Send Me a Sign

Send Me a Sign by Tiffany Schmidt





For Morgan

I may have been your teacher,

but you taught me the true meanings of grace and courage





Chapter 1

Hillary looked up from her phone, squinting at me in the afternoon sun before she pulled on the sunglasses perched on her head. “There is nothing happening tonight. Nothing.”

Ally rolled onto her stomach and took a sip of Diet Coke. “There’s a barn party coming up.”

She had a streak of sunblock on her shoulder, which Hil leaned over and rubbed in. “That’s still three days away—is there really nothing planned until then? Mia?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” I answered. “But not that I’ve asked either. Do you want me to?” My cell phone was somewhere below my chaise and I made a halfhearted attempt to pick it up without looking.

She sighed. “Don’t bother. But if the rest of this summer is as crappy as June has been, then let’s just fast-forward to September.” I couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses, but I knew they’d look hurt; she’d had a rough week.

“Except for us, right?” Lauren asked. “We’re not part of the crappiness.”

I rolled my eyes and Hil poked me with a purple pedicured toe. “You guys know I love you—it’s the rest of this suckfest of a summer I hate.”

My phone kept beeping, but I didn’t feel like checking it. It was one of those afternoons where the weather was too perfect to take anything seriously. I allowed myself some laziness—stretching my arms above my head, soaking up as much sunshine and pool weather as possible. The summer was just beginning; I’d let it ramp up to excitement—there was plenty of time for parties and discovering if school-year flings would become summer ones. Plenty more afternoons just like this.

“Laur, you’re turning really pink,” I said, poking her arm gently and watching it transition from white to ouch-red.

“It’s not fair. You’re blond; I thought you’re supposed to burn too.” Lauren stated it like an accusation as she traded her spot at the end of our row of chaise longues for a chair beneath the shade of the patio table’s umbrella.

“Nope, just redheads.” I tossed her the bottle of sunblock. It was a bad throw, landing closer to the pool than to her hands. “But you’ll be the only one of us without wrinkles when we’re twenty, so it’s almost fair.”

“Who wants to come sit with me?”

Lauren was constantly asking questions like this. Yesterday I’d done the whole shade-time thing with her. Today I was too content to move, so I simply stared up at the deep and endlessly blue sky.

“You’re, like, ten feet away. I think you’re fine,” Hil answered.

Shifting my shoulders to unstick them from the chair, I self-consciously adjusted the top of my bikini. Again. At the mall Ally had told me buying a smaller size would make my boobs look bigger. Hil had argued that I was asking for a wardrobe malfunction.

Hil was right—and, since she caught the gesture, she knew it. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “The green one looked better on you. We’ll go this weekend and buy it.”

“Plan,” I agreed. I could maybe get away with this one while lying flat and tanning, but the thought of attempting to wear it while Gyver and I swam laps was enough to make me blush and look toward the fence separating his yard from mine. Laps often turned into races, and races turned into cheating, grabbing ankles, and dunking each other to get ahead. The winner was the person who didn’t choke on pool water—swimming and laughter not being a great combination. And after we raced we floated side by side, hands, feet, legs, and arms bumping as we bobbed and talked. These scraps of fabric and sequins would never stay put through all that.

“What happened to your leg?” Hil asked, interrupting my thoughts. I’d been busy studying the house next door—something I found myself doing all too often lately.

“It’s nothing. I banged it against the side in the game of chicken the other night.” I shifted my leg so she couldn’t see the bruise that wrapped around half my calf. It was the latest in a series of purple polka dots on my body.

Her eyes narrowed. “Ryan is such a klutz. He should’ve been more careful.”

“Ryan? Careful?” I laughed. “I’m sorry, are we talking about the same person?”

“Ryan’s never careful,” added Ally. She liked to state the obvious, to make sure we were all on the same page.

“Speaking of Ryan,” said Lauren. “Where are the boys? Let’s call him and Chris and Kei—” She cut herself off, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Ally and I connected with “oh shit!” eyes.

“And no one,” Ally finished, a weak attempt to cover Lauren’s slip-up. Weak but sweet.

Hil was sitting so still, she looked like a statue—Pixie in Red Bikini. I dropped down next to her on the chaise and wrapped my arms around her. I could almost not blame Lauren; we were all used to including Hil’s ex on the list of guys to invite, but Lauren tended to misspeak a little too often, and look a little too innocent afterward.

“Sorry, Hil,” she said.

“It’s fine.” Her words were sharp. It was the tone that made freshmen flinch and made me buy cookie dough and schedule a girls’ night for us—a voice she used only when she was hurting. Usually because her parents were involved in another custody hearing. Not because they were fighting over who got to keep her, but because neither wanted to.