“I’ve got to get in the shower. I’m meeting the girls at noon.”
“Don’t be too long. We’re leaving for the hospital at three,” Dad reminded me.
Mom said, “And kitten, remember what we discussed.” She put a finger to her lips and raised her eyebrows.
Was it even possible to keep my cancer a secret? I needed a sign.
Chapter 5
My friends and I always ate at Iggy’s. Not because the food was better than any other diner’s, and not because the fifties décor of record albums and black-and-white-checkered floor tiles was anything special. We ate here because we always had—and the cheerleaders before us had too. We were guaranteed a booth with almost no wait, and they never kicked us out for spending too long gossiping over a basket of fries and Diet Cokes.
It was always the four of us—we called ourselves the Calendar Girls. Back in middle school we’d decided birthdays weren’t enough, so we’d each chosen a season to be celebrated. Hillary Wagner’s dark hair and icy attitude made her winter. Ally Wells’s sunshine and frequent tear-showers made her spring. Lauren Connors’s red hair and ghost-pale skin linked her to fall.
I was easygoing. I was carefree. I was summer. Technically it was my season; if I wanted the girls to spend the next month in my hospital room, they would. Just like we’d campaign to make sure Lauren would be Fall Ball queen, Hil would be crowned at the SnowBall, and Ally would wear the queen’s sash at prom. My wish was their command until the first day of school—but what did I wish for?
“I have an idea,” Hil announced once Lauren returned from visiting a group of boys in another booth. “But it won’t work unless we all agree.”
“Should we be nervous?” asked Ally.
“No,” said Hil. “Well, maybe Lauren.”
When Lauren squeaked, “Wait, me?” Hil laughed and said, “Joking.” We each had our role within the group: Lauren’s constant need for reassurance was balanced by Ally’s need to be needed. Hil’s outrageous schemes counteracted my pragmatism.
“What is it?” I asked, hoping her latest plan wasn’t a reincarnation of last month’s “Let’s all get tattoos.” I’d barely talked her out of it. Maybe in her new idea I could find a sign for how to proceed with my own announcement.
“It’s the summer before we’re seniors—our last year together—and I want to make it the best one yet.”
“I already agree,” interrupted Lauren.
“Last year I was so busy with Keith and all his stupid college drama. We spent so long obsessing about long-distance relationships and where he should apply. Now that we’re broken up—thank God—I realized how much I missed out on and how much I missed you guys.”
Ally gave Hil a hug. “We’re glad to have you back. But you’re doing okay with the breakup, right?”
Hil nodded. “I forgot how much fun it is to go to a party without a boyfriend to worry about. So here’s my idea: we stay single for senior year. If we want to hook up, that’s fine. Mia can continue on her path to heartbreak with Ryan, but nothing real or serious. No boyfriends. Thoughts?”
“I’m in,” Ally said. “I’m bored with all the East Lake boys anyway.”
“No boyfriends? Like, none?” Lauren’s forehead was crinkled with horror.
“Oh, you can do it. You’ve gone through enough boys already,” Hil said. “Mia? What’s your verdict?”
“First, my heart is not in any danger. Second, I’m in.” Giving up boyfriends would be easy; Ryan would never commit. It was giving up the rest of my life that worried me.
Lauren twirled a curl around her finger. “If you’re all going to do it, I guess I’m in too.”
“Excellent.” Hil lifted her soda and we mirrored her action. “To us! To the Calendar Girls’ Single Senior Year. It’s going to be fab, wait and see. Drink up, buttercups.”
We clinked glasses and sipped. Lauren waited about ten seconds to launch her first protest, “But it doesn’t seem fair that Mia gets to keep Ryan.”
“Keep Ryan?” Hil scoffed. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Shh,” Lauren said. “Here they come. Act natural.”
I tried not to snort—nothing in my life seemed natural right now. Was Mom right? Should I keep this a secret? I tried to imagine doing pedicures in a hospital room or watching scary movies with machines beeping around us. I couldn’t picture Ally reading Cosmo quizzes while I wore pajamas instead of a bikini. Hillary wouldn’t be able to sunbathe topless, and I doubted there would be space to recreate the dance numbers from her favorite musicals. Scenes we watched over and over until we had all the steps mastered or collapsed into giggles. Lauren might mind less—she wouldn’t have to worry about burning. Except she never could sit still. Being trapped in a room would drive her—and by extension us—crazy.
