by Liz Hsu
During one of the breaks, when Kevin and Knox went upstairs to grab drinks, I asked James, “Do you think Ray could ever like me?”
“She likes you,” he said.
“But like”—I dropped my voice—“like, like me.”
He looked at me a moment, shrugged, and went back to flipping through the sheet music. “I don’t know why she moved here, but I can tell you’ve been a good friend to her. I know she likes you.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to say if she wants to get in your pants or not, but you could ask her.”
“I mean,” I said, fumbling with my words. “Do you think she’d date a guy like me?”
He stopped his flipping and raised an eyebrow. “Asian?”
I nodded, even though I’d been thinking more nerdy, Asian—the whole thing. I did wonder that too. It’d never seemed to bother Ray before, but that was as friends. The Lauren situation had been a blow to my pride. She hadn’t said, but I’d wondered…It was hard not to be self-conscious.
“You’re asking me if I think she’s racist?”
He shook his head when I shrugged. It sounded horrible to say aloud. To think that of her.
“Man, I don’t know. I’ve thought I was cool with some girls, only to find out they”—he used air quotes—“‘don’t date Black guys.’” He rolled his eyes. “The world is changing, but there will always be a few who surprise you. Like, who is this? Because, damn. They. Are. Racist. I don’t think Ray’s like that, but who can say?”
“I meant more I’m, well, who I am.”
He leaned back and belly laughed. “Oh, you meant beauty and the geek?”
I shrugged again.
He shook his head. “I’m not as cool as Knox thinks,” he mumbled. “I don’t know. I can tell you, she looks at you different from the rest of us. Now I don’t know if that’s because you were there for her when she was going through some personal things, like you mentioned, or it’s something else. Like I said, why don’t you ask her?”
I swallowed. Ask her? I didn’t think I could. I didn’t want to make her feel awkward if this was one-sided. And likely it was. No, I couldn’t do that to her.
“Thanks, James.”
“Sure, anytime.” He gestured to the guys walking down the stairs. “Should we start back up?”
We played till my ma kicked them out at ten thirty. I felt a lot better after playing and talking to James, but was still confused. Soon I’d probably be absorbed in my studies and wouldn’t even have time for her. Yet Ray made me want to find extra time, time I otherwise would have spent tinkering with computers or playing games online.
I didn’t think I was brave enough to test her feelings yet, but for now we had plans to study together and she’d agreed to be in our band. She’d be around. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about her as I drifted off to sleep, wondering if her lips would taste as good as she smelled and remembering how she’d felt pressed against me when we hugged.
But for now, she had to remain a dream.
My alarm clock blared at me for the start of the second week of school, a loud wailing beside my ear. I reached to turn it off and winced at the pain in my wrist and fingers as I did. In the morning light, I could see they were slightly swollen again. I got up and made a note in the small planner Dr. Murray and Dr. Ezra had asked me to keep. I tried to think of what I’d done this weekend that might have set me off—coffee outside with Dad too long, staying up too late Saturday night studying with Charles, anxiety about the new school—it could be anything. It’d be better if I could go for a run; that’d always helped me before to clear my mind, and become too tired to overthink everything.
But I couldn’t run.
Dad had classes later today and was still sleeping, so I slipped in my headphones and played a country mix Jeffery and I liked from Spotify. When “Cruise” by Florida Georgia Line came on, a song Jeffery and I had sung since we practically had training wheels, something tugged inside me and I opened my Instagram my dad had let me set up. I scrolled through some pictures of my old classmates with a wave of nostalgia. Carolyn was all over Ross, and if they weren’t dating yet, it wasn’t for her lack of trying.
I shut it away. I was glad I wasn’t with Ross anymore, but dagnabbit, I’d thought Carolyn was one of my best friends. We’d spoken twice and exchanged a handful of texts in the near two months I’d been here. Jeffery was as loyal as he’d ever been, but besides him, I only traded a few texts with my friend, Ava. Of course, I’d had clipped words with Mom and video-chatted with my little sisters, Gracie Mae and Mary Beth. I knew they missed me. Matthew, my little brother, thought he was too cool to say it, but I had a feeling he might too.
