It was a long afternoon. Dad was out of his depth once he confirmed I had no temp. “Mia, kiddo, people were bound to find out.”
“No, they weren’t!”
“Did you really think you could keep it a secret?”
“Yes,” I gasped through a fresh tide of tears. “Mom thought I could too.”
“Your mother means well, but she’s …” He paused and passed me a box of tissues. “She’s struggling with the reality of your illness. I’ve tried showing her some books and charts … Well, you know how sensitive she is. But this keeping your cancer a secret, it’s not really a long-term solution.”
“I’m not ready,” I responded, annoyed he had higher expectations for me than Mom did.
He made me a cup of chamomile tea. When I ignored it and cried harder, he said, “Hang on,” disappeared into his office, and reappeared with a pack of Oreos. “Don’t tell your mother.”
I smiled in spite of myself, took a cookie, and twisted it apart. I ate the creamy half and dunked the naked chocolate side in the milk Dad set on the table.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded and stared at the crumbs floating on the surface of the milk.
“Good. Now let’s look at this logically.” He lifted my chin. “You can’t control everything. If people find out, they find out. And sick or not, you’re a person to be respected.”
I gripped the cookie too tightly and it crumbled all over the table. How could I explain that my image was the only thing I could control? Only, thanks to Meagan, I couldn’t.
The door opened, and both of us looked guiltily to the cookies. “I’ll take the heat,” Dad reassured me. But it wasn’t Mom, it was Gyver.
“They make health-food Oreos? Are they as awful as that tofu ice cream?” He hesitated before reaching for one.
“These are the all-processed kind. Don’t tell her mom, but we needed some artificial flavoring today.” Dad gave Gyver a sheepish grin.
“Sure.” Gyver shoved a cookie in his mouth and dunked a second in my milk before he even took a seat. “I let the office know and told Ally you had a migraine.”
“Thanks.”
Gyver pointed to the box of tissues on the table and the discard pile in my lap. “Enough of that. I talked to Meagan. She won’t tell anyone.”
“Really?” I latched myself around his neck, scattering tissues on the floor and knocking the Oreo out of his hand.
“Easy there, Mi. It’s no big deal.” Gyver laughed at my awestruck expression and reached around my back to help himself to another cookie.
Dad cleared his throat. “Well, it looks like you’re in good hands. I guess my work here is done.” He gathered the cookie and tissues off the floor and poured Gyver his own glass of milk before leaving. “I’ll be in my office.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I squeezed Gyver around the neck again.
“You’re—choking—me.” He laughed. I relinquished my stranglehold and returned to my own seat.
“Spill!” I ordered.
“It wasn’t hard. Meagan’s cool. I told her you didn’t want people to know and she apologized and promised she wouldn’t say anything.”
“You’re the best!” I quashed the urge to hug him again—once he mentioned Meagan, I no longer felt like I had a right to.
“I know. But it’s no biggie. After all, it’s my mom’s fault she knew. Mom works with Meagan’s dad, did you know that?”
I shook my head. “So, you two, you’ve hung out a lot?”
“Well, yeah. Anyway, what I was going to say was Meagan’s brother, Max, had leukemia too. When Mom first found out you were sick—before she knew it was a state secret—she asked Officer Andrews about treatments and stuff.”
“Her brother?”
Gyver looked down and his dark hair obscured his eyes. “Yeah. It was years ago. Don’t worry about him, worry about you. I hate seeing you upset like this, Mi. Just tell—”
I held up a hand to stop him. I didn’t want a lecture. “She seems nice,” I managed.
I was proud of myself for the effort, but unnerved by the way my insides twisted when he crunched a cookie and nodded. “She’s great. You’d like her.”
I highly doubted that. “Thanks again—for everything today.”
“If I tell you it wasn’t a big deal for the third time, will you believe me?”
“It’s a big deal to me. I don’t know how to show you how grateful I am.”
“I can think of a few ideas.” Gyver arched his eyebrows.
“Don’t you have homework?”
He stood and grabbed another cookie. “I was just going to suggest you drive tomorrow. And maybe write my English essay.”
“I’ll drive, but you’re on your own with Dostoyevsky. I’ve got my own essay to write.”
“See you later, Mi.” He squeezed my hand and left; leaving me alone with my relief, uneasy thoughts about M.A. and Gyver, fingers that tingled from touching his, and a renewed conviction that I really, truly needed to get over him.
Chapter 19
I couldn’t handle school today. Staying home, I texted.