Send Me a Sign(36)

“I would feel better if you weren’t alone, but I’m not saying yes. That’s up to your dad.”

“What’s up to me? Is there a neighborhood meeting going on up there?” Mr. Russo’s voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs. Gyver left to talk to him.

“You okay with this, kitten? Are you sure you don’t need me?”

“Go to your meeting. If Gyver wants to stay, he’s going to be bored. He should know by now that when I say I’m going to sleep I sleep.”

“It can’t be more boring than listening to you talk about cheerleading,” Gyver said from the doorway. “My dad said it’s fine. He’s waiting in the car and says come out when you’re ready.”

My mom looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go or we’ll sit in traffic. Call me if you need anything. Thank you, Gyver. Let her sleep as much as possible.”

“Will do, Mrs. Moore.” The scent of her perfume lingered as we listened to the front door close and then stared at each other.

“What do you want to do now?” Gyver asked.

“Sleep.” How had I made it to seventeen without realizing my eyelids were so heavy?

“Right. You sleep. I’ll …” Gyver retrieved a magazine from beneath a stack of clean laundry on my desk and sat next to me. “I’ll read about ‘Jen’s Baby Drama’ and ‘Hot New Trends for Fall.’ You know how hard I strive to be trendy.”

I nodded and shut my eyes.



“Mia?” The whisper and hand on my arm were unwelcome.

I tried to keep irritation out of my voice. “Dad, I’m really tired.”

“Shh, Gyver’s sleeping.” He crouched next to me, a hand resting on my bedside table for support. “Sorry to wake you, kiddo, but you need to take your meds. Then you can go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?” I lowered my voice to match his. My room was bright and my eyes were crusty.

“After two.”

I tried to sit up and take the bottle of juice Dad offered, but something anchored me in place. It was Gyver’s arm, which he’d wrapped across me while I slept. His foot weighed down my calf. His face was inches from mine, his breath warm and steady on my cheek.

I blushed, wide awake. What had Dad thought when he walked in and saw Gyver wrapped around me like a hotdog bun? Granted, Gyver was on top of the covers and I was underneath. Still.

I took the thermometer, muffling its beep with a cupped hand. “98.7.” Then lifted my head off the pillow enough to swallow the pills and juice. Oh so carefully, I lay down. “I’m going to sleep more,” I lied in a whisper, hoping my blush would pass as just-woken flush.

Dad nodded, patted my shoulder, and tiptoed out of the room.

Gyver was half on my spare pillow, the one Jinx normally occupied, and half on mine. His exhales breezed over my cheek; if I turned my head in his direction, our noses would’ve brushed. I focused on the warmth and weight of his arm and leg and listening to him breathe.

Because I was paying attention to the rhythm of his inhales and exhales, I knew the moment he woke. Other than an instinctive tightening then relaxing of his arm, he didn’t move right away either.

“You awake?” I whispered at the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

I rolled to face him. His foot slid off my leg, but his arm remained around my waist. Only a few inches of pillowcase separated our eyes and lips. I was too aware of that fact.

“How’d you sleep?” Gyver whispered, though there was no one left to wake.

“Great.” Whispering must be infectious, because I did too.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really. I’ll get something in a bit. Are you?”

“No, I helped myself to your breakfast tray.”

“Good. Thanks for staying with me. Sorry I was so boring.” “I’ll play hooky with you anytime. Not only did I get out of our history test, but I got to read about”—Gyver reached behind him for the magazine and flipped it open—“the best pants for my body type.”

I smiled. “Which are?”

“No clue. I couldn’t figure out if I’m a triangle, rectangle, circle, or sideways bow tie. How do girls know these things? What are you?”

“That’s an hourglass, not a bow tie. I’m a rectangle, because I’m not super curvy, but an hourglass, too, since I have a waist.” I felt stupid talking about my body—and self-conscious drawing attention to my waist, where his hand had just rested. A fact he was aware of too; his eyes flicked there before coming back to meet mine.

We were quiet for a heartbeat. Two. Then my heart sped up as my blood rushed to my cheeks and that was no longer an accurate way of counting.

My focus shifted from my racing pulse to an awareness of how good he smelled. My eyes drifted to his lips, and my thoughts? They drifted to our first kiss. Our only kiss.

It had taken place in his car—more than a year ago—on the night Gyver got his license. He’d taken me out to celebrate with ice cream.

We could’ve eaten at our usual picnic table. In fact, we could’ve walked home—Scoops is less than a mile from our houses. But that night we’d sat in his car and Gyver cranked the A/C to keep my cone from dripping. “Where should we go next, Mi?”