“It is my hair. It’s just no longer attached.” I wanted to lean into his palm or tuck my head under his chin, but didn’t know how he’d react, or how the wig would. Or if I should even be thinking things like that.
“Will you take it off? Is that a weird thing to ask? I bet you’re still beautiful without hair.”
I stiffened. That I hadn’t expected. The whole point of the wig was so no one would see me bald. And didn’t Ryan only want a glossy, perfect version of me?
My fingers were clumsy as I pulled it off. I could feel my shoulders creeping up toward my ears and I kept my eyes glued to the bottom of Ryan’s sneaker.
“Wow. I was right.” I looked up. He still had that bedroom smile on. “You know that supersexy model with the shaved head, Syrena something? She’s got nothing on you.”
My exhale sounded like a sob and he crept over and put his arms around me, not at all tentative as he pressed his cheek against my head. “Sorry I hurt you yesterday.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you today.” I squeezed him tight and felt the same relief in his arms, his back muscles tensing as he pulled me closer. He reached down and lifted my chin, gently backing me up against the wall, as he held me in place with kisses and caresses.
It was hours before Ryan left—not until Mom came in from gardening and invited him to stay for dinner. He’d learned his lesson last time and politely declined.
I went upstairs to fix my wig and to check my phone. I still hadn’t heard from Lauren. I called and left her another voice mail, then called Gyver.
I could tell he was pissed from his “hello,” but I couldn’t tell how angry until he followed up with, “Are you done playing games with Ryan? Should I set up Monopoly for us now?”
“Don’t be a jerk. I owed him a chance to explain.”
“Oh. You owed him? Got it. Bye, Mia.”
I redialed him, but got his voicemail. Left my apology after the beep. And I was left with a silent phone that didn’t ring again that night, no matter how many texts I sent to Lauren.
Chapter 31
I wanted to strategize my Big Reveal, but didn’t stress too much about absentee Lauren. I figured she was busy cleaning up from Friday’s party, hung over from Saturday, had dropped her phone in the hot tub again, or was totally busted and grounded. Before bed I texted her to meet me in the foyer Monday before school.
She did, with her face mottled with angry pink splotches that clashed with her hair.
But I didn’t notice this right away, not until after she responded to my, “I was thinking I’d tell them after practice. We could all go to Iggy’s. A public place would help control Ally’s hysterics, right?”
“Whatever.” The word was razor sharp and slashed through my good mood.
“What the hell, Lauren?”
“No!” She pointed a finger at me. “What the hell, Mia? Where were you Friday night?”
“After the game? I was tired, I went home.” I was beginning to guess how Ryan had felt yesterday in my kitchen; I had no clue where this anger was coming from.
“Not too tired to hang out with Ryan,” she accused.
“Please, he stayed for less than an hour. What’s this about? Your party?”
“How many boring afternoons have I spent”—she lowered her voice to a hushed snarl—“at the hospital? Nice of you to let me know you weren’t coming. Seems you had time to tell Hil you wouldn’t be there, but you couldn’t find two seconds to tell me.” Lauren wasn’t usually aggressive, but she kept stepping closer, one finger pointed at me and the rest of her hand clamped in a fist.
I stepped backward, but didn’t back down. “I didn’t know it was an RSVP event.”
“It’s always great fun when you throw someone a Welcome Back party and she doesn’t bother coming.” Her hand was shaking. She hid it by reaching up and twirling a curl around her finger.
“What?” I swallowed and felt my aggravation soften to guilt. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s called ‘a surprise.’”
“Laur, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I would’ve told you.” I wanted to give her a hug or coax her fingers out of her hair. She was tugging so hard it looked like she was cutting off circulation, and she was making it frizz.
“Whatever. There’s nothing you can do about it now.” One last twirl and she wrenched her hand free, turned around, and stomped off to class.
“Laur. Lauren. Wait!” But she didn’t wait and the late bell rang. I hurried to my locker, grabbed my books, and attempted to slam the door, but a notebook was in the way. My locker mirror slipped out and clattered on the floor. I kicked the notebook in and the door shut. Shoved the mirror inside the cover of a textbook, too overwhelmed and late to reopen my lock. Then I scrambled to French class feeling like I’d had a serving of battery acid and betrayal for breakfast.