Send Me a Sign (17 page)

I stared at my hands and chewed my lip. His words were the second echo of my horoscope. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I looked at him, lying across my bed like he belonged there. “I’m sick.” The words weren’t as hard as I’d expected, but I waited for his reaction.

He grinned and stood up. “We don’t have to go on a date this minute. I’m already going to be speeding to make the bus.” He pulled out his phone.

“No. I’m … really sick.” These words were harder. I choked them past my necklace, which I’d twisted strangulation-tight. “I’ve got leukemia.”

Ryan continued to look at his phone, but he wasn’t texting. He hit the Power button, shoved it in his pocket, and sat down.
Sank down. His face was gray beneath the tan and his mouth half-open. “What?”

I didn’t repeat myself. He couldn’t want to hear it again; I couldn’t say it again. I reached for his hand. Tentative, because I wasn’t sure how he felt about me anymore. Would he ever look at me like he had when entering my bedroom?

“When?” His eyes looked huge against his ashen face. He cradled my hand like it was breakable.

“I found out this summer.”

“This summer? That’s why … Connecticut? And cheerleading?”

“Those aren’t complete sentences, but probably.”

“Leukemia?” He said it slow, like a tricky vocabulary word. “Are you going to be okay?”

“The doctors say everything’s going well …” He was staring at my hand, but his eyes were unfocused. “Don’t you have a game you need to get to?”

I wanted him to stay, to process this and want me anyway. But it had to be his choice.

“The game.” He placed my hand back on my lap like he was putting away a delicate teacup. “Yeah, the game. We’ll talk.” He stood and turned away.

“Ryan, it’s okay. I didn’t expect …” My voice and heart were breaking a little.

“I can’t … Shit! I don’t—I’ve gotta go.” He failed at smiling, then shut the door. His footsteps ran and his tires sped. He couldn’t get away from my illness—from me—fast enough.

I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed. Mad at myself.

He wasn’t worth it. I’d let myself hope. I’d known he’d react this way. Mom warned me. Telling him was a mistake. I couldn’t take it back, though. Soon everyone would know. I ruined everything.

“Kiddo, you need anything?” Dad called from downstairs.

“No, thanks,” I answered in a voice that almost sounded tear free. Not that he’d notice. “Doing homework.”

“Sounds good.”

I hugged the spare pillow. Tight. Pressed into it to muffle my sobs. It smelled of Gyver and Ryan until I drenched it and changed the scent to moisturizer and sadness.

There was a knock on my door. “Dad, I don’t need anything.”

“Mia, don’t cry! Crap.” Ryan stood at the foot of my bed. His hands curling the bottom of his soccer shirt, eyes red-rimmed, and hair disheveled. “I panicked. I had to think. I’m sorry.”

“What about your game?” I rubbed my cheeks dry, but new tears wet them.

“Screw the game. You can’t seriously think I’m going.”

“But you left. And the coach …” I made a second futile attempt to wipe my face.

“I’ll tell him something came up. Doesn’t matter! Tell me what’s going on. Leukemia?”

“You really want to know?” My breathing almost calmed, I almost hoped.

“I got halfway to school before I asked myself: What are you doing? Mia, this is where I want to be. Please tell me.”

I told him: the bruising, testing, chemo, and hospital stay. I wanted to think it felt good to share, but I wouldn’t know until he responded.

“God, Mia, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I could’ve … I don’t know, done something. Who else knows? Anyone?”

“Not really. Gyver. My teachers. If I told the Calendar Girls, the whole school’d know.”

Ryan flinched. “Russo knows? That’s why he’s been your shadow all year. I thought he wanted you.”

“We’re just friends.” Right now, with Ryan’s arm around me, I was honestly okay with that. “He lives next door and my mom works with his dad, there was no way to keep—”

“I’m glad you had someone.” He tightened his grip. “It could’ve been me, though. God! And all I’ve done is talk about sex—you should’ve told me to go to hell.”

“I think I did, once or twice.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You didn’t know. You were acting like any guy would.”

