Always and Forever (14 page)

Beside her, Jory said, “It looks good on you.”

“Sure.” Melissa’s teeth chattered slightly. “Almost like the real thing.” They drove home in silence because Melissa wasn’t sure she could talk without bursting into tears.

Michael made her model the hairpiece when they returned. His expression was reserved, studious. “It’s … uh … different.”

“Beats bald,” she said tersely.

“I like it,” Jory babbled. “Don’t you think it was smart to go with a shorter look? I mean, we’re the only ones who know about her real hair. This way, it just seems like she’s cut it short. Even the color’s just like her own … ” Jory’s animated voice trailed off and Melissa glanced at her. Her friend was looking straight at Michael and, as usual, was wearing her heart in her eyes.

Michael hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. The sleeves of his navy blue sweater were pushed up, and Melissa noticed his forearms corded with muscle from hard physical labor. Melissa felt sorry that he had to work so hard. “Well, it’s better than the haircut by Delaney,” he finally said with a softness in his tone.

Rising to the gambit, Jory huffed, “I’ll have you know that haircut was a work of art, Michael.”

“More like graffiti,” he fired back, good-naturedly.

Melissa stepped between them and held up her hands in mock surrender. “Please, I don’t think I can referee another round. How about a truce?”

Michael slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “You win, Sis. By the way, you got some mail.”

“Where?” Michael grabbed an oversize envelope from the kitchen counter and handed it to her. Melissa’s heart hammered. Through the glassine window, she read her name, neatly typed by an impersonal computer in Illinois. “It’s my PSAT scores.”

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Jory asked anxiously.

Melissa tore it open and Jory grabbed for the sheet labeled “Interpreting Your Score” while Melissa read the numbers on the printout. “Raw scores: Verbal 55, Math 41. Scaled scores: Verbal 64, Math 67. Selection index: 195. Percentile ranking: 98.” She glanced up.

“You’re a genius,” Jory interpreted quickly. “According to this, ninety-eight percent of all high school juniors in the country scored below you.” She paused before adding sheepishly, “Including me.”

“You got your scores? You never said a word.”

“What’s to say? Only seventy-five percent of all juniors scored below me.”

“But that’s terrific.” Melissa concentrated on Jory’s scores because she still hadn’t absorbed the impact of her own.

Michael had taken the information sheet from Jory and was reading it for himself. “You know what this means, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It means you have a real shot at a Merit Scholarship.”

Melissa had always assumed that the news would elate her. Hadn’t that been her dream for over a year?
But instead, she felt strangely let down, out of sorts. The thing she’d wanted so badly, worked for for so long, seemed unreal and unrelated to her life right now. “Good for me,” was all she could say. “I won’t know until after the SATs next fall if I’m smart enough to advance,” she told them.

“Yeah, but it says here ‘… about 50,000 high scorers will be given the opportunity to be identified to two colleges of their choice by the Merit Program in the spring.’ You
have
picked two colleges worthy of taking you, haven’t you?” Michael joked.

“Not yet,” she hedged, her look warning Jory to keep quiet about Princeton. “When you have cancer, your options are different.” She fled the kitchen, jerking the wig from her head.

In the living room she paused to stare at piles of Christmas decorations Michael had brought in from the garage. The boxes were frayed and tinsel hung sadly from one of them. He’d moved aside the easy chair and cleared a space for the tree. She stroked the synthetic hairpiece gathered in her fist. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered to the pile of dark fibers. “Merry Christmas.”

“Welcome back, Melissa. It’s good to see you again.”

Melissa acknowledged the greeting in the crowded halls as she had all the others her first day back in school. She waved and smiled at people, but she didn’t feel it in her heart. She stopped in front of her locker and fumbled with the lock, concentrating so hard on the combination that she ran through it twice before she realized the locker was open.

“How’s it going?” Jory’s voice in her ear caused her to start.

“Fine,” she lied.

