Send Me a Sign(88)

My parents—thinking I was asleep—had exited at Mark’s entrance.

“Are you worried about school? You know it’s 3:30 a.m., right? I guarantee your teacher will give you an extension.”

“I’m just trying to figure something out.” I rubbed a sleepy hand across my eyes and tried to focus. “Gyver made me this. Does this mean what I think?” I tapped the dial to illuminate the screen.

Mark chuckled. “Clever boy; great play on your name.” “Humor me. I’m not sure I believe it,” I said, wider awake now.

Mark grinned. “Yup, ‘Mi Amore’ means ‘my love.’ Like I said, pretty clever.”

“Oh. I thought so, maybe. I hoped …”

Mark laughed at the blush creeping up my neck. “Should I send him in? He’s in the waiting room. You can have a quick visit as long as you remember the infection rule …” He looked at me expectantly, but I stared blankly. “No kissing,” he reminded.



“Mark said you wanted Gyver, but I asked to see you first.” Ryan’s eyes were red and his suit was rumpled. His blue tie was crushed half in his pocket.

“Hi.” I failed my weak attempt to sit up. “You didn’t go home?”

“Chris came. He took Hil home and me to get my car, but I came right back.” His words had the flavor of confession.

“You didn’t have to. You should get some sleep.”

“Gyver stayed.” Ryan’s posture went rigid, then slumped in resignation. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. How’re you feeling?” He sat in the chair beside my bed.

“Better. Tired. Sick. It sounds like I’ll be here a while.”

“Yeah.” Ryan swallowed and fidgeted with the pockets of his suit coat. “I’d take back all the crap I said last night, but …”

I reached for the hand that had been my lifeline, and he crushed my fingers one last time. “No, you were right, I just wasn’t brave enough to say it first. We weren’t happy.”

“God, this sucks.” He extracted his fingers from mine and stared out the window. “What happens now?”

“I hope we can be friends.”

“Yeah …” He sighed. “I should let you sleep. Or see Gyver.” The second sentence was harder for him to say.

I thought about denying it, but I was done lying. “Thanks, for everything. Will you send him in?”

Ryan nodded; it was a quick, tight motion. “Mia, I’m not going to visit for a while. I need some time.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I’ll miss you.”

He smiled, but it was a small, sad, dimple-free smile. “Ditto,” he said, and backed out of the room.





Chapter 49

“I keep asking for Gyver and getting everyone else.” I held out my arms for parental hugs, expecting coos of “Kitten, how are you?” and offers to hunt down Popsicles. Instead, Mom sat in a chair and Dad frowned from the end of my bed.

“You knew,” Mom said simply. “You knew you were sick and you didn’t tell us.”

It wasn’t a question; it was an accusation.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Dad’s voice was a thunderstorm, crashing and making me tremble. My throat began to constrict. “Why would you take risks with your health? You’re smarter than this.”

My mother reached for a tissue. My father turned his back to me.

“And your grades? I spent an hour on the phone with Principal Baker this afternoon.” Dad’s voice rebounded off the wall but didn’t lose any of its anger.

This surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. Fall Ball was the deadline I’d agreed to, and I’d ceased pretending to catch up after Jinx died.

Dad stomped to my side. “Goddamn it, Mia! What have you been doing? It’s like you’ve given up.”

“I had,” I whispered.

“What?” The emotion drained from Dad’s face as he uncurled his fingers from the bed rail and sank into a chair.

“I had given up,” I explained, trying to fight off the chest tightening and continue. “I was so tired, and I didn’t think I’d make it. It didn’t seem worth it to keep trying so hard.”

“How could you do that to me? You can’t give up.” Mom sobbed and held her arms out to Dad, but he stayed frozen on the other side of my bed.

“How could you expect me to handle all of this? Mom, you put so much pressure on me. My life was hard before—it was impossible once I got sick. It got so bad; giving up seemed like my only option.”

“You should have told us,” she countered. “How are we supposed to help if we don’t know what’s wrong?”

“It’s always been so hard to make you proud and so easy to let you down; I don’t know how to flat-out fail at something. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

I watched the tissue flutter from Mom’s hand as she reached out to squeeze my fingers. Tears flowed down her cheeks undabbed.

Dad looked lost, his mouth gaped.

“I was just so scared.” I let the tears salt my cheeks; I shook with months of fear, coughing convulsively.

Dad reacted first, coming to rub my back and offer me water as I choked. Mom stayed still: confusion, then something else, passing over her face. She picked up the box of tissues and murmured, “It’s okay.”