No one else. Was Ross right that I was a “pretty girl?” To me it implied I had nothing else. No substance. I wanted to be liked, like Jefferey liked me, for more than that. But maybe that’s all I was. All I had been. I certainly hadn’t had tons of friends when I was an awkward middle schooler or freshmen. I’d gotten friends with my curves, and it had never sat right with me. I wasn’t going to say no to being better looking than I used to be, but I wanted to be liked for me, as well. But, maybe there was something wrong with me.
I shuffled to grab a coffee because I needed to get ready or I’d be late for school. I frowned taking my first pills of the day; there was certainly something wrong with me. I blinked back my tears. I wasn’t a kid anymore who could knock on Jeffery’s door and say, “Let’s bike to the dock,” when I was sad.
I’ll make new friends, I told myself—even if, so far, the only friends were Charles and the band. Likely, out of guilt, too. Charles probably just felt sorry for me. No one like him had ever wanted to be my friend before.
I tried to make a mental list of who stood out, but in the first week, only Greg Davis had gone out of his way to be friendly. He was interested in architecture, plus he was a junior. Maybe we could hang out some because Charles was too busy for a needy friend. I groaned over how shy I was feeling as I washed my face. But I couldn’t ignore the fear that I’d make the same types of friends as back home, friends who hadn’t cared I was now sick.
I frowned at my reflection. If you didn’t know me, I just had a girlish roundness to my cheeks. If you knew me, you’d know the steroids were making my face bloated. I took my hair down from its bun and ran a brush through it. As I brushed, large chunks came out, nearly filling the brush. I gasped.
I’d never liked how my hair set me apart as a kid, but it was who I was. Hair was one of the pretty things about me—about anyone. While I didn’t want to be know for exclusively my looks, I didn’t want to lose them entirely. I examined myself carefully in the mirror and didn’t notice any bald spots—yet—but I’d read lupus could cause hair loss. Joints hurting, losing hair, and a bloated face: it was an ominous start to Monday morning. I whispered a silent prayer that today was a fluke as I cleaned my brush.
Saying the prayer sent a wave of dread through me. I needed to find a church here—like, weeks ago—but I hadn’t been brave enough to go alone. Dad was an atheist, Charles a Buddhist, and Knox Jewish. I could’ve talked to Kevin or James, since they both went, but I wasn’t as comfortable with them. James was older and intimidatingly good-looking, and Kevin didn’t seem too keen on me.
A thought for later, I decided when I saw the time on my phone. Rushing to my room, I slipped into a sundress and sweater. I had long legs and normally didn’t like wearing dresses to school because they were always shorter on me. I was more likely to get a dress code violation, but it was supposed to be in the high eighties today. I’d been as hot as a popsicle on the Fourth of July in art with my jeans on Friday because the room didn’t have AC. I’d laughed when a girl next to me had told me this, thinking it was a joke, but she’d been serious. It’d been pouring rain and humid too. I couldn’t have imagined a classroom, anywhere inside, without AC, at least not back home. So, sweater and freezing in some class
es, but at least I wouldn’t be sweating in Art.
Because I dilly-dallied feeling sorry for myself, I didn’t have time for breakfast, so I threw a protein bar in my purse and ran out the door. I’d feel sick from the pill I just took, if I didn’t eat it soon. My phone dinged in the elevator, and I raced toward the curb where Charles was already waiting.
“Sorry, sorry,” I murmured as I slipped in.
“No worries, I just got here,” he said with his usual calmness, drumming a beat on the steering wheel.
We talked about Ms. Cheng, the Mandarin teacher, and how to get an A with her. Before we knew it, we were at school. I steadied my breathing as I got out of the car. My nerves were already flaring up my lupus. I thought again that it’d all be so much better if I could run. I rubbed some warmth into my numb white fingers. Charles always blasted the AC; he was the opposite of me in that regard.