“Everybody’s asking about you … ”

“I know,” Melissa snapped, more sharply than she’d intended. “Geez, Jory. I feel like a freak. I can’t even go to the girls’ room without everyone staring, and when I walk into a classroom, there’s instant silence. When I went into homeroom today, everything stopped and the entire class watched me walk to my desk. I felt like a murderer on death row walking to the electric chair.” Melissa’s blood raced with the intensity of her tirade, but having blasted off her pent-up emotions, she felt mollified. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“No problem,” Jory shrugged. “The novelty will wear off as kids get used to having you back. Cancer’s a
crummy thing to have happen, that’s all. People just want to know how you’re coping.”

Melissa wanted to tell Jory that people’s interest in her was ghoulish, similar to the chasing of ambulances, being drawn not out of compassion, but out of the morbid. Instead, she gazed into the hand mirror she’d hung on the inside of her locker door. Her face looked puffy, a side effect of the medicine Ric had warned her about. Her makeup looked unreal, too.
Why not?
she thought.
Fake face, fake smile, fake hair
 … She touched the ends of the wig softly framing her face, and wished she’d opted for one with curls.

“Have you seen Brad yet?” Jory interrupted her dismal thoughts.

“No, not until sixth-period study hall. He’s got soccer practice after school, so he won’t be at Brain Bowl drill either.” Truthfully, she was dreading seeing him. She looked so awful and she was acutely aware that he’d not contacted her once since that single phone conversation when she’d been in the hospital. And Jory had arranged for that.

“Will you be in the cafeteria for lunch?” Jory asked.

“Could we go out for lunch?”

“Sure. Where?”

“McDonald’s … the drive-thru. We can eat in the car.” Her tone turned pleading. “I can’t make it through the rest of the day any other way.”

Jory’s wide green eyes swept her. “No problem. Meet me at my car.”

The warning bell sounded and the halls emptied rapidly. “We’re late,” Melissa observed. “I’m sorry I made you late.”

“Tardiness is my modus operandi,” Jory said, with
a wave of dismissal. “I learned that phrase once in civics class. Does it impress you?”

“Deeply.” Melissa squeezed her friend’s arm gratefully. “Thanks, Jory. Thanks for everything.” She hurried off, struggling to keep her throat from closing up with tears. At the door of her classroom, she squared her shoulders and entered, conscious that all eyes had turned in her direction. She passed down the aisle to her desk, hearing only brief snatches of whispered words. “Cancer … ” the nameless voices said. “What a bummer … ” and “Remember how pretty she was …”

Melissa arrived at study hall before anyone else and sat down quickly. At least this way, she could avoid an entrance. She could also watch for Brad.

When he came into the room, he was talking to another guy and didn’t look up before sliding into his desk. She swallowed hard, absorbing him secretly with quick, stealthy glances.

His blond hair had darkened since the summer and it was longer, too, brushing his collar. A vivid turquoise sweater stretched across his broad shoulders. As always, his legs were too long for the cramped area beneath his desk. A flash of gold from his wrist caught her eye—an ID bracelet with solid gold links. She was torn between wanting him to turn around and yet hoping he wouldn’t see her. For whatever reason, he never did, keeping his attention riveted on the pile of books in front of him. As a senior, he’d probably already chosen his college and wistfully, she wondered which one. There was so much she didn’t know. So much she wanted to know.

At the Brain Bowl drill that afternoon, Melissa
was sharp. Mr. Marshall said, “You did well, Melissa. I’m very impressed.”

“Thank you. I studied a lot over the break.” She carefully avoided references to the hospital.

“It shows.”

She was pleased by the teacher’s praise, but didn’t delude herself for a minute that she wasn’t low person on the totem pole to make the final team. I’ll just have to work harder, she told herself grimly as she hurried down the deserted halls to meet Jory, who was serving detention in the girl’s locker room.

