Monday night we got the call that my white blood count had rebounded. My parents reluctantly agreed to let me return to school on Tuesday. After refusing Dad’s offer to drive me, Mom’s “are you sure you don’t want to stay home just one more day?” and armed with extra anti-bac gel and strict instructions to call and check in, they sent me off with anxious first-day-of-kindergarten smiles.
Underneath my oh-Mom-I’ll-be-fine facade, I was a mess. Hil wouldn’t call back and Ryan wouldn’t meet my eyes when I asked about the Calendar Girls. I’d promised Hil the truth but hadn’t had a chance to deliver. It wasn’t my fault this time, but the cumulative weight of my past lies marked me as guilty and slowed down my getting-ready routine so I was thirty minutes late.
“Hey, stranger. I didn’t know you were back.”
I shut my locker to see Chris standing there with a sheepish grin. “Hi.”
“Do you have a sec?” He juggled his bathroom pass from one hand to the other, then shoved his free hand in the pocket of his jeans.
“Sure. What’s up? Is Ryan okay?” He was shifting one foot to the other and staring at my legs below my skirt, but not in his typical I’m-checking-you-out way. This was in a I’m-nervous-and-you’re-in-my-line-of-vision way.
“That’s kinda what I want to know. Are you guys okay? I know he doesn’t have a lot of extra money with the car and saving for college.” He looked from my legs to my face as if I was supposed to have a clue what he meant. When I quirked an eyebrow and shrugged, he continued, “I want you to know, if you and Ryan need money or anything, I’ll help.”
“Money?”
“For, you know, diapers and shit. Babies are expensive as hell. At least that’s what Dr. Phil’s always saying.” Now he was holding the bathroom pass with both hands, staring at the Sharpied paint stirrer like it held a hidden message.
“Babies?” The word was a hissed whisper. “Chris, I’m not pregnant!”
“It’s okay,” he reassured me. “We’re gonna be here for you guys. I hope it looks more like you than Ryan or it’s going to be an ugly bastard … er, baby.”
“We’re not. Why would you even think that?”
“You don’t drink or come to parties anymore. You’re eating like a crunchy hippie—all those weird natural foods. You’re always absent. Isn’t that morning sickness and pregnancy shit? And—” As he got worked up, he grew louder. A few of the late arrivers and hallway wanderers looked over.
“Enough! I’m not pregnant.” My voice was low and nearly a snarl. I wanted to be angry with him, but then I remembered why he’d sought me out. Not to spread gossip or mock me, but to offer help. “But thanks. It’s nice to know that if we did need help—make no mistake, we don’t—that we’d have friends we could count on.”
Chris shrugged. “It’s no big deal,” but his pink ears and aw-shucks smile betrayed him.
He started to rock back on his heels, ready to turn and leave, but I wasn’t done. “Wait, who said we were?”
He looked down. “No one.”
“Hil?”
He cleared his throat. “A lot of people have been saying stuff. I mean, something’s going on. You’re a zombie this year. And I’ve known Ryan his whole life and I’ve never seen him like this. Not even when his dad left.”
I flinched and looked down.
“Has she seen you yet?” Even Chris sounded nervous.
“So she’s really mad?” I wanted to put down my French and math books and wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt.
Chris shrugged. “Yeah, but she won’t tell me why. Is this still because of that stupid thing with Ryan? She’s not into Winters. I swear to God, she’s not.”
I leaned against my locker; it used to be the girls would’ve decorated it to welcome me back after any sort of absence. But that was back when the Calendar Girls were the jealousy standard at East Lake—they still were. I, apparently, wasn’t a part of that anymore. “No. It’s not that. Besides, Ryan loves me, he’d never—”
Chris whistled. “Whoa. I knew you’d gone all rebel and started dating, but love? You and Winters are using the L-word?”
“I’m not.” My mind was still on Hil, and my answer was automatic and careless.
“Wait, Ryan—Ryan Winters—says he loves you and you don’t say it back?”
“I like him a lot.” I hadn’t thought about it, but hearing Chris laugh made it seem awful.
“God, you have him whipped.”
“Like Hil doesn’t have you on a short leash?” I shot back, praying my accusation was accurate.
Chris grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You need to work on your poker face.”
He tried, and failed, to stop smiling. “Anyway, I’d better get back before Mrs. Fryer sends out a search party. Good luck at lunch. I’m glad I’m a dude; girls are too much drama.”
I’d need more than luck, but I didn’t know what. Maybe I wasn’t ready for school yet. Maybe I should get back in my car and head home. Climb back in my bed and hide for just a few more days. Instead, I headed down the hall to French, dreading every minute that brought me closer to the cafeteria and my best friends.
Chapter 38