Greg waved at us in the parking lot and got out of an expensive-looking Ford truck. It felt like Ross was walking toward me all over again, except with warm brown eyes instead of ice gray. I pushed that away. Greg was not Ross, and I needed to try to make more friends.
“You ran out of math on Friday,” Greg said. “I was going to get your number and see if you wanted to do anything this weekend, being new and all.”
I stumbled in surprise but quickly caught myself. “That’s awfully chivalrous of you.”
He chuckled. “Did you do anything this weekend?”
“Charles and I hung out.” I risked a smile at Charles, and my heart raced about as fast as a hummingbird’s wings when his dimple flashed back. “We’ve been friends a long time,” I added lamely.
Greg looked at Charles. “Cool. Hey, man.”
Charles nodded.
“How’s football going?” I asked, trying to be friendly as he fell in step beside us.
“Great! We’re going to dominate this year.” He flashed me a grin so cocky I almost stumbled a second time, stunned by how much he looked like Ross’s doppelganger.
I wasn’t sure I wanted a friend like him, though I reminded myself Greg was not Ross. I should give him a chance. Charles was so busy, I couldn’t be taking up all his free time. I wanted to make some of my own friends.
“I’m sure you’ll have a good season.” Shoot, I wished I had something better to add.
“You guys play any sports?” Football started in the summer, but all the other fall teams would start this week or next.
I think Charles saw the misery in my shoulder slump because he spoke up. “Nah, I’m way too busy, and Ray’s likely too busy too. She’s taking three APs and doesn’t have a free period.”
Warmth infused my chest at his defense because, golly gee whiz, it hurt not to be joining cross-country this season. Before I could mouth thank you to Charles, because I was not ready to talk about my lupus yet, Greg nudged me. “With legs like yours, I would think you did something.” He cocked an eyebrow expectantly.
I cleared my throat, tugging at the hem of my skirt. Ross had always said I had nice legs, but he was my boyfriend. I didn’t even know Greg.
“Fuck, that came out wrong. What I was trying to say was, you look like a runner—those muscles came from somewhere,” he stammered out.
“I used to do cross-country and track, but I’m not sure about now.” I cast another quick glance at Charles, and he gave me a slight smile. “Like Charles said, I might be too busy. And I’ll have driving school…”
“Sounds like excuses,” he said with a laugh. “All right, Savannah, I’ll see you in math.”
I looked at Charles. “Charles,” I started, but my voice faded.
He leaned in, almost like he had ESP. “Don’t worry, your health is your own business. I’ll never mention it unless you ask me to.”
“Thanks,” I said in a tight voice. It felt too good to have him whispering against my neck.
“Friends, remember?” he said, bumping my shoulder.
I couldn’t resist throwing my arm around his waist and giving him a brief squeeze. “Friends,” I whispered back and slid my arm away even though I wanted to keep holding him. Snuggling against him made me feel so warm and safe. I missed hugs something fierce; I’d never realized how much I depended on them.
At the start of last period, Greg slipped into the seat beside me and slapped a paper on my desk. It was a parental permission form to do cross-country.
“You’re welcome,” he said with a smug smile.
I stared at him and blinked. And blinked again.
“I know some people on the team,” he said into my awkward silence. “They’re all nice. If it’s a ride you need, I can give you one after practice. It finishes at the same time as mine.”
My hand froze on the flyer and I felt dangerously close to tears as I nodded and folded it into my purse. I forced myself to say, “Thanks, Greg. That was really nice of you to get this for me. I need to talk to my dad.”
“No problem, Savannah. I moved here from Chicago when I was thirteen. I know being new can be tough.”
I was saved from responding by class starting. I thought about the flyer like it was burning a hole in my purse as well as my mind. Did I want to risk doing cross-country again?
Yes. Absolutely, yes.
I missed running so bad. It relaxed me like nothing else. But could I run again? I made a painful fist and sighed. Even without running, my joints hurt.
Luckily, I had to concentrate on note-taking. When the final bell of the day rang, I was still wondering what to do about the permission form in my bag. It didn’t leave my mind when I saw Charles, shuffled down the hallway responding to him with one-word answers, or opened my locker.
