“He’s such a good boyfriend,” Mom said proudly, like it was something she’d accomplished. One of the nurses had taught her to knit, and she churned out scarves like an adding-machine tape. Her needles clicked with anxious energy—a sound that intruded into my dreams and set my teeth on edge.
“He’s not …,” I started, then decided it wasn’t worth it to explain—again. I shut my eyes. If I pretended to sleep, she usually shut up.
There was a new nighttime nurse on the floor. His name was Mark, and I got to know him since I didn’t sleep normal hours. It was totally sexist that I learned his real name, but the only nickname I could come up with was Hot Nurse. Plus, being the only male gave him an advantage. He was in his late twenties and very honest—he was a perk of insomnia. The only perk.
“It’s good to see you do have female friends,” he commented one night.
Dad slept in a chair; his loud snores overpowered the click of machinery. Southern Nurse was at the station in case anything came up. Mark and I played Go Fish.
“What? Of course.” I laid down a pair of eights. Lauren had stopped by today, but she had plans with Ally and Hil, so the visit lasted just long enough for her to give me the play-by-play of how her lab partner was absent and she got to join hot Ben’s group.
“How come this is the first time I’ve seen one visit? That’s the gossip at the nurses’ station: Mia Moore has two boyfriends who come visit her every day. Threes?”
“Go fish. I have zero boyfriends. Gyver’s just a friend and Ryan’s …” I finished the statement with a shrug. He’d called to tell me that he and Chris had plans in Summerset tonight—a party with some of the crew they’d guarded with this summer. Though it sounded more like asking than telling. It sounded like an apology. Like a test.
“Of course you should go. Have fun,” I told him. What else could I say? We weren’t dating—my choice—and he’d never be as comfortable in my hospital room as he was at the center of a party crowd. It was just one night, but I knew I’d be gripping my necklace a little tighter until the next time he visited or called to check in.
Mark gave me a dubious look and drew a card. “Okay, no boyfriends. But where’s everyone else? Where are the cards and flowers? To hear your mom talk, you’re Little Miss Popular Pompoms, so why doesn’t your room have a waiting list for visitors?”
I frowned. “My mother exaggerates. Lauren knows, but I haven’t told any of my other friends I’m here.”
“Where do they think you are? Club Med? Well, I guess you could call this ‘club meds,’ but you know what I mean. Your turn.”
“Fives? They think I’m home sick with something normal.”
He handed me the five of spades. “That’s bull. Why wouldn’t you tell them?”
I put down my cards and crossed my arms. “Because I don’t want to.”
“That’s a crap reason. If you’re going to pout like a toddler, I’ll go catch up with paperwork.”
I picked up the cards and refanned them. “I’m not telling them. Not unless I absolutely have to. Don’t you remember high school? You’re not that old.”
“Gee, thanks. Do you have any nines?”
I passed him a card. “High school sucks enough. I don’t need to be ‘leukemia girl.’”
Mark stared at me. “Mia, c’mon, you’re not that naive, are you? This is cancer; it’s not make-believe. You’re not going to be able to hide this. I’m shocked it’s worked so far.”
“You don’t know that! It could work.”
He shook his head and placed his final pair of cards on the tray. “You lose. Better luck next time.”
He left and I knew I’d been immature and bratty. I knew I should press the call button and apologize. Maybe Mark and I could have an adult conversation about this—what my rationale was, what I hoped, what I feared.
But giving those ideas a voice was scarier than answering Hil’s increasingly impatient voice mails. Scarier than losing my hair. Scarier than any cancer fact on Dad’s charts.
Just thinking about it gave me goose bumps, so I put down the call button and picked up my cell phone. A flurry of fib-filled texts later, I felt soothed. Mark was wrong, hiding this was easy. Too easy. Lies no longer paused on my lips, no longer felt weighted by conscience. Lies weren’t naive—they were necessary.
Chapter 27
It was five days before I could sit up without my room spinning and stomach lurching. A week and a half before I returned to school. I let calls go to voice mail. I didn’t have enough energy to fake it, and Gyver, Ryan, and Lauren knew to come by.
My first day back, a Thursday, I only made it to lunch before the smell of food left me retching in the nurse’s room. From there, I spent the day in my bed or on my bathroom floor.
I tried school again Friday with more success. Hil was withdrawn at lunch; Ally studied me as I picked at and threw away most of my food; Lauren chatted like she’d supersized her morning coffee. I was relieved when lunch ended and we headed out of the cafeteria to go to our separate classes.