“Natural,” Lauren repeated in a whisper before amping up her smile.
Hil rolled her eyes and asked, “Mia, are we still going to the mall later?” When I gave her a blank look, she added, “Remember? To get you a bikini that fits?”
“I can’t.” I pulled my fork through my salad, poking at things but not eating much.
“I’ll go,” Lauren offered as Ryan Winters, Chris Matherson, and Bill Samuels reached us. “Hey.”
Chris and Bill sat by Hil, then commandeered Lauren’s fries. Ryan waited next to me, his face a display of amusement framed by dimples.
“Any room for me?” he asked when I didn’t get the hint. I blushed and moved down the bench.
Hil scoffed, “God, Mia, how much did you drink last night? I thought I was hungover, but you’re a total space case today.”
I forced a smile. “Too much.”
Ryan acknowledged the lie by squeezing my knee under the table. He’d spent last night offering to switch my water for “something more interesting,” and I’d declined each time. His blue eyes appraised me with a look that made me feel naked, both physically and emotionally. A dimple flickered onto his left cheek as he gave me his half grin—the one that made me want to find us a secluded corner.
“Where’d you go last night, anyway?” Chris asked.
“Yeah, and where have you been all week?” Lauren added. “You’ve been totally M.I.A. since that afternoon at your pool. Get it? M.I.A.? Mia?”
Ally laughed a little, the rest of us nodded and groaned. No matter how lame the joke, I was grateful it changed the focus of the conversation—no one seemed to remember I hadn’t answered either question. The first one was innocent enough, but Gyver and my friends ran in different circles; it never went well when I tried to combine them.
“I thought I heard someone say bikini shopping? Can I come?” Ryan teased. His smile settled on me like whiskey, making me feel warm and tipsy.
“I can’t. My mom wants to do something.”
“So? Cancel,” suggested Chris.
“Can’t. You don’t know how she gets if she feels ignored.” The girls nodded and Ally added, “Totally understand. It’s fine.”
Hil asked, “What time do you want us over tomorrow, Summer Girl? It’s perfect pool weather.”
I studied my salad, looking for clues among the lettuce and carrots, but the vegetables didn’t give me any signs. “Sorry, I’m busy.”
“It’s summer! What are you doing, and why aren’t we invited?” Lauren asked.
“What am I doing?” I couldn’t look at her, so I gazed over her shoulder at the elderly couple in the next booth. “My mom and I are going to Connecticut to visit my grandparents.”
“Lame,” said Bill.
“Yeah. Sorry I can’t play pool princess.”
“When will you be back?” asked Ally.
“I don’t know.”
“But I leave for the shore tomorrow,” Ryan protested.
“And you think you’d be Mia’s priority, because …?” Hil had hooked up with Ryan first, back in freshman year. She hated that we were together—well, not together—but she hated the idea of us. I couldn’t tell if she was
protective of me or territorial of him. Probably protective; Hil had Mama Bear down to an art form. Even at her bitchiest, Hil was unfailingly loyal.
“Watch the claws, Hil.” Chris grinned across the table at Ryan. “This summer’s gonna be off the hook. Beaches full of bikinis? I’ll be practicing my mouth-to-mouth all day and all night.”
I tried not to imagine Ryan’s golden hair lightening in the sun as his abs and shoulders darkened, his blue eyes scoping bikinis, his oh-so-tempting lips pressed against someone else’s.
Hil spun toward Chris. “You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you two were hired as lifeguards. I would not feel safe swimming on your beaches.”
Ryan downed half my Diet Coke. “Then you don’t have to come visit.”
Chris added, “But there’s plenty of room at Beach Casa Matherson for lovely ladies who are ready to party and have fun.” He and Bill banged knuckles with self-satisfied nods.
