mom was more horrified. “MacGyver! My daughter certainly doesn’t. You don’t, kitten.”
I looked at Gyver’s reflection; he was making faces behind my back. I laughed nervously and lowered my eyes to my own face, sucking in a deep, loud breath.
“Your eyes look bigger,” offered the optimistic stylist. “You’ve got killer blue eyes.”
“Exactly!” Mom agreed emphatically. “Once you put on your wig, no one’ll know.”
She held it out, but I ignored her and continued to study the large-eyed, bareheaded girl in the mirror. I twisted the chain around my neck, pulling the charm out from under my smock so I could slide it back and forth while I processed.
“What’s that?” Gyver frowned, reaching for the pendant.
“Is that new?” Mom also leaned in to inspect the gold heart.
“Ryan gave it to me last night.” I pulled away from Gyver’s grasp and tucked it self-consciously under my shirt. He’d surprised me with it after the game—when I’d bailed on Lauren’s party and yet another of his rain check dates—pressing a small jewelry box in my hand while I was still making excuses. I knew I was probably supposed to respond with, “Yes, I’ll go out with you,” but I couldn’t hide my disappointment that my necklace wasn’t inside the green velvet case.
Ryan had looked disappointed too, saying, “I’m still here, Mia. I know you thought I’d run after seeing you in the hospital, but I’m still here. Trust me.” I’d kissed his cheek and asked for help with the clasp, but it felt different on my neck. A heart wasn’t good luck. What does it signify if you lose your lucky charm?
“Your boyfriend?” asked the stylist. “How pretty! You’re lucky to have such a nice guy. I wish my boyfriend bought me jewelry.”
Gyver snorted.
“She is lucky!” Mom gushed. “He’s handsome, thoughtful, and last year’s junior prom king. Now let’s try the wig.”
Instead I put on Gyver’s hat. “I think my scalp needs to settle.”