Mom came in while I studied the dining room’s new Monet print. Did she fake her smiles too? Her face looked falsely cheerful as she asked, “What are you up to tonight?”
“No plans.” I shook my head, hyperaware of the whisper of the wig against my cheeks.
“No plans?” She frowned. “Call Hil, see what she’s doing.”
“They’re all going over to Bill’s house, and I don’t feel like going out.” I didn’t want to leave the house until my hair grew back.
“Have them over here instead. I haven’t seen anyone but Lauren in ages. What’s everyone up to these days?”
I stared at the painting, a decoration to hide the ugly truth. My mouth tasted sour. “Lauren had a party last night. Other than that, I wouldn’t know. I’ve barely seen them, I have no clue what’s going on in their lives.” My voice climbed octaves as I lost my battle with tears.
“That’s not true, kitten.” She patted my back. “You see them at school and practice.”
“It is true! My whole life is illness and lies. I hate it!” I pulled the wig from my head and whipped it at the ground. “And that? It’s just another lie—another thing to hide. I don’t know my friends anymore, and I can’t even tell them why!”
Mom retrieved the wig with trembling hands. I thought she was reaching to hug me, but instead she returned the wig to my head. I flinched away.
She rubbed her temples and looked at me—really seemed to see me—for the first time since my diagnosis. She winced. “It breaks my heart to see you so unhappy. When you decided not to tell your friends, I thought it’d make it easier on you. But it hasn’t, has it? Maybe you’ve gone too far with the secrets—your father never thought it’d work.”
Her change of heart stunned me like a slap. I grabbed the back of a chair. “I don’t know how to tell them now,” I whispered.
Mom looked exhausted. “It’s been a long, emotional day. We don’t need to decide anything right now. Wait and see if you still feel this way tomorrow.”
Not lying anymore—the idea was liberating and terrifying. It seemed too late to tell. I couldn’t casually slip “By the way, I’ve got leukemia” into a conversation.
“I need to talk to Lauren.”
Her smile was back, relieved. I let her fix my wig. “Good idea. Invite her over.”
I nodded and wandered back to my room. Lauren wouldn’t be honest and I wasn’t in the mood for what she thought I wanted to hear. So I dialed Ryan. He looked at me more than anyone these days; his reaction would tell me everything and maybe give me the answer to Gyver’s question: Why was he doing this?
I hoped to catch him before he went out, but from the sound of his “Hey. I knew you couldn’t last a night without me” he was already a few beers in.
I tried anyway. “I need to talk to you.”
Someone cranked the volume on a crappy rap song; I could barely hear his “What’s up?”
“I got my hair cut today …”
Chris was yelling: “Winters, you’ve got to check this out, man.”
“Yeah?” said Ryan. “Cool.”
Was that for me, or Chris?
“I’m bald. They shaved my head,” I snapped.
“Bald? What?” Ryan semicovered the phone with his hand, I heard a muffled “Be right back” and a door. It wasn’t much quieter in whatever room he’d gone into. “Bald?”
“Bald,” I repeated.
“Maybe we should talk later. It’s loud and … bald? Shit.”
He didn’t really wait for me to answer. Or maybe it was so noisy he thought he’d missed my agreement. “I’ll call you later.”
A final burst of party noise, Ally’s laughter, Lauren’s half-whiny “Wait for me!” and the line was dead. It didn’t sound like they missed me at all.
Damn it.
Gyver was right. I did need to know why Ryan was doing this—clearly it was all about the pursuit. And now that what he chased was broken, there was no reason for him to run after me.
Well, screw him. I didn’t need Ryan Winters. I needed the one person who’d never have a run-and-hide reaction to me.
“You decided to go out?” Mom smiled as I passed her with my coat on.
“Just next door. I need to talk to Gyver.”
“Oh.” She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment, so I didn’t bother to stick around and finish the conversation.
Mrs. Russo answered my knock. “Mia, twice in one day.”
“Is Gyver home?” I stepped into her kitchen—as usual, it smelled of cooking.
“He just left for a show. Do you want to call him?” She pointed to the phone I still clutched.
“No, it’s okay. We got in a sort of fight earlier and I wanted to tell him he was right about Ryan.” I didn’t know why I was saying this, except the Russos radiated such comfort that I always felt compelled to go confessional around them.
“Ryan?” Mrs. Russo looked up from her cutting board. “Oh, that’s right, the boyfriend. Your mother thinks he’s quite the catch.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He never was and now he’s definitely not going to be.” I was surprised by how raw I felt. How badly I hadn’t wanted Gyver to be right. How far I’d allowed Ryan into my heart and how much damage he’d left behind.