“Be fair. You know Hil gets cranky when she’s hungover. And we’ll totally be there. Maybe we can drive down Friday,” said Lauren. “You’ll be back by then, right, Mia?”
“Probably not. Sorry.”
Hil put down her fork and rubbed her forehead like she could erase my answer along with her hangover headache. “How long will you be gone? Tell me you’ll be back when the squad goes to camp.”
I studied the neon-pink stars embossed on the tabletop. There was no way I’d be out of the hospital before the squad left for cheer camp at Penn State. “Maybe.”
“But—” Ally began, throwing her arms around me in one of her impulsive hugs.
“Ally, chill. Mia won’t miss camp; it’s still two weeks away. I can never stay long with my grandparents. Old people creep me out.”
“Hil has grandparents? Who knew. I thought you were hatched or spawned in hell,” teased Chris.
Bill choked on a fry and Hil whacked him on the back, then hit Chris. “You’re. So. Not. Funny.”
“Between visiting the elderly and cartwheel camp, you’ll still come down and visit me—us—right?” Ryan asked me.
The banter. Their normal flirty, teasing banter was too rapid for me to process today. They could joke and plan beach trips. Not me: I didn’t belong.
“Right?” Ryan prompted again. The table had fallen silent and watchful as I suffocated from the weight of my secrets and lies.
“I’ll try.” I felt trapped in the booth and trapped by their questions. “My pops isn’t doing well.” I said a silent prayer I didn’t jinx my active, healthy grandfather.
“Old and sick? Gross. Either one of those is bad enough, but together? Yuck! Come on, back me up—I’m not evil, right? Don’t answer that, Chris.” Hil wrinkled her nose in a way she knew looked adorable and looked around the table for support.
Lauren agreed—of course. “Yeah, yuck! I had to visit my gran at the hospital. It smelled weird and people kept shushing me.”
“Hospitals are just creepy—period. Buildings full of sick people, ugh.” Hil shuddered.
“Well, duh, they’re where people go to die and stuff,” added Chris.
As my friends nodded, I curled one hand around my necklace and covered my bruised elbow with the other. Hil’s comment was an unmistakable sign. My cancer needed to be secret. Those grossed-out and disgusted faces would be for me. Ryan would be flinching, not rubbing my leg below the table.
I pushed his fingers off my thigh—too aggravated to be attracted. “I’ve got to go pack,” I snapped. It wasn’t fair I wouldn’t have their support. They should be able to handle this. I would have handled, it for them. Not that I’d wish this on them. Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t have cancer. “Let me out.”
“Already? I thought we’d hang out a little,” Ryan said. He didn’t move, except for his hand, which was back on my thigh.
I needed to get away before I yelled, cried, or confessed everything.
“Can’t. I’m leaving as soon as Mom gets home from work.” I climbed over Ryan and stood at the end of the table, not sure what to say. “I’ll call.”
“Wait!” Ally pushed Ryan out of the way and gave me a hug.
Lauren and Hil followed her.
“You are too good sometimes, Summer Girl. I would’ve told my parents no way. Don’t let them waste your whole vacation. Get back to us ASAP and we’ll make up for all the fun you miss,” said Hil.
“Drunk shuffleboard?” I suggested. I left the restaurant while they were still laughing and making up rules.
“So? How’d it go?” Mom met me at the front door, swallowing me up in a tight embrace like I’d been gone for weeks instead of just an hour.
I slumped onto the bottom step and hugged my knees. “I didn’t tell them. I just … I couldn’t handle all the questions.”
She hovered above me, smoothing my hair, patting my shoulder. “I understand, kitten. Maybe in a few days. We’re all still adjusting to the idea.”
“No. I don’t want to tell them.” This was all I’d thought about on the drive home—I’d asked for a sign and gotten one. I wasn’t telling.
Mom’s forehead puckered. “I guess that’s best. We’ll get through this and you’ll go back to being the girl you were.”
The girl I was? Had the diagnosis changed me that much already? I lowered my chin to my knees in defeat. She stroked my hair again, and I bit back the urge to jerk away and tell her to stop touching me.
