Send Me a Sign(25)

I dropped the naked stem onto Lauren’s open magazine. “So tell me about camp.”

She launched into a play-by-play and was still talking when Ally and Hillary flopped onto the waiting chairs and added their commentary.

“I hate that you missed everything: camp, parties, our trips to the shore—you should see the Mathersons’ shore house. And Ryan talked about you a lot,” Ally said.

“Really?” I sat up.

“Really. And he was all touchy-feely at Iggy’s,” Ally said.

I nodded. Hil put down her magazine.

“And he wanted you alone last night,” she added.

“So? Did you finally sleep together?” Lauren asked, since Ally wouldn’t. Hillary sat up and turned toward me. Ally squeezed in next to me on my chaise.

“No. We didn’t. We just talked. And kissed a little.”

“Ryan? Talk?” Hil scoffed. “Not when we were hooking up.”

“’Fess up,” teased Lauren. “We won’t judge.”

“He could talk to Mia.” Ally leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Thank you, Ally. Sorry to disappoint, but that’s all we did. I don’t know, do you guys ever look at him and think … he’s got so much potential?” I asked.

“I look at him and think, God, he’s hot!” laughed Lauren. Ally gave me a puzzled smile.

“What do you mean?” Hil asked. “Boyfriend potential? Because you agreed.”

I struggled with the words, wanting to explain why I was so attracted to Ryan, besides the obvious. “That’s not what I mean. Like, he could be so much more than he is … if he wanted to. Does that make sense?”

“Um, not really. Sorry,” said Ally.

“What did you two talk about?” Hil asked. She was studying me again, clearly on the cusp of some bigger question. One I probably didn’t want to hear and probably couldn’t answer.

“Lots of stuff. His job, living with Chris.” I shrugged, frustrated I couldn’t express it and they couldn’t understand. My eyes darted over the fence to Gyver’s house. He’d get it, but he wouldn’t tolerate the topic.

“Hil hooked up with Chris,” Ally exclaimed. “Did we tell you? It was when we visited.”

“No way!” I turned to her in surprise. “So? How was it?”

Hil pulled a rhinestone flask out of her bag and began mixing its contents with Diet Coke. “I need a drink before I’m ready to relive that.”

She distributed cups and toasted, “Drink up, buttercups.”

I joined in the echo of “I will, daffodil,” but only pretended to sip. I knocked the contents into the grass and drummed my fingers against the empty plastic while they rehashed the hookup, then some party, or a beach trip, or whatever from their summer full of: “so wasted,” “oh my God, so funny,” and “you should’ve been there.”

I stood, mumbled “snacks,” and walked into the house.

I took my time pouring popcorn into a bowl, watching out the window as Ally demonstrated a cheer move and almost fell in the pool.

They were laughing; I was gripping the countertop with white fingernails.

It was the same summer day we’d had for years—but it seemed trivial, boring.

I wanted them to leave as fiercely as I’d wanted to see them—anything to end this hollow feeling, like I was betraying our friendship by not being on the same page. Or like they were betraying me by being the same when I wasn’t.

“Mia!” Hil was standing on her chair, yelling toward the house. “Where are you? Do you need help?”

“Coming.” I picked up the popcorn and practiced my casual smile at the toaster until it felt less like a grimace. Pushing open the screen door, I called, “Hey, Laur, you’re starting to burn. I can see it from here.”





Chapter 12

Gyver was my bridge between the hospital and real life; he made it impossible to separate the two or doubt the existence of either. We sat in his basement after cheerleading tryouts. All I’d done was demonstrate a few routines, but I was exhausted. Gyver was playing guitar and I was slipping into a doze when a thought blurbled into my mind.

“You were chatty in the hospital,” I accused.

“One of us had to be.” Gyver took off the guitar and sat on my side of the couch. I rested my sleepy head on his shoulder. “Luckily, you slept all the time so I never ran out of topics.”

“What did you talk about?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Some—but not a lot.” My hospital memories were smudged a bit. Even my emotions were faded, like it had happened to someone else—a character in a book I’d read or a movie I’d seen. “It’s all hazy. Like trying to take a test after pulling an all-nighter. I’d flunk if you quizzed me on my own life.”

“Like you’d ever flunk anything.”

“I got a C on a pop quiz in bio freshman year,” I reminded him.

“And you cried for hours. You’re crazy.” He traced a lazy hand up and down my arm.

“I’m motivated,” I corrected. “You should talk—isn’t your GPA three hundredths higher than mine?”

“I don’t know. Who keeps track of that?” Gyver leaned his head against mine.