Dad picked up a pamphlet off the table. “If you’re not ready to tell people, that’s okay. There’s an article here comparing a diagnosis to mourning, because there are sta—”
Mom interrupted. “We’ll beat this. Because, kitten, you can do anything. You are smart and brave and beautiful and you have friends and family who all love you very much.” Her voice was chipper as ever—a throwback to her own days as a cheerleader—but her eyes were wet.
I did what was required when Mom gave one of her my-daughter-is-a-superhero pep talks; I smiled and agreed. Although I had to bite my tongue to keep from pointing out that none of the characteristics she named had magical anti-cancer properties. I couldn’t think my way healthy, and despite her focus on cheerleading and beauty, leukemia isn’t a popularity contest.
“I’ve got to get in the shower. I’m meeting the girls at noon.”
“Don’t be too long. We’re leaving for the hospital at three,” Dad reminded me.
Mom said, “And kitten, remember what we discussed.” She put a finger to her lips and raised her eyebrows.
Was it even possible to keep my cancer a secret? I needed a sign.
Chapter 5
My friends and I always ate at Iggy’s. Not because the food was better than any other diner’s, and not because the fifties décor of record albums and black-and-white-checkered floor tiles was anything special. We ate here because we always had—and the cheerleaders before us had too. We were guaranteed a booth with almost no wait, and they never kicked us out for spending too long gossiping over a basket of fries and Diet Cokes.
It was always the four of us—we called ourselves the Calendar Girls. Back in middle school we’d decided birthdays weren’t enough, so we’d each chosen a season to be celebrated. Hillary Wagner’s dark hair and icy attitude made her winter. Ally Wells’s sunshine and frequent tear-showers made her spring. Lauren Connors’s red hair and ghost-pale skin linked her to fall.
I was easygoing. I was carefree. I was summer. Technically it was my season; if I wanted the girls to spend the next month in my hospital room, they would. Just like we’d campaign to make sure Lauren would be Fall Ball queen, Hil would be crowned at the SnowBall, and Ally would wear the queen’s sash at prom. My wish was their command until the first day of school—but what did I wish for?
“I have an idea,” Hil announced once Lauren returned from visiting a group of boys in another booth. “But it won’t work unless we all agree.”
“Should we be nervous?” asked Ally.
“No,” said Hil. “Well, maybe Lauren.”
When Lauren squeaked, “Wait, me?” Hil laughed and said, “Joking.” We each had our role within the group: Lauren’s constant need for reassurance was balanced by Ally’s need to be needed. Hil’s outrageous schemes counteracted my pragmatism.
“What is it?” I asked, hoping her latest plan wasn’t a reincarnation of last month’s “Let’s all get tattoos.” I’d barely talked her out of it. Maybe in her new idea I could find a sign for how to proceed with my own announcement.
“It’s the summer before we’re seniors—our last year together—and I want to make it the best one yet.”
“I already agree,” interrupted Lauren.
“Last year I was so busy with Keith and all his stupid college drama. We spent so long obsessing about long-distance relationships and where he should apply. Now that we’re broken up—thank God—I realized how much I missed out on and how much I missed you guys.”
Ally gave Hil a hug. “We’re glad to have you back. But you’re doing okay with the breakup, right?”
Hil nodded. “I forgot how much fun it is to go to a party without a boyfriend to worry about. So here’s my idea: we stay single for senior year. If we want to hook up, that’s fine. Mia can continue on her path to heartbreak with Ryan, but nothing real or serious. No boyfriends. Thoughts?”
“I’m in,” Ally said. “I’m bored with all the East Lake boys anyway.”
“No boyfriends? Like, none?” Lauren’s forehead was crinkled with horror.
“Oh, you can do it. You’ve gone through enough boys already,” Hil said. “Mia? What’s your verdict?”
“First, my heart is not in any danger. Second, I’m in.” Giving up boyfriends would be easy; Ryan would never commit. It was giving up the rest of my life that worried me.
Lauren twirled a curl around her finger. “If you’re all going to do it, I guess I’m in too.”
“Excellent.” Hil lifted her soda and we mirrored her action. “To us! To the Calendar Girls’ Single Senior Year. It’s going to be fab, wait and see. Drink up, buttercups.”
We clinked glasses and sipped. Lauren waited about ten seconds to launch her first protest, “But it doesn’t seem fair that Mia gets to keep Ryan.”
“Keep Ryan?” Hil scoffed. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”