Send Me a Sign(29)

“Just picking out clothes.”

“Ah yes, the all-important first-day-of-school outfit. Feel free to model for me.” He spun my desk chair and sat.

I ignored him. “Jinx, get off the bed—I don’t need cat hair on everything. Here, you take her.” I passed the cat to Gyver. “It’s my second-day outfit. Hil and Ally want the squad to wear our uniforms tomorrow.”

“Because nothing makes a good first impression like a miniskirt in school colors.”

I crossed my arms and snapped at him, “It’s a spirit thing—you wouldn’t understand.”

Gyver tapped my foot with his. “Probably not, but I didn’t come over to talk about your pompoms. I wanted to see who was driving tomorrow.”

“Actually, Ryan’s picking me up.”

“Ryan? Still?”

“He’s fun.” I scooped Jinx out of his lap, wanting something to hold and hug. “I don’t need a boyfriend right now.”

“You need someone popular to take to parties? Or is that your role? You’re the hot girl he gets to drive to school?”

I wanted to ask why he cared. Or explain that Ryan was what people expected of me, a distraction, and an antidote to thoughts of him and Meagan Andrews. Ryan wouldn’t break my heart, and he’d never let me close enough to break his. He was safe.

“Don’t be a jerk. He got a new car and wants to show me. Is it really a big deal?”

“Between the ride and your uniform, you’re starting senior year off with class.” He dug his elbows in his knees and interlocked his fingers.

“You are so judgmental sometimes!”

“I don’t want you turning into one of those girls.”

“What girls? The same ones you were telling me to call the whole time I was in the hospital?”

“Ally’s fine, and some of the others too. But Hillary? That girl’s the inspiration behind the evil-cheerleader stereotype.” He peered up through the messy fringe of his dark hair.

“She’s my best friend. Once you get to know her, she’s not bad.”

“‘Not bad’ isn’t exactly a glowing recommendation.”

“I don’t want to fight.” I reached over to poke him, but he swiveled out of range.

I counted to seventeen—my other lucky number—then spun his shoulders to face me. “So, second day. Are you driving or am I?”





Chapter 15

I wasn’t ready when Ryan pulled his red sports car into my driveway at 6:40, but I didn’t worry. Unlike Gyver, who couldn’t string together a coherent sentence until after nine a.m. or his third cup of coffee, Ryan was a parent pleaser 24/7. I popped downstairs to tell him I’d be a few more minutes and found him sitting at the kitchen table with my dad. They were having bowls of organic corn flakes and a conversation about soccer.

“Basketball’s my real sport, but soccer keeps me in shape during the fall, and the team has a good chance of making states.”

I greeted him and pointed to my pajamas. He nodded. “We’ve got time.”

I stood in my bathroom with a headband in one hand, a brush in the other, and considered my reflection. I think my hair was my initial pass to the in-crowd. It had been my best feature: long, shiny, and blond. Now it was short, duller, and thinning. The nurses told me the hair loss would stop in a few weeks—but there were only eighteen days until I’d be heading back in for more chemo, and the cycle would start all over again. How long until it would be unmistakable? My weak excuse about a bad salon wasn’t going to last forever.

Mom had gotten overzealous at Sephora, and dozens of bottles and jars cluttered my sink space. I dabbed and smeared vitality on my face and tugged on my purple-and-gold uniform, frowning at how loose and sloppy it looked.

The last thing I did before leaving my room was flip over my Magic 8 Ball: “Will I have a good first day?” Better not tell you now. I shivered.

Putting on a smile, I went downstairs and tried to calm my parents while pretending for Ryan that today was a regular school day and I was a regular student.

Dad pressed me to eat. Mom fussed, fluttered, and stopped just short of taking my temperature (again). I couldn’t talk her out of first-day photos: “It’s tradition, kitten.”

Tradition was Gyver and I hamming it up at our old bus stop. This was Mom with an agenda.

Ryan smiled tolerantly, posed with his backpack and a hand around my waist. I faux smiled through four flashes, then stopped her. “We need to go.”

She gave me a kiss on the forehead—sneaking in a final temp check. “Seniors already? That makes me feel ancient. Where’d the time go?”

“We’ve got to go,” I repeated, my hand on the doorknob.

Ryan opened the passenger door for me. His car smelled new and beachy. A sprinkling of sand stood out like sugar on the gray surface of his floor mats.

“I like your car,” I said once he’d gotten in his own seat.

“Thanks. Isn’t it great?” He leaned toward me. “Now how about a real hello?”

“Welcome back.” But I flinched when I saw my parents watching from the kitchen window. “We’ve got an audience.”

Ryan groaned but started the car. “You’re killing me.” He filled the rest of the drive with chatter about the shore. I nodded and said mm-hmm at the appropriate times, but my mind raced ahead to identify potential obstacles and secret-exposing scenarios.