“Hey, what happened?” he said, placing a hand on my bicep.
I nearly shivered at how good it felt as I flashed him the form. “Greg thought he was being nice bringing me this.”
The worst was, he really had been trying to be nice. Charles frowned. He walked toward the trash can, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“No, wait! I’m thinking about it.”
His forehead wrinkled. “But I thought you shouldn’t.”
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t lie, not to Charles. “But I miss it. I miss running so much, Charles.”
He handed back the flyer. “It’s not my business. It’s yours,” he said quietly.
The car ride home was tense with both of us distracted. I knew running was a bad idea, but I loved it. And it’d be awesome to be on a team again.
Dad was there when I got home. When I hesitantly asked him about joining cross-country, he shut me down right away.
“No, Ray.”
“But Dad—”
“Ray, I don’t want to fight you. I’ll tell you what, if you’re doing better, you can join track in the spring. If you want to. Just take it easy this semester. Think about what the doctors said. Please, sweetheart.” He said this kindly and patiently, but all day I’d been fighting tears, and now they sprang to my eyes. It wasn’t fair.
“I’m going to get fat!” I whined.
My cheeks were already puffy from the steroids and I felt bloated. I used to run about thirty miles a week. Now that I’d stopped, how long would it take until a few pounds started showing up? Greg was right. I had a runner’s legs, but I wouldn’t anymore if I didn’t do any sports. It was bad enough starting a new school, but what if I had to buy new clothes too because I couldn’t wear the old ones now that I wasn’t working out? Then there’d be no way to afford architecture camp, either.
“Sweetheart, you can do some sit-ups or something, but I’m sorry, not this semester.” He looked at me with resolve and I knew his decision was final.
I huffed into my room. It wasn’t just cross-country. I knew Dad was right. But what the heck—was everything in my life going to revolve around lupus now? I crunched my fist, feeling pai
n as I did. I tightened it more, seeking relief in the physical pain over the emotional turbulence inside me.
I paced back and forth, then picked up my phone and texted Charles bitterly. Dad said no.
A response dinged back almost immediately. I’m sorry /:
I started on my homework. I looked down at my phone a few minutes later and saw another message flashing from Charles: At the risk of sounding like a creepy stalker, I was bored at my internship a few weeks ago and came across this article about SLE and Iyengar yoga. I looked it up and there’s a center 5 minutes from your place. Maybe…
There was a google link attached. I typed back a quick thanks and went to the website. It talked about working with people with medical problems. The owner’s email was listed for questions. Taking a deep breath, I shot off an email and turned back to my homework.
Around nine thirty that night, when I was done showering and blow-drying my hair and about ready to crawl into bed, I saw I had an unread email from Lanie at the Iyengar yoga studio. She said she’d love to have me and would be happy to help me do the modifications to make sure I wouldn’t hurt myself. She suggested a Saturday morning and Thursday afternoon class. If I was interested, she told me to come in a half hour early with my dad to fill out the paperwork and make sure she understood how to help me not injure myself.
Buzzing with excitement, I hurried to the living room to tell Dad. A wave of guilt coursed through me when I spotted him crammed into a corner since I’d taken his office. I’d been moody and quiet at dinner. It wasn’t his fault; he’d done everything to make it better.
“Dad,” I said softly.
He paused and looked up.
“I’m sorry for losing my temper earlier.”
He walked to the counter and patted the chair beside him. I padded over as he said, “I understand, sweetheart. You loved running and were good at it. I’m not saying to give it up forever. No one is. But just take a semester off.”
I nodded, still feeling guilty. “I know. Anyway, I talked to Charles and he read about this type of yoga that’s supposed to be good for people with lupus. There’s a class nearby. I emailed the teacher and she said she can modify the poses and has had other students with SLE. It’s kind of expensive, but I can get a job like I had in Savannah and pay you back if you let me.” I slid the phone over to him and showed him the article and then the email.
