“I did when it happened.” I touched my head self-consciously. Mom had sent the bagged hair to the wig maker. No one expected my fragile strands to endure my next round of chemo.
Ally shrugged and turned her lime-green VW Bug onto my street—a row of matching two-story, four-bedroom colonials in a line as straight as a Monopoly board. Gyver’s house stood out because of the police cruiser in his driveway; mine for having the most overly landscaped yard—flowerbeds strategically scattered from the mailbox to the front door.
“This Ryan thing, though. How much time did we spend talking about him last year? Are you really going to say no because of Hil?”
“It’s not that.” My eyes filled. It wasn’t just Hil’s pact; it was leukemia, and Gyver, and twelve types of doubt about why Ryan really asked.
“Oh, don’t cry. I’m sorry! Mia!”
I smeared my tears and makeup with the back of my hand.
“I think it’s good he asked.” She pulled into my driveway and fished a tissue out of her purse. “It shows he’s got good taste. And maybe it’s that potential thing you were talking about. If you’re not into him anymore, then tell him no, but don’t because of a silly agreement.”
“I don’t know what I want.” I checked my makeup in her visor so Mom wouldn’t pounce when I walked in the door.
“I’ll tell Hil to back off, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“Of course.” She gave me an awkward seat belt hug. “Love ya, Mia! I’ll call later in case you want to talk.”
I was exhausted by the demands of the day, bruised from Ryan’s collision and cheer practice. By the time she called, I was asleep.
Chapter 18
“How’re you feeling? You look good, considering …” The words were an ice bath; they left me shivering and gaping, because they hadn’t been offered by a doctor, nurse, or one of my parents. Not even a teacher or Principal Baker. They’d come from Meagan Andrews. She’d said them in the middle of history class.
It was the second week of school, and I was finally relaxing into a routine. Granted it was a routine that included trips to guidance, two skipped practices because I’d been too tired, and I-want-you-to-know-I’m-here-for-you comments from my teachers. Each day felt like a magic trick, convincing people to look at one thing so they missed what was going on behind the curtain—but Meagan’s question had shattered the illusion.
“What are you talking about?” My voice dropped to a razor-blade whisper. I pretended to be absorbed by the timeline of the Roman Empire on the board.
Meagan leaned across her desk, conquering the aisle between us. “I know about your leukemia. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Gyver told you?” He was by the pencil sharpener but turned at the sound of his name. “You can’t tell anyone,” I hissed at her. Without waiting for a response, I walked up to Mr. Yusella. “I need to go to the nurse.”
“Oh. Oh!” He swallowed a worried breath. “Do you want someone to walk you?”
I shook my head and hurried out the door. Before I’d made it past three classrooms, Gyver caught up. “What’s going on? You okay?”
“I trusted you.” I had to wrap my arms around my stomach to get the words out. Everything inside felt broken. I couldn’t believe he had betrayed me—to her. But why wouldn’t he? If he wrote her songs, why wouldn’t he tell her secrets?
“What are you talking about, Mi?” He held open his arms to embrace me, but instead I rained weak fists against his chest.
“I can’t believe you told her.”
“Who?” He took both my fists in one of his hands, and with the other drew me into a hug. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Who do you think? Meagan Andrews. She knows, Gyver, she knows.” My face was slick with tears, which I wiped against his Velvet Underground T-shirt.
“I didn’t tell her. You know I wouldn’t.” He rubbed my back and released my hands; they dropped to my sides.
“I need to go home.” I couldn’t be in school when Meagan told everyone. I couldn’t face their scrutiny and overwhelming pity.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Gyver’s hand around my shoulder supported and propelled me outside to his car. I couldn’t do anything but bite my bottom lip and shake my head. All those weeks of hiding and lying and I was going to be exposed … by her? Would it change how Gyver felt? Would he go home and add a verse about M.A.’s life-ruining tendencies?
“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured me.
I shook my head and reached for him. He drove one-handed to my house.
“Your dad’s home.” He pointed to his car in my driveway. “I’ll head back to school and let them know you weren’t feeling well.”
My eyes grew wet, but I nodded.
“Do I need to tell your cheer friends?” he asked.
I nodded again and continued to chew my lip.
“It’s going to be okay.” With one finger he reached out and touched my lower lip, easing it from the clutch of my teeth. “I promise. Try not to worry.”
I got out and trudged up the steps.
“I’ll stop by after school,” Gyver called from half in, half out of his car. I waved a limp hand and resumed kneading my lip with my teeth.