“Will you forgive me?” I ached to reach for him, so I clasped my hands behind my back.
“It’s not forgiveness. It’s self-preservation. God, Mi—don’t you get it?” He hesitated, then walked over to his car. He reached in the driver’s door and fumbled in the console before pulling out a battered envelope. “I’ve been carrying this for weeks. It’s a mix for you.”
“Thanks.” I tried to sigh, but my chest was too tight, my lungs crowded by the hammering of my heart. I didn’t want a CD; I wanted him back in my life.
“Listen to it.” And he left.
I flipped the CD around in my hands. I could more or less decipher the title. He’d written it in all caps: it was “MUSIC FOR …” and a scrawl of my name.
I slipped the CD in my car as I pulled out of the driveway to go to the nail salon. The first song was an oldie. I twisted the volume, and the lyrics to a Stevie Wonder song filled the car:
Very superstitious, the writing’s on the wall.
I frowned but continued listening:
When you believe in things you don’t understand, you suffer. Superstition ain’t the way.
I punched the advance button; the next song was familiar; we listened to it every year at cheer camp. It was the “I’m sexy, I’m cute,” song from the beginning of Bring it On—a movie Gyver loved to hate.
Was this whole CD songs that mocked me? I shut it off and pulled into a spot in front of the salon. The door was open and I could see the customers inside. All girls from my school in chatty, smiley groups.
Predance preparation had always been a Calendar Girls gossipfest. We rotated whose house we got ready at and brought in nail and hair stylists so we could nibble and giggle as we were pampered. Fall Ball meant I should be at Lauren’s right now.
My chest tightened. I coughed and punched the steering wheel, clipping the horn. The girls inside turned. I flushed as they gave puzzled looks, half waves, then turned back to each other and laughed. It wasn’t worth it. Why did it matter what my nails looked like?
I put the car in reverse and drove home.
Gyver was waiting on his driveway when I pulled into mine. After spending so many nights wishing he’d acknowledge me, I cursed as he sauntered over and opened my door. “Did you listen to it?” There was an unnerving intensity in his voice.
“I listened.”
“And?” He leaned down and offered me a hand.
“I don’t know. Is there an answer you’re looking for?” I ignored his hand and stood.
“That’s your whole reaction?” He hadn’t stepped back; I was squeezed between the open door and him. I fought the urge to hug him and inhale his familiar scent—the smell of my childhood and seventeen years of Saturdays.
I rubbed my throbbing forehead and closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to cry. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I’m superstitious. Yes, I like cheerleading. Great.”
“How much did you listen to?” His voice tightened.
“Enough. Thanks. I have to go get ready.” I put a hand to his chest and pushed gently. I needed space and air before I choked.
He stepped out of the way but caught my arm. “Listen to all of it, Mi.”
I masked pain as annoyance. “I will. God.”
“You know, for someone who’s always looking for signs, you’re pretty blind to the ones I’ve been giving you for years.” His thumb caressed the inside of my arm before letting go. “You see what you want to. Maybe you’re looking for signs you won’t get better because it’s easier to give up.”
He was walking away. “So is this it?” I called. “You’re back to ignoring me because I didn’t like the mix. Friendship over again?”
He spun and walked back. “You’ve made your priorities clear over and over. I knew we were done the day you switched your lucky necklace for one The Jock gave you. If he was more important to you than your superstitions, more important than …” He locked his jaw, looked at the ground, and gave his head an angry shake.
“I lost my necklace! I would never have taken it off. Ryan bought me a replacement because I was so upset. What was I supposed to do? Not wear it? What is this really about? You feel threatened by him?” I scoffed on the last word.
It was a minor lifetime before he lifted his eyes from the crack in the driveway to drill them into mine. “I won’t watch you self-destruct. You can’t ask me to do that.”
This time he didn’t stop when I called after him. The door banged shut and I was alone. I wasn’t going to cry, but I couldn’t stop the choking coughs.
“Let me see.” Mom held out her hand for one of mine when I entered the kitchen.
“I didn’t like any of the colors,” I lied.
“Well, we have polish. If you can’t find one you like, I’ll run out to the store.”
I wanted to get upstairs and give myself room to think. And breathe. I forced words around gasps and hid shaking fists in my pockets. “I’ve got something.”