Send Me a Sign(70)

She didn’t. Kept widening the gap between us. Two lunch tables. Three. Tables full of students watching us with open fascination and hope for a scandal.

“I have cancer!” I yelled the words across a five-table chasm and hurried to where she’d finally stopped, two-thirds of the way across a room that was lined with gawkers. Her back was still to me, so I took a deep breath and plunged on. “Leukemia.”

With shaky fingers I reached up and removed my wig. It was like the world had a mute button. Some of the students shifted uncomfortably and others leaned forward—the rustling of lunch wrappers and a whispered echo of leukemia were the only sounds.

“Hil? Did you hear me?”

She turned, revealing a face of wet eyes and trembling lips.

And hands in fists, as she crossed her arms in an angry self-hug. “I heard.”

The cafeteria resounded with shh and buzzed with the giddy energy of eavesdroppers. “I also heard it from Lauren a week ago. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I kept waiting for my turn—God knows I gave you plenty of opportunities. How could you not tell me?”

“Hil, it wasn’t like that …” I felt more people join us, but my words weren’t for Ally or Lauren or Chris. Ryan put a hand on my shoulder, but I shook him off.

“Wasn’t like what?” she asked. “Like you told Gyver, Ryan, and Lauren? God, Lauren! But you didn’t tell me?”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shut up, Lauren,” snapped Hil, at the same time as I said, “Stay out of this.”

Lauren retreated to stand next to Ally, who looked at my bald head and began to cry, quiet at first, but with the great gulping breaths that heralded sobs.

I didn’t know what to say. The cafeteria was noisy now, filled with unconcealed gossip: I would’ve bet it was anorexia. My money was on drugs. Can you believe he’s dating her? Why?

Hil was clenching and unclenching her fists and my heart was beating much too fast. My throat tightened, so even if I’d known what to say, I couldn’t have spoken.

Hil broke our staring contest with a voice that quavered. “I’m supposed to be your best friend. Best friend! And you hide something like this from me for months?”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want your pity or—”

“I’m sorry too. Sorry I wasted so long worrying what I’d done to offend you and make you shut me out. For as much time as you spend complaining about your mom, you’re turning into a fabulous mini-her. Congratulations, you don’t have my pity. You don’t have my friendship either. I’m done.”

When she stormed away this time I didn’t follow, but Lauren did. Ryan was engrossed in a conversation with Chris, a hand on his shoulder. Ally was wailing. I felt like the epicenter of a disaster.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I looked at our Spring Girl, but she wasn’t sunny or optimistic right now; her normally impeccable hair twisted in a sloppy knot, splotches on her cheeks, tear-smudged mascara.

“I didn’t really tell anyone. It wasn’t personal.”

Her eyes hardened and her voice lost its dreamy edge. “Wasn’t it? Lauren says you didn’t tell me on purpose. You didn’t trust me to keep it a secret, right?”

I took a deep breath to offer denials, but she wasn’t done talking. “I thought we were friends,” she whispered. Hurt radiated through her tears. She looked so breakable right now and we’d always gone out of our way to protect Ally, but I was exhausted. Everyone wanted something from me and I didn’t have the energy to satisfy even my most basic needs—like breathing. My chest was so tight.

“We are friends.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like it. Mia, you might die—how could you not tell us this?”

Her words awoke the fear that lay coiled in my stomach. Fed by Dad’s manic research and Mom’s new worries, the fear hissed of my own frailty. It wasn’t something I needed reminding of, or something I could control.

I sucked in a breath and blinked back tears. “You’re right. I might.” The words were bitter in my mouth, toxic enough to make me nauseated. My voice was flat and expressionless, my mind shutting down and detaching from this hellish situation.

She wailed. “Don’t you … Don’t you even care?”

What did caring have to do with it? It was beyond my control—and all my focus needed to be on standing upright, breathing. I didn’t even have the energy to look her in the face, so I watched her jeans.

They turned and walked away from me, breaking into a run when she was a few steps from the door. I wanted to chase her, to apologize and tell her everything—starting with I’m sorry and I’m so scared but I couldn’t move.

What had I done? Ryan and Chris had stopped talking and were watching me with matching horrified expressions.

Ryan recovered first. “Mia, sit. You’re shaking so hard I don’t know how you’re standing.” He led me toward a chair at my empty table.

I sat, but then stood back up. “I need to go get Ally.”

“Sit. I’ll go. Chris, stay with Mia?” Ryan waited for his nod, then headed across the room.

“He won’t know where to find her,” I babbled toward Lauren’s abandoned banana. “She’s probably in the girls’ locker room. He won’t look there.”