I’d forgiven him, but Ryan wasn’t ready to forgive himself. “Would ‘any guy’ have run away like an asshole when you told him? Is that what Gyver did when he found out? No wonder you said no to me.”

I pulled away so I was facing him. “That’s not why! You don’t date—how many times did you tell me that last spring? If you hadn’t heard about Hil’s pact …”

“Okay, so Hil’s stupid pact put the idea in my head—so what? I couldn’t stop thinking about it—us. I don’t want ‘a girlfriend.’ I want
you
.”

Could Ryan handle this? Earlier with Gyver, had that meant anything? Did I want it to? Of course I did, but he didn’t. And I wanted Ryan too. It was a knife’s edge and I wasn’t balanced. It was also ridiculous—how had we gotten from leukemia to crushes?

But crushes are normal and it felt good to worry about something normal. I wasn’t thinking like a cancer patient, but just like me: I wanted this. I wanted Ryan.

But I was a cancer patient and I couldn’t pretend this decision was as simple as what I wanted. Or what he thought he wanted. “You don’t know what you’d be getting into.”

Ryan reached across the bed, threaded his fingers through mine and let our hands rest on my knee. “So tell me.”

Like it was that easy. “Ryan, no. My answer’s no.”

He looked crestfallen—for half a second. “You still don’t think I’m serious.”

“That’s part of it.”

He leaned toward me, dimples flashing in a smile that made my heart skip. “Let me prove you wrong. Fine, say no for now, but give me a chance.”

I stood and stepped away from his touch. “I really don’t think we’ll work—not as more than a casual hookup.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Or maybe we’d be great together.”

“I said no, Ryan.” My voice was more stern than I’d intended, but the sternness was self-directed. I was not going to give in to charm and confidence and dimples. No matter how much my lips wanted me to.

Maybe Ryan would’ve accepted my answer and left. Maybe
he would’ve argued. Maybe kissed me. I don’t know because Mom knocked. That was a sign—with Gyver I’d been interrupted before I did anything I’d regret. With Ryan, all distractions waited until after I’d decided.

Mom knocked again, then entered. “Hi, Ryan, it’s good to see you. How are you feeling, kitten? Dad said you slept all day. You look—” She paused, noticing my splotchy face and disheveled hair. “A little flushed. Everything okay?”

“I told Ryan, Mom.”

With a smile locked in place, she said, “Told him what?”

“About the leukemia.” I recognized the warning signs in her posture; Mom was tensing for a tantrum. But she wouldn’t do it in front of Ryan, so I met her eyes.

Her smile didn’t waver. “Dinner’s ready and we’d love to have you join us, Ryan. Why don’t you go downstairs and call your mother? We’ll be down in a minute.”

He shot me a confused glance, but nodded. “Thanks. It smells great.”

She waited until he’d left before whirling toward me. “Mia Ruth, what were you thinking? After we worked so hard for your privacy.”

“I had to tell him.”

“Why? I thought secrecy was what you wanted.”

“But why is it a secret?” It had made sense at one point, now I wasn’t sure.

“It’s what you wanted: no one to know so they would treat you the same.” Her voice was stern and I felt ashamed, like I’d done something wrong.

“I know. But I had to tell him. He asked me out. I had to explain.”

“You and Ryan Winters?” The tension ebbed from her face and grasp. “That’s great, kitten!”

“I said no.”

“But why? It’s
Ryan
, honey. You used to glow when he’d drop you off after a party, and you’d blush and run to your room if he called.”

“That was last year.”

“So? As you’ve gotten to know him better, you like him less?”

“No.” I sighed. She’d never understand how I could turn him down. In her mind he was perfect—we were perfect together. “It just won’t work.”

“Because you won’t give it a chance! This is exactly what you need right now: a distraction and someone who makes you happy.”

This type of debate could go on all night, or at least until I gave in. I couldn’t concede, but perhaps if I offered her a partial victory. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Mom kissed my forehead, her face radiant with the same smile she’d worn when I first made the squad. She jumped up. “Oh no! We’ve left him alone with your father. He’s probably filling Ryan’s head with all sorts of cancer facts.”

