But everything seemed so fragile in this week before I went back to the hospital for more chemo—and it felt like if I changed too much, everything would collapse like a game of Jenga, or pop like the soap bubbles in the sink.
I slid the last plate into the dishwasher and shut it. Pressed the button to start the wash cycle and dried my hands on my pajama pants.
Just because Ryan had handled the news didn’t mean everyone could. I wasn’t willing to take that risk.
Chapter 22
I thought Ally was driving me home, but when we crowded back into the locker room after practice, the plan changed with last-minute group momentum.
“The boys’ soccer game is about to start,” she said with a sly smile.
“And we haven’t been to any of their games. It’s not good if we just support the football team.” Lauren grinned at Ally.
Hil rolled her eyes. I continued to sit on the locker-room bench, trying to gather the energy to object. “Didn’t they just have a game yesterday?”
“It’s a rain make-up,” answered Ally.
“I’m tired. Can’t we do this another day?” I asked.
“But I already told him you’d be there. Please? Pretty please?”
Hil came to stand next to me. “She said no.”
“Boo.” Ally pouted. “Don’t be like that, it’ll be fun.”
Lauren nudged my shoulder. “You know you want to see Ryan all sweaty.”
“Am I the only one noticing she looks exhausted?” asked Hil. To me, she said, “I’ll take you home.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go,” I said. I didn’t want to be that transparently ill. If I left now it would only raise questions, so I conceded. “Thanks though, Hil.”
Hil slammed her locker but stayed quiet. Whatever Ally had said to her had worked; she hadn’t given me crap about Ryan since the first day of school. Though if she’d known about our conversation last night, I’m sure she’d have plenty to say.
We hiked up the hill to the soccer field where a section of the bleachers was saved for us in the center of the front row—directly behind the bench.
His team was already huddled on the field, but Ryan broke away, jogged toward the bench, took a swig from a water bottle, and—just before he sprinted back to the group—winked at me.
Once the game started, it seemed safe to admire Ryan from afar … until he scored a goal. As the crowd cheered, Ryan turned my direction. Placing one hand on his chest—over his heart—he pointed the other at me. Or he did until Bill and Chris piled on his back with whoops and smacks. Any chance I’d remain unidentified as his target vanished when Lauren stood up and pointed at me too. The crowd awwww’d and a woman leaned forward to ask, “Is that your boyfriend, dear?”
“No,” hissed Hil. “He’s not.”
I hunched my shoulders and wanted to disappear. My flushed cheeks were the only part of me that wasn’t chilly in the cool September air.
The team celebrated Ryan’s second goal without him. Because he kicked it in and continued running, straight to the bench, which he leaped onto. With one hand on the fence separating the bleachers from the field, he reached the other toward me. I took it tentatively and he pulled me to him.
And he kissed me. At first I was mortified; all I could think of was the “Ooh” of the crowd. Then all I could pay attention to were his lips on mine, parting mine, our tongues tangled and my hands woven through his damp hair. I wasn’t cold—I was much too warm. And aware of every link of the fence that kept us apart.
My lips were suddenly chilled and lonely. I opened surprised eyes to see Bill tug Ryan off the bench by his jersey. “C’mon, Romeo, we’ve got a game to win.”
As Ryan ran backward toward the kickoff, he caught my eye. “Go out with me!”
I remembered the crowd then—as they exploded with cheers and support for the handsome soccer star.
“Say yes!” Ally enthused from my left.
“That was like a movie. Things like that never happen to me,” said Lauren.
I sank onto the bench and put my head down, trying to block out the crowd’s encouragement and my own desire to agree. “Can we leave now?”
“You’re not going to stick around and answer him?” asked Ally.
“He doesn’t want to know my answer.”
“Seriously? You’re leaving? That’s crazy. Like certifiable. Look at him!” Lauren pointed to the field.
“Enough!” snapped Hil. “Do you ever think about anything but boys? If she said she doesn’t want to date him, why are you pushing it? Mia is your friend. Not Ryan, Mia. Shouldn’t what she wants matter? And why is this so important to you? When I suggested we stay single, I thought we’d all hang out more. Like, do stuff just us, not have everything revolve around what the guys want to do. Is my company that boring? Because I think you all are a hell of a lot more interesting than them.”
Ally and Lauren didn’t move except to blink rapidly, then lower their heads. I put a hand on her arm—it was a gesture that I hoped communicated both “thank you” and “calm down.”
“If you still want to leave, I’ll take you home,” offered Hil.
I stood. The motion broke through Ally’s shamed silence. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Lauren echoed. “We’re sorry. But he’s—”
Ally elbowed her and she shut up.