Right now my energy was of the caffeinated variety. I’d made Ryan stop for a large espresso post-film. She didn’t need to know that either.
“Thanks, Mom.” I hugged her and went upstairs, leaving her complaining to Dad about how Jinx kept peeing outside her litter box and Dad responding with the results of my latest kidney function tests.
I’d always played the role of obedient daughter, but now I’d taken the charade to a new level. They didn’t know how often I was breathless and exhausted, or see that my smiles only extended to the edges of my lips.
I was a puppet, strung up with panic, yet still performing when I had an audience. Gyver saw straight through it, or he had back when he was looking at me, before he let my apologies land in unanswered voice mails, e-mails, and knocks on his door. Ryan knew. How could my parents be so oblivious?
Even Principal Baker recognized something was wrong, stopping me in the hallway on Tuesday afternoon when I was wandering during English. “Miss Moore?”
“Yes?”
“I’m concerned with what your teachers are telling me. They’re still not seeing the types of changes we discussed at our meeting on Friday. Is everything all right? Would you like to meet with Ms. Piper?”
I cursed at my shoes. “I’m working on it. I just get so tired.”
“I think it’s time to have your parents in to sit down with all the teachers and reevaluate your needs. Mia, you’re going to need these grades for college.”
“Just give me a little time,” I begged. “Then, if I don’t fix things, you can call.”
“You have until next Friday. That’s nine school days to show me some improvements,” he said. “But if you don’t get it together by the Fall Ball, I’m calling and we’re having a meeting.”
The week blurred by in a flurry of motion. Gyver refused to acknowledge me. He didn’t even look in my direction—as if he were already getting used to the idea of sitting next to an empty desk. He pretended I didn’t exist; I pretended not to notice I was weaker or that my heart sprinted and my lungs clenched.
I was tired. All the time. Racing pulse and tight chest hadn’t been symptoms before, but they were constant now. These had to be signs I was sicker. Did it show in my blood counts? Would they be able to tell I was a lost cause when I went in for my second round of consolidation chemo in two weeks? Was that why Dad shut himself in his makeshift planetarium after long phone calls with Dr. Kevin?
I couldn’t ask. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t sleep. When I tried, I choked on the things I wouldn’t live to experience or woke up sweaty and breathless.
Only once did I lose post-psychic detachment—when I unearthed last year’s Halloween costume during a two a.m. cleaning binge. I stared at the sequined honeybee tube dress and wondered what happened to the costumes Lauren picked for this year. I couldn’t remember what they were or if I’d been school/hospital/home on Autumn Girl’s favorite holiday.
I sobbed as I threw the costume in the trash and covered its yellow-and-black stripes with the ratty cheerleading sweatshirt Mom hated. All my pictures of the Calendar Girls were boxed and hidden; the costume had been an emotional ambush. I’d be more prepared next time.
“Don’t you miss them?” Ryan asked on our way to lunch on Friday, his head tilted to the side, his fingers woven through mine. I clung to him; he was the only thing grounding me to this school, where I drifted through the halls like a ghost already. People’s eyes slid over and around me, uncomfortable with my pallor, too-thin body, and vacant eyes.
“Why do I need them? I have you.” I offered this with a smile and a peck, but they were empty words and a hollow kiss. He pretended to believe me, but his eyes tightened with recognition.
I did miss them, especially as the hallways filled with talk about the Fall Ball. Their names were on the ballot. Mine wasn’t.
“Do we have to go?” I asked Ryan at lunch.
“I kinda have to—I’m on the court. You don’t want to? You used to live for this sort of thing.”
“You go; I’ll stay home.” I poked holes in my sandwich.
“Don’t be like that. We’ll have fun.” He put a hand on my knee. “Promise.”
“What’s he promising now?” Chris interjected. “The moon, stars, and everlasting bliss?”
“Something like that,” I answered, a fake smile forming automatically on my lips, though it was hard to maintain because my chest hurt, my lungs felt flattened.
“But Ryan, you promised me those same things last week—you man-whore!” Chris grinned and swiped my apple.
“Tell Mia Fall Ball will be fun,” Ryan prompted.
“Of course it will,” Chris scoffed. “Just picture me in the crown and dancing like this.”
I laughed at his robot and running man and when he moved behind Bill and began to grind. Laughed because it was expected. I tangled my fingers in my necklace: under the table I was tapping a pulse with my foot.