Dad walked out from the kitchen, a book in one hand, a stack of printouts and a highlighter in his other. “All right, kiddo, I carried your suitcase down. It’s time to go.”
Chapter 6
Admission was a mix of paperwork and waiting. Eventually I found myself in a hospital room with white walls, an antiseptic smell, and a view of the parking lot. I was put in a narrow bed, my parents perched in stuffed blue-vinyl chairs, worn shiny from too many passes with antibacterial cleaner. It became a blur after that. A whirl of blood counts, introductions, explanations, and tearful, lingering hugs from Mom. My parents decided to take turns staying overnight. Mom made a big show of volunteering for the first night and tucking me in like I was five before settling onto her cot. I pretended to sleep so she wouldn’t know I heard her toss, turn, and cry in her pillow. I should’ve gotten out of bed and reassured her, but I’d faux smiled and done my no-worries dance all day. I didn’t have enough energy to fake bravery. I was scared; her tears couldn’t be a good sign.
The next morning I was wheeled off to my first surgery: the insertion of a port in the right side of my chest a few inches above my heart. I wouldn’t look at it, but it didn’t feel like much: a small bump under a bandage with constant access to my veins so they could take blood and administer chemo.
I’d become the Summer Girl who couldn’t wear a bikini top.
I spent hours with the oncologist as he explained my treatment, prognosis, and what to expect. I didn’t feel like I understood a word, but when Gyver stopped by I regurgitated mostly coherent answers.
“They’re going to be giving me a ‘chemo cocktail’: a mix of five different drugs I’ll get every day for a week. The goal is to kill all white blood cells—the blasts and the normal ones—and then grow back new, cancer-free cells.”
“When’s this start?” he asked. He’d come with his parents, but they were in the hall consoling mine, which I was thankful for. I needed a break from the suffocating contradiction of their what-a-tragedy looks and we-can-do-this words.
“Day after tomorrow. Welcome to my home for at least the next month. You’ll like my doctor. Everyone calls him Dr. Kevin—probably because his patients are usually younger. I’m the oldest one here.” I swept a hand toward my door—where I’d had Dad hang my lucky horseshoe—and the rest of the pediatric oncology ward beyond. “His name is Kevin Kiplinger—alliterative, that’s a good sign.”
“Alliteration? Signs? Who cares? Is he a good doctor? I’m not doubting your parents’ doctor-picking abilities, but an alliterative name?”
“I thought you liked allitera
tion.”
“I only told you that … We were ten, Mia Moore.” He reached out a slow hand and touched the bandages above my heart. “Did it hurt?”
“Not much; they used anesthesia. I guess it’ll make things easier; all my IVs will go through there.” I touched the bandage, then my necklace, twisting the gold four-leaf clover charm on the chain. “The worst part was they made me take this off. I felt so naked without it.”
Gyver smiled. “Who knew you’d get so attached to that necklace?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve always picked out the best birthday presents.” I let go of the shamrock and touched the bandage again.
“What will you miss the most about home?” he asked.
“Jinx. I brought my laptop and iPod and I can have as many pictures as I want, but they’re not going to let me bring a cat. Will you visit her?”
“Sure. Can I come visit you after the chemo’s started?”
“You’d better.”
“Where is everyone? Your cheer friends? The Jock? Your mom told mine you’re planning on keeping this secret, but that’s just your mom being crazy, right?”
“No. They all think I’m in Connecticut with my grandparents.” Hil’s disdain for sick people still echoed and stung. “For now, that’s what I want.”
“Mi—” Gyver didn’t need to say more than my nickname; he managed to cram disapproval and judgment into two letters.
“It’s what I want,” I repeated. “Besides, I thought you’d be thrilled; you hate them.”
“I don’t hate them, and if they’re at least good at cheering you up, I won’t call them useless anymore.”
“I’m not ready to tell them. I have you—that’s enough.” I squeezed his hand and studied him. The haircut that drove his mother crazy because, while it wasn’t truly long enough to be sloppy, it always looked like he should turn around and get back in the barber’s chair. His T-shirts, worn in and soft without being ratty.
Send Me a Sign Page 3