Melissa peeked inside and saw her snapping gum and doodling on her notebook while the gym teacher concentrated on paperwork. Jory waved her away, mouthing, “Fifteen minutes.” Melissa nodded and eased out, hoping the teacher didn’t catch Jory with gum in her mouth, or the punishment might stretch into another fifteen.

Feeling weary, Melissa deposited her load of books at her feet and lounged against the wall. She was mentally reviewing her day when the doors of the boys’ locker room burst open, releasing a boisterous group of guys. Her eyes grew wide as Brad sauntered out. Seeing her, he stopped short. His blue eyes swept over her, then down the empty halls.
Trapped
. That’s how he looked to her. Cornered and trapped.

“Uh—hi, Melissa.”

She straightened automatically. “Hi.” Her heart seemed wedged in her throat.

He took a few cautious steps in her direction, his eyes darting away from hers. “How have you been?”

One of the guys called, “You coming, Kessing?”

“In a minute,” he said. “Wait for me outside.”

Another one scrutinized Melissa. “Don’t take all
day, man. I told my old lady I’d be home right after practice.”

Once they had gone, Melissa felt the silence of the corridors press around her. Brad heaved his books on his hip and gestured with his free hand. “So, it’s good to see you back. I looked for you in study hall, but missed you.”

Liar
. “I was there.”

“How was Brain Bowl? Did the drill go okay? I hate missing it, but Coach is real strict about soccer practice—if you miss one, you don’t start in the next game.”

“Brain Bowl went fine.” She noticed his hair, still damp from the shower, making his shirt collar wet.

He licked his lips. “You … uh … look real good, Melissa. How’re you feeling?”

“All right.”

“I guess it’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

“Yeah. A while.” She hoped the bitterness didn’t sound in her tone. She wanted to shout,
You didn’t call me, Brad. Not even once. Why?

“Your hair’s different. Too bad you had to cut it short.”

Her fingers toyed with the soft ends of the wig, which felt artificial and not like “real” hair as the saleslady had insisted. “I figured it was time for a change.”

Brad fidgeted. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“One of the best.”

“That’s good.”

She let her eyes fall on the ID bracelet. “Christmas gift?”

“From my grandfather.”

“The Rhodes Scholar?”

“One and the same.” He smiled but shifted nervously
to his other foot. “Are you … urn … you know, all right now?”

She pinned him with a look. “If you mean do I still have leukemia, yes, I do. I’m still on medication, but I’m in remission.” He knitted his brow and she could read the anxiety on his face. For some perverse reason, she wanted him to squirm. She wanted to punish him for not calling her. For not sending a card. For everything.

Brad took one step closer, reminding her of a childhood game.
Simon Says, take one tiny baby step
. “Melissa … I really do want you to be okay. I wish … you were … well … ” His voice broke and for the briefest moment she thought he might reach out and stroke her hair.

Panicked, she pressed closer to the wall, feeling its hardness against the small of her back. She remembered summer sunshine and bright green leaves and cool, quiet water laced with goldfish and blossoms. She recalled how Brad had undone her braid and raked his fingers through her tangled hair, gathering it into handfuls and then letting it fall against her skin. She knew she couldn’t stand to have him touch her hairpiece. For one desperate second, she held her breath and mutely challenged him with her eyes, saying, “Don’t touch.” She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted him to have this last illusion. She
needed
him to have it.

Brad dropped his hand and backed away. “I gotta go. The guys are waiting.”

“Sure.” She tossed her head, longing to feel her cascading hair against her shoulders and back.

“See you at Brain Bowl drill.”

“See you.”

He retreated down the hall and she deliberately
turned away so she didn’t have to watch him go. Moments later, Jory burst through the girls’ locker room doors. “Geez! What a drag! Sorry you had to wait.”

“No problem,” Melissa said, scooping up her books. “Ready to head home?”

“You better believe it.” Jory cocked her head. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale.”