“Ally’s fine, and some of the others too. But Hillary? That girl’s the inspiration behind the evil-cheerleader stereotype.” He peered up through the messy fringe of his dark hair.
“She’s my best friend. Once you get to know her, she’s not bad.”
“‘Not bad’ isn’t exactly a glowing recommendation.”
“I don’t want to fight.” I reached over to poke him, but he swiveled out of range.
I counted to seventeen—my other lucky number—then spun his shoulders to face me. “So, second day. Are you driving or am I?”
Chapter 15
I wasn’t ready when Ryan pulled his red sports car into my driveway at 6:40, but I didn’t worry. Unlike Gyver, who couldn’t string together a coherent sentence until after nine a.m. or his third cup of coffee, Ryan was a parent pleaser 24/7. I popped downstairs to tell him I’d be a few more minutes and found him sitting at the kitchen table with my dad. They were having bowls of organic corn flakes and a conversation about soccer.
“Basketball’s my real sport, but soccer keeps me in shape during the fall, and the team has a good chance of making states.”
I greeted him and pointed to my pajamas. He nodded. “We’ve got time.”
I stood in my bathroom with a headband in one hand, a brush in the other, and considered my reflection. I think my hair was my initial pass to the in-crowd. It had been my best feature: long, shiny, and blond. Now it was short, duller, and thinning. The nurses told me the hair loss would stop in a few weeks—but there were only eighteen days until I’d be heading back in for more chemo, and the cycle would start all over again. How long until it would be unmistakable? My weak excuse about a bad salon wasn’t going to last forever.
Mom had gotten overzealous at Sephora, and dozens of bottles and jars cluttered my sink space. I dabbed and smeared vitality on my face and tugged on my purple-and-gold uniform, frowning at how loose and sloppy it looked.
The last thing I did before leaving my room was flip over my Magic 8 Ball: “Will I have a good first day?” Better not tell you now. I shivered.
Putting on a smile, I went downstairs and tried to calm my parents while pretending for Ryan that today was a regular school day and I was a regular student.
Dad pressed me to eat. Mom fussed, fluttered, and stopped just short of taking my temperature (again). I couldn’t talk her out of first-day photos: “It’s tradition, kitten.”
Tradition was Gyver and I hamming it up at our old bus stop. This was Mom with an agenda.
Ryan smiled tolerantly, posed with his backpack and a hand around my waist. I faux smiled through four flashes, then stopped her. “We need to go.”
She gave me a kiss on the forehead—sneaking in a final temp check. “Seniors already? That makes me feel ancient. Where’d the time go?”
“We’ve got to go,” I repeated, my hand on the doorknob.
Ryan opened the passenger door for me. His car smelled new and beachy. A sprinkling of sand stood out like sugar on the gray surface of his floor mats.
“I like your car,” I said once he’d gotten in his own seat.
“Thanks. Isn’t it great?” He leaned toward me. “Now how about a real hello?”
“Welcome back.” But I flinched when I saw my parents watching from the kitchen window. “We’ve got an audience.”
Ryan groaned but started the car. “You’re killing me.” He filled the rest of the drive with chatter about the shore. I nodded and said mm-hmm at the appropriate times, but my mind raced ahead to identify potential obstacles and secret-exposing scenarios.
We only had time for a brief parking lot kiss before I suggested that being late on the first day probably wasn’t a smart move.
“To be continued,” Ryan said with a laugh as he opened his door.
I hesitated a moment at the top of the stairs and looked up at the wooden sign on the stone wall: EAST LAKE HIGH SCHOOL in gold letters on a purple background. The building hadn’t changed—the same lockers with sticky doors and gym-sock smell, the same crowd of kids who pushed, called greetings, and discreetly checked their reflections in classroom windows as they passed.
School was exactly the same, but I felt like I didn’t belong.
“I’ve got to pick up my schedule at the office—want me to get yours?” Ryan asked.
“I already have it.” I’d gotten it during my medical meeting.
“Right. Of course you do. I forgot what a little nerd you are.”
I frowned and he laughed. “Did I mention you’re the hottest nerd?”
“That’s better.”
“I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for … ha, I won’t know what till I get my schedule.”
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Have fun. Play nice with the other nerds.” He winked, a dimple tempting me when he nudged his shoulder against mine in farewell. I watched his blond head wind through the crowd, distributing greetings, hugs, and high-fives.
I adjusted my bag. With a quick shake to clear my head and smile frozen to my face, I melted into the hallway traffic.