Ryan joined in, but there was desperation in his laugh and on his lips when he pressed them against mine and whispered in my ear, “We’ll have fun. Promise.”
I squeezed his fingers and tried to believe him. We all had our coping methods. Gyver had his anger. Mom had her obsession with finding me the perfect dress for the Fall Ball. Dad had his star maps and phone calls to doctors. I had Ryan.
I still needed him, but did he still want me? By the end of the day, my hand ached from how tightly I gripped his, but it was getting harder to convince myself that we still worked.
“Promise,” Ryan repeated. His coping method: self-deception.
Chapter 43
Gyver’s desk was empty on Monday. I’d decided the night before to ask him for calc help. He might be furious, but I couldn’t imagine he’d say no. In my plans, he’d help me and, more importantly, forgive me. Getting Mr. Bonura and Principal Baker off my case would just be a bonus. But Gyver wasn’t in any of our classes.
On Tuesday, dizzy panic compelled me to ask Meagan.
“He’ll be home this afternoon. He’s visiting colleges.” Her face was a blend of judgment and pity. “I know it’s none of my business, but fix things with him, okay?”
“I tried, but he won’t talk to me,” I mumbled.
“Keep trying, then. Hillary managed to apologize to him, and it’s not like they’re friendly. You know how much he cares for you.”
Hil apologized? He’d accepted her apology but not mine? I swallowed past the tightening in my throat. “Did he tell you I didn’t know about Max? I feel awful about the hospital.”
“It’s okay,” Meagan answered, but she was suddenly engrossed in her calc notes.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom and went home instead. Gyver’d left on college tours. Last year we’d planned our route together. We’d spent afternoons with Dad making spreadsheets and sending away for catalogs.
He’d gone without me. It was a sign he’d accepted next fall I wouldn’t be around to matriculate with him.
There was a note in the kitchen when I got home. I read it out loud as I pulled off my itchy wig. “‘Mia, I’ve got a house showing at 4:30. I’ll pick up dinner on the way home. Love, Dad.’” I grabbed a can of cat food.
“I guess it’s just you and me, Jinx.” But despite the humming can opener, she wasn’t twining between my legs.
“Jinx?” I carried the can over to her bowl. It was full with food from the morning. Maybe she’d gotten shut in my room. It’d happened before; I’d come home from practice to find her yowling. She’d also shredded a shirt out of boredom. I hoped I hadn’t left anything on my bed.
But my door was open. “Jinx? Jinxsy?” She was curled up on the spare pillow. When I nudged her, she raised a lethargic paw toward me.
“Hey, bud, aren’t you hungry?” She sneezed in my face. “Gross! Jinx!” Instead of stretching or leaping from the bed, she shut her eyes. I stopped wiping off cat snot and looked at her: nose and eyes streaming green mucus.
“Jinx?” I picked her up; she didn’t curl closer or fight to get down. She lay limp. I called Dad. No answer. Mom’s cell was off. Gyver didn’t pick up, but his car was back in his driveway.
“Hang on, Jinx.” I tucked my sweatshirt around her before walking out my door and across my driveway to the Russos’.
I pounded and pounded before he answered. I could see my mess of a reflection in the door’s window; tears had painted my cheeks three tints of splotchy sadness. Jinx hadn’t reacted to the cold or the noise of my banging.
Gyver had been mid-workout. His black T-shirt was adhered to his chest with sweat, but I launched myself at him anyway. Or tried to; he held me off with one hand. “What do you want?”
My breath seized in my lungs, caught on his physical and verbal rejection.
I pulled back a flap of sweatshirt sleeve to expose Jinx’s oozy face. “She’s sick. No one’s home. I don’t know what to do.”
Gyver looked from her pathetic furry face to my pathetic sobbing one and pulled me into his kitchen. He told me to “sit,” took Jinx in one arm, looked up the vet’s number, and picked up his phone. He spoke assuredly in the receiver, pausing to ask me, “Has she eaten?”
“Not today. Dad gave her dinner last night; I don’t know if she ate.”
“We’ll be right in.” Gyver hung up the phone, grabbed his keys and a sweatshirt, and headed out. He didn’t look back, but paused on the porch to shut and lock the door behind me.
I opened the passenger door. Gyver handed me his sweatshirt. “Put this on. It’s too cold.”
“You’re wear—” I started to protest, but agreement was faster. I pulled on his sweatshirt. It pooled around me in piles of excess fabric. I shoved the sleeves up my arms, and Gyver handed me the bundle containing Jinx. She opened an eye and yowled.
“Do you want to go get a hat or your wig?” he asked, his hand paused on the ignition.
I shook my head. “We need to go. Please, please be okay, Jinx.”
Gyver fastened his seat belt and looked at mine. As soon as I’d buckled it, he pulled out of the driveway and tore through the streets to the animal clinic.