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  After the meeting, Mom dropped me home on her way to work. Dad was waiting at the kitchen table, a notepad and pens all ready. “How’d it go?”

  He’d had an open house that morning, and Mom was pissed he’d missed the meeting, but this worked out perfectly. Explaining it to Dad—logical, list-making Dad—would help it make sense to me. He was the perfect person to rehash this with.

  Well, him or Gyver—but I needed to stop depending on Gyver so much. Hil would’ve been a good choice too; she’d get mama-bear protective and point out all the places Principal Baker’s idea of East Lake didn’t match the reality. But she clearly wasn’t an option.

  I sat in the chair across from Dad and started with the worst part. “Principal Baker wanted to make a cause out of me. He had all these plans to make me a poster child for leukemia awareness, with assemblies and fund-raisers.”

  Dad raised an eyebrow. “I assume your mom had some words to say about that.”

  I nodded. “He’s probably already shredded all related documents.”

  “God love her, your mother is a force of nature.” He laughed. “Then that’s resolved. Let’s focus on what’s in place. Let me see the paperwork.” Dad took the manila folder, um-hmming and nodding as he read through the provisions for extended absences, make-up work, and home care.

  He took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This all looks pretty standard. It’s in line with what I’ve researched. Does it look good to you?”

  “They wanted to change my schedule. Ms. Piper, the guidance counselor, suggested I drop my AP classes and take easier ones.”

  “I bet your mom had something to say about that too. What do you think?”

  I told him the same thing I’d told Ms. Piper and Principal Baker. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain.”

  Dad nodded, looking satisfied. “This looks good, and we can always revisit it later if it needs changes. How about some lunch? Grilled cheese?”

  I wanted more from him. Less logic and more acknowledgment that my high school experience was never going to be the same. These sheets of paper were documentation of how much had changed.

  If I couldn’t have that, I needed a reprieve. A place to pretend this wasn’t going on. “No, thanks. I’m going to go have lunch with Hil.”

  An hour at Iggy’s with a Diet Coke, salad, and Hil chattering about Keith leaving for college and whether or not she should’ve called to wish him luck was exactly what I needed.

  “Hey.” There was a tap on my doorframe, and Gyver’s voice floated through the crack.

  “Welcome back! How was Martha’s Vineyard?” My arms were full of clothes, so I nudged the door open with my foot. Jinx followed him into my room.

  “Warm and beachy. Did you miss me?”

  “Of course!” More than I’d admit; more than was acceptable. Dumping the clothes on my bed, I curled into a hug and inhaled his scent. When the embrace stretched to a length bordering on ridiculous, I stepped away and folded a shirt. “Look at your tan. I’m jealous.”

  Gyver shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m Italian. Mom’s pleased the plants are looking green and leafy. She says thanks. What’s going on in here? Laundry?”

  “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 surfa
ce 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.

  We only had time for a brief parking lot kiss before I suggested that being late on the first day probably wasn’t a smart move.

  “To be continued,” Ryan said with a laugh as he opened his door.

  I hesitated a moment at the top of the stairs and looked up at the wooden sign on the stone wall: EAST LAKE HIGH SCHOOL in gold letters on a purple background. The building hadn’t changed—the same lockers with sticky doors and gym-sock smell, the same crowd of kids who pushed, called greetings, and discreetly checked their reflections in classroom windows as they passed.

  School was exactly the same, but I felt like I didn’t belong.

  “I’ve got to pick up my schedule at the office—want me to get yours?” Ryan asked.

  “I already have it.” I’d gotten it during my medical meeting.

  “Right. Of course you do. I forgot what a little nerd you are.”

  I frowned and he laughed. “Did I mention you’re the hottest nerd?”

  “That’s better.”

  “I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for … ha, I won’t know what till I get my schedule.”

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Have fun. Play nice with the other nerds.” He winked, a dimple tempting me when he nudged his shoulder against mine in farewell. I watched his blond head wind through the crowd, distributing greetings, hugs, and high-fives.

  I adjusted my bag. With a quick shake to clear my head and smile frozen to my face, I melted into the hallway traffic.

  I ran into Ryan between my first two classes. Literally ran into. I turned a corner in a preoccupied daze and he careened into me while catching something Chris threw from down the hall.

  As he hit me, Ryan switched from trying to catch the Snickers bar, which crashed to the floor, to catching me. “Mia! Sorry. You okay?”

  Chris’s laugh and “sorry” boomed toward me, but he didn’t stay to see if I was pissed.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Figures I run over you. But seriously, you’re okay?”

  “I’m not that fragile.” I was defensive—I hated being asked how I was. Perhaps because it was all Mom said to me anymore.

  “I’d better walk you to class, just to make sure,” he teased.

  “Then you’d better watch out,” I answered with a flirty smile and prayer of gratitude for a normal moment. “Because if it gets me an escort, I might start staging hallway collisions before all my classes.”

  “You think I’d complain about slamming into you a few times a day?” Ryan followed me down the hall. I paused at the door to my calculus class. He leaned in and pecked my startled mouth before disappearing into the crowd.

  I stood there, too shocked to do more than press fingers to my tingling lips.

  “Miss Moore, if you wouldn’t mind joining us in the classroom, I’d like to begin,” the teacher suggested. I hadn’t heard the bell or noticed the students shuffling past me.

  “Choosing a seat might be helpful. Unless you plan on standing all period,” Mr. Bonura joked before turning on his projector and launching into a well-worn introductory lecture about his love for mathematics.

  I ducked into the desk beside Gyver. He flipped open his notebook, scrawled angry words, and pushed it toward me. I shrugged and gave him a clueless look.

  Gyver rewrote his message in block letters—pausing to take a syllabus from the stack being passed around—then slid his notebook across the desk. This time I could read it: What was that about? I shook my head and shrugged again.

