After hunting for the stupid letters, I pressed Send and collapsed on my pillow. I was drifting off when my phone chirped. No, I didn’t want a response; I wanted sleep.
I sighed and flipped it over: BRT.
Be right there? Which part of my two-word message had he interpreted as a request for visitors? I rubbed my eyes and began a response: You don’t—
But I could already hear him in the kitchen, his morning voice rusty as he greeted my parents. “I’ll take that up to Mi.”
“Thanks. Quiet though, she might be asleep.”
Wishful thinking. I kept my eyes open but didn’t bother sitting up when he and Mom entered my room. “Kitten, look who I found in the kitchen.”
“Hi.”
Gyver filled my bedroom door, his eyes more alert than I’d ever seen them before nine a.m. He balanced a kitchen tray and his mug of coffee. “Hey, Mi. Are you okay? Do you want this?” He nodded toward the tray. It was loaded with juice, fruit salad, toast, a bottle of water, organic cardboard toaster pastries, and granola bars: an arsenal of food for a patient who had no appetite.
I shook my head. Gyver placed it on the floor and sat on the corner of my bed. Mom hovered by my desk. Both of them stared at me like they were decoding a puzzle written on my face.
“I’m just tired. Dr. Kevin said I would be.” I’d slept all weekend, bailing on cheering on Friday and Saturday’s party with a weak excuse of food poisoning. I’d felt recharged enough for school Monday and Tuesday. Enough to feel jealous of everyone’s party stories: Chris peed in a house plant; Lauren hooked up with Bill’s older brother; a JV cheerleader broke up with her boyfriend, so Ally spent the night comforting her and Hil ordered the linebacker ex to leave—even though the party was at the house of one of his teammates. Ryan had, according to Hil, spent the night pouting and texting. While I doubted the first part, I had a half-dozen Saturday night texts from him—all clever variations of date me. I’d spent Sunday morning trying to come up with a response: trying, and failing, and avoiding him at school like some reverse game of hide and seek.
Today school seemed impossible.
“Just tired,” Mom repeated. “Let’s take your temperature.”
“Again? You’ve taken it three times, and it hasn’t been above 99.1.”
“Just once more.” I accepted the thermometer and returned it post-beep. “Okay, 98.9. So, a day in bed? But Mia, I can’t stay home today. I’ve got client meetings. I’ve missed so much work and I’m taking next week off for your chemo. Mr. Russo will be here to get me any minute … But if you need me, I guess I could try to work something out.” She twisted her hands and looked at me with tortured uncertainty.
“I’ll be fine.” I yawned.
Mom started to pace the room. “Your father already left—but I called him. He’s got a showing this morning, then he’ll come home. He’ll be back by noon. Maybe I could go in late? Cancel my nine-thirty meeting?”
“I’ll stay.” Gyver tickled my foot through the blanket.
“Seriously, I don’t need supervision. I’m just going to sleep.”
“Then I’ll sleep with you,” Gyver blurted out.
I raised an eyebrow and Mom blinked rapidly.
“I mean, I won’t sleep with you. But if you’re sleeping …” Gyver ran a hand through his hair and took a gulp of coffee. “This is why I shouldn’t speak before ten.”
“We understood what you meant,” Mom said. “And that’s a kind offer, but you have school.”
“My dad’ll say it’s okay. I can at least stay until Mr. Moore gets home. That way you’ll have someone here if you need something—like, I don’t know, what’s not on your tray?—apple juice.” This was directed at me, but he turned back to my mom. “Wouldn’t you feel better knowing someone was here?”
“My nine-thirty meeting is important …,” Mom mused. “You’ll call if you need anything?”
“Of course. I know the drill; I spent so much time at the hospital this summer, I’m practically an RN.” He handed me a bottle of water. I obediently took a sip.
“I would feel better if you weren’t alone, but I’m not saying yes. That’s up to your dad.”
“What’s up to me? Is there a neighborhood meeting going on up there?” Mr. Russo’s voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs. Gyver left to talk to him.
“You okay with this, kitten? Are you sure you don’t need me?”
“Go to your meeting. If Gyver wants to stay, he’s going to be bored. He should know by now that when I say I’m going to sleep I sleep.”
“It can’t be more boring than listening to you talk about cheerleading,” Gyver said from the doorway. “My dad said it’s fine. He’s waiting in the car and says come out when you’re ready.”
My mom looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go or we’ll sit in traffic. Call me if you need anything. Thank you, Gyver. Let her sleep as much as possible.”
“Will do, Mrs. Moore.” The scent of her perfume lingered as we listened to the front door close and then stared at each other.
“What do you want to do now?” Gyver asked.