I followed my maternal hurricane down the stairs, praying dinner wouldn’t be a disaster.

Chapter 21

Over pork chops and mashed potatoes Ryan was fully indoctrinated into Team Cancer. Dad went into excruciating detail about treatments and warnings: keep Mia away from germs, wash your hands, stay away if you feel sick, don’t get her too tired, absolutely no drinking because of the meds …

Mom beamed at Ryan and repeated, “But she’s going to be fine. All the doctors say so. Don’t worry.” I could practically see the thought bubble hovering above her head:
This is the popular, athletic boyfriend I’ve always wanted for Mia. Can’t let him get away
.

I’d said “maybe” in my bedroom, but Mom chose to hear “yes.”

Dad continued. “I know you don’t play football, but this is the only sports analogy I can think of. The first round of chemo switched the cancer from offense to defense. It’s no longer attacking Mia’s body. We’ve got control of the ball now
and each consolidation round of chemo—like the one she’s starting on Saturday—is a new first down. It keeps us in control. And when she’s had enough …”

“Touchdown?” Ryan guessed.

“Something like that,” Dad agreed. “When she’s done the maintenance chemo, she’ll be cancer free, hopefully for good.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, but it was an intimidating speech. Combined with Mom’s over-the-top enthusiasm, I wouldn’t have blamed Ryan if he fled. But he didn’t. He paid attention and asked questions. He nodded and smiled at Mom’s repetitive reassurances. He borrowed books from Dad’s library of leukemia resources. He squeezed my knee under the table.

I started to doubt myself—to believe him. Could he possibly be serious?

“Can I pick you up tomorrow? Are you going to school?” he asked at the front door.

He looked nervous, like I’d never ridden in his car before, like I might say no. “Sure.”

He kissed my forehead and we hovered close for a second before he stepped back. Apparently the time for casual kisses had ended. “It means a lot that you trusted me, even before you told the girls. I’m not going to screw this up.”

“I know.” And I meant it. There was something about seeing him vulnerable that made me feel protective. I’d done this
to him, drained him of the confidence and carefree attitude—the things that made him Ryan.

I touched his cheek, smoothed over the skin where his dimples should be. “You’re a good guy, Ryan Winters.”

And they were back—the confidence, the charm, the dimples. “Then go out with me.”

“Ryan—” It was a sigh-yawn hybrid. I’d slept all day, but tonight had depleted me and left me more exhausted than I’d been this morning.

“Fine, I’ll stop asking, but let me try and change your mind. Every girl wants to be chased, right? Let me chase you and we’ll see what happens.”

I looked at him. Looked beyond him through the glass door to the shape of Gyver’s Jeep in his driveway. “I really don’t think I’ll change my mind.”

He pulled me closer. “I consider myself warned. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

I could feel his breath across my cheeks. If I looked up, I knew he’d kiss me now. I wanted to.

Instead I squeezed his hand and stepped away. “As long as you understand I’m being honest when I say—”

“I understand.” His smile was contagious. “I’d better go before you change your mind. See you in the morning.”

I watched him walk to his car, saw the fist pump he made in the darkness. He pulled out of the driveway and his taillights were swallowed by the night, leaving me wondering what I’d agreed to.

I was still standing by the door when Mom’s self-satisfied
voice drifted from the kitchen, catching my attention. “That went well.”

“Think so?” asked Dad.

“Yes. No thanks to you. Hon, I can’t believe you gave the boy homework! He wants to date our daughter, not write a research paper on the horrors of cancer.” But she was laughing now.

“He asked for the books,” Dad answered. Through the doorway I could see him take the dishtowel out of Mom’s hands and put his arms around her. “And if he makes Mia happy …”

“Of course he does.” She tipped her forehead against his chest. “I was so worried how he’d react. So worried. If he rejected her …”

“But he didn’t. And remember, Gyver didn’t either.”

Mom shrugged this off. “She reminds me so much of me at her age—and Ryan’s exactly the type of guy I dated.”