  You ok?

  I nodded.

  “Please let me know if I mispronounce your names. I’d hate to be calling you Smith all year if it was really Smith-thay. Joyce Reynolds? Nice to meet you, Joyce. MacGyver Russo? Is it Mac-Guy-ver? Like the show?”

  I winced and glanced to my right. He lifted a few fingers in response. “Gyver.”

  “I loved that show! Can you build stuff out of duct tape and tube socks and ballpoint pens?” Mr. Bonura was under the delusion he was funny. A delusion the rest of the class fed with sycophantic laughter.

  “Clever,” Gyver answered calmly. Only the muscle twitching in his jaw betrayed his feelings. I wanted to reach across the aisle and squeeze his hand, but that was impossible while I could taste Ryan’s kiss and see the dark words Gyver had carved in his notebook in response. While M.A. sat in the desk in front of his, her lips pressed together in disapproval and her eyes full of sympathy.

  So I made myself cough.

  Mr. Bonura’s laughter choked to a halt. He turned to me with a panicked expression.

  I stopped coughing and gave him a reassuring smile. He mirrored it feebly and resumed taking attendance.

  Chapter 16

  “Maybe we should be more than casual hookups,” Ryan suggested. He was waiting at my locker when I stopped to grab my lunch.

  “What?” I dropped my book. It landed half in my locker; I kicked it the rest of the way.

  “We could go out. I can see myself as your boyfriend.” He shrugged.

  “What brought this on?” I leaned against the locker next to mine.

  “Ally,” he replied, placing his hands on the lockers on either side of my neck.

  “Ally?” I echoed. How could I keep track of how I felt “compared to normal,” when not-normal things kept happening?

  “She told Chris about some deal you guys made to stay single. I couldn’t get it out of my head during math. I didn’t hear a thing Mrs. Kim said.” He grinned and leaned in, kissing close.

  This would be the perfect place for one of my faux laughs. I could dismiss his suggestion and push things back to the status quo with one melodic giggle. I opened my mouth, but the sound that came out was a mutated squeak-gasp.

  “So, can I be your deal breaker?” He brushed his lips across mine.

  “No.” My voice was small. I ducked under his arm and fled.

  “No, you don’t want to? Or no, because of Hil’s pact?” Ryan grabbed my lunch and followed me toward the cafeteria, where superficial conversation about classes, teachers, and who had gotten hot—or not—over the summer waited to shift things back toward normal.

  “I-I don’t know. Let me think about it.” My frantic fingers sought my necklace.

  “Ouch! You need to think about it? You’re breaking my heart.” Ryan feigned a stagger and clutched his chest. When I didn’t smile, his expression turned serious. And stormy. “Fine. Think about it and let me know what you decide.”

  He handed me my lunch and walked off to join Chris, Bill, and the rest of the soccer players. I scanned the cafeteria for some sort of sign and jumped when Ally linked her arm through mine.

  “Hey! I haven’t seen you all morning! How’s your day? Anything exciting happen?”

  I lied. “Just typical school stuff. Boring. How about you?”

  “How’d you manage to domesticate Ryan?” The voice was Hillary’s, and it wasn’t happy. She looked like a doll—with her perfect, petite body and oversized eyes—but her current mood was anything but playful. She and Ally waited at my locker after the final bell.

  “Why? What’d you hear?” I thought the afternoon had been uneventful. Apparently not.

  Lauren joined us, clutching a bouquet of sunflowers that Hil or Ally must’ve given her to celebrate the first day of school—her first day as Autumn Girl. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Ryan told Chris he asked Mia to be his girlfriend. Then Chris told
Hil. Can you believe it?” Ally’s eyes were bright with excitement and gossip.

  “No,” said Lauren, wide-eyed. “Really? Wow. Good job, Mia.”

  “Good job? We agreed! Single Senior Year,” Hil accused. I remembered how crumpled she’d been after Keith tossed her away with the contents of his locker.

  “It’s only because he heard about the pact.” I turned my lock absently. Part of me wished he’d meant it, or that the pact was my only reason for saying no.

  “At least think about it!” Ally said.

  “What happened to all of his potential?” Lauren teased.

  “Who cares why he’s doing it? You like him and he’s hot. Anyway, did you guys see the new boy—”

  “This is Ryan. He’s not serious,” Hil interrupted. “Do you know how many girls Chris says he hooked up with this summer?”

  “Do you know how much Chris exaggerates?” I retorted.

  “So explain it to me—if it’s two girls instead of twelve, that’s okay with you?” Hil turned to face me, edging Lauren and Ally out of the conversation.

  “He hadn’t asked me then. If he hooked up with someone now, it’d matter. I can’t care what he did while we were in different states and single.”

  “If you were going to date someone, and you promised you wouldn’t, you could do so much better than him!” Hil’s fingers drummed against her bare arms. “Chris thinks—”

  “Who cares? Why would I take dating advice from the guy who broke up with Maggie Arturo by changing his Facebook status to single? Besides, did I miss the part where I expressed any interest in saying yes or dating Ryan? Calm down.”

  “So anyway, the new guy?” Lauren persisted.

  Ally stepped around Hil and grabbed my arm. “Good point, Laur. There’s not another guy, is there?” She leaned in, eager for confidences she’d accidentally repeat within minutes.

  “No, of course not.”

  “What about Gyver?” Hil demanded. “You’ve been hanging out a ton lately. Are you really going to tell me that you guys are just buddy-buddy?”

  “What? No. We’re just friends!” It was easy to be wrapped up in this. I wanted to be the girl who’d left this school last June, the one who would’ve giggled, blushed, and eaten this up. The one who wasn’t too exhausted to stand and had to slump against the lockers.