“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want your pity or—”
“I’m sorry too. Sorry I wasted so long worrying what I’d done to offend you and make you shut me out. For as much time as you spend complaining about your mom, you’re turning into a fabulous mini-her. Congratulations, you don’t have my pity. You don’t have my friendship either. I’m done.”
When she stormed away this time I didn’t follow, but Lauren did. Ryan was engrossed in a conversation with Chris, a hand on his shoulder. Ally was wailing. I felt like the epicenter of a disaster.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked at our Spring Girl, but she wasn’t sunny or optimistic right now; her normally impeccable hair twisted in a sloppy knot, splotches on her cheeks, tear-smudged mascara.
“I didn’t really tell anyone. It wasn’t personal.”
Her eyes hardened and her voice lost its dreamy edge. “Wasn’t it? Lauren says you didn’t tell me on purpose. You didn’t trust me to keep it a secret, right?”
I took a deep breath to offer denials, but she wasn’t done talking. “I thought we were friends,” she whispered. Hurt radiated through her tears. She looked so breakable right now and we’d always gone out of our way to protect Ally, but I was exhausted. Everyone wanted something from me and I didn’t have the energy to satisfy even my most basic needs—like breathing. My chest was so tight.
“We are friends.”
“Really? Doesn’t seem like it. Mia, you might die—how could you not tell us this?”
Her words awoke the fear that lay coiled in my stomach. Fed by Dad’s manic research and Mom’s new worries, the fear hissed of my own frailty. It wasn’t something I needed reminding of, or something I could control.
I sucked in a breath and blinked back tears. “You’re right. I might.” The words were bitter in my mouth, toxic enough to make me nauseated. My voice was flat and expressionless, my mind shutting down and detaching from this hellish situation.
She wailed. “Don’t you … Don’t you even care?”
What did caring have to do with it? It was beyond my control—and all my focus needed to be on standing upright, breathing. I didn’t even have the energy to look her in the face, so I watched her jeans.
They turned and walked away from me, breaking into a run when she was a few steps from the door. I wanted to chase her, to apologize and tell her everything—starting with I’m sorry and I’m so scared but I couldn’t move.
What had I done? Ryan and Chris had stopped talking and were watching me with matching horrified expressions.
Ryan recovered first. “Mia, sit. You’re shaking so hard I don’t know how you’re standing.” He led me toward a chair at my empty table.
I sat, but then stood back up. “I need to go get Ally.”
“Sit. I’ll go. Chris, stay with Mia?” Ryan waited for his nod, then headed across the room.
“He won’t know where to find her,” I babbled toward Lauren’s abandoned banana. “She’s probably in the girls’ locker room. He won’t look there.”
“What the hell, Mia?” He wasn’t looking at me, but also studying the lunches strewn across the table. He began to stack the yogurt cups and Diet Cokes on an empty lunch tray. “Can you at least put your hair back on?”
“It’s a wig.” It was tangled from being balled in my fist, but I more or less settled it on my head.
“No shit, it’s a wig. You didn’t think to tell me any of this this morning when we had our little locker talk?”
“I hadn’t even told Hil yet. I wanted to tell her first. And not like this.” I rested my forehead on the lunch table, not caring if it was germy or sticky. I didn’t have the energy to face another round of accusations.
“So, you’re using Ryan, you made Hil cry, and you’ve got cancer. Anything else?”
“Using Ryan?” I forced my chin up so I could look at him. “It’s not like that. He knows I’m sick, he’s always known I was sick. He’s been to the hospital.”
“Hospital? You’ve got a deadly illness and you’ll date him, but you don’t love him? Damn.”
“I like him a lot. And I might love him someday. I just don’t yet.” I realized I was rationalizing, but couldn’t stop. “People don’t have to like each other equal amounts. If you and Hil started dating right now, you’d like her more. Would that make her evil?”
“That’s different.” He stood and I followed; I couldn’t be in this room of stares and whispers any longer.
“Why?”
“Because she’s not dying!” he thundered. “Are you? Do you know what that’d to do to him? To Hil? She can’t handle that.”
Part of me respected Chris’s reaction—at least he was honest and hadn’t responded with false optimism.
“I didn’t ask to be sick.”