Send Me a Sign (35 page)

“Thanks.” I tried to sigh, but my chest was too tight, my lungs crowded by the hammering of my heart. I didn’t want a CD; I wanted him back in my life.

“Listen to it.” And he left.

I flipped the CD around in my hands. I could more or less decipher the title. He’d written it in all caps: it was “MUSIC FOR …” and a scrawl of my name.

I slipped the CD in my car as I pulled out of the driveway to go to the nail salon. The first song was an oldie. I twisted the volume, and the lyrics to a Stevie Wonder song filled the car:

Very superstitious, the writing’s on the wall
.
I frowned but continued listening:
When you believe in things you don’t understand, you suffer. Superstition ain’t the way
.

I punched the advance button; the next song was familiar; we listened to it every year at cheer camp. It was the “I’m sexy,
I’m cute,” song from the beginning of
Bring it On
—a movie Gyver loved to hate.

Was this whole CD songs that mocked me? I shut it off and pulled into a spot in front of the salon. The door was open and I could see the customers inside. All girls from my school in chatty, smiley groups.

Predance preparation had always been a Calendar Girls gossipfest. We rotated whose house we got ready at and brought in nail and hair stylists so we could nibble and giggle as we were pampered. Fall Ball meant I should be at Lauren’s right now.

My chest tightened. I coughed and punched the steering wheel, clipping the horn. The girls inside turned. I flushed as they gave puzzled looks, half waves, then turned back to each other and laughed. It wasn’t worth it. Why did it matter what my nails looked like?

I put the car in reverse and drove home.

Gyver was waiting on his driveway when I pulled into mine. After spending so many nights wishing he’d acknowledge me, I cursed as he sauntered over and opened my door. “Did you listen to it?” There was an unnerving intensity in his voice.

“I listened.”

“And?” He leaned down and offered me a hand.

“I don’t know. Is there an answer you’re looking for?” I ignored his hand and stood.

“That’s your whole reaction?” He hadn’t stepped back; I was squeezed between the open door and him. I fought the urge to hug him and inhale his familiar scent—the smell of my childhood and seventeen years of Saturdays.

I rubbed my throbbing forehead and closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to cry. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I’m superstitious. Yes, I like cheerleading. Great.”

“How much did you listen to?” His voice tightened.

“Enough. Thanks. I have to go get ready.” I put a hand to his chest and pushed gently. I needed space and air before I choked.

He stepped out of the way but caught my arm. “Listen to all of it, Mi.”

I masked pain as annoyance. “I will. God.”

“You know, for someone who’s always looking for signs, you’re pretty blind to the ones I’ve been giving you for years.” His thumb caressed the inside of my arm before letting go. “You see what you want to. Maybe you’re looking for signs you won’t get better because it’s easier to give up.”

He was walking away. “So is this it?” I called. “You’re back to ignoring me because I didn’t like the mix. Friendship over again?”

He spun and walked back. “You’ve made your priorities clear over and over. I knew we were done the day you switched your lucky necklace for one The Jock gave you. If he was more important to you than your superstitions, more important than …” He locked his jaw, looked at the ground, and gave his head an angry shake.

“I lost my necklace! I would never have taken it off. Ryan bought me a replacement because I was so upset. What was I supposed to do? Not wear it? What is this really about? You feel threatened by
him
?” I scoffed on the last word.

It was a minor lifetime before he lifted his eyes from the crack in the driveway to drill them into mine. “I won’t watch you self-destruct. You can’t ask me to do that.”

This time he didn’t stop when I called after him. The door banged shut and I was alone. I wasn’t going to cry, but I couldn’t stop the choking coughs.

“Let me see.” Mom held out her hand for one of mine when I entered the kitchen.

“I didn’t like any of the colors,” I lied.

“Well, we have polish. If you can’t find one you like, I’ll run out to the store.”

I wanted to get upstairs and give myself room to think. And breathe. I forced words around gasps and hid shaking fists in my pockets. “I’ve got something.”

I sank to the bathroom floor with a bottle of Merlot Mission polish and smeared some on my unsteady hands.

Ryan. It couldn’t go on this way. I clung to his hand, clung to him, because I was scared. But it wasn’t fair; I couldn’t keep pretending to feel more than I did. And I wasn’t the only one pretending; he knew we didn’t work. The question was: Which of us was brave enough to say it? My lungs and heart clenched: more good-byes. I bent over, bracing my hands on my knees, and tried to take deep, slow breaths. All I accomplished was convulsive coughs.

Blowing on my nails caused another coughing fit—I needed
to calm down. I gulped air and stood up. Too fast. The room spun and I steadied myself on the towel rack.

I yanked my dress from the closet, spilling memories from the shopping trip I’d had with Mom. Finding a formal dress that covered a port wasn’t easy. Mom had vetoed anything in black or white—saying both colors made me look “washed out and sickly.” I’d bitten back a laugh and let her choose. She’d settled on a mint one-shouldered dress. It was important to her, so despite the amount of fluff and tulle in the skirt, I’d agreed.

I tugged it on and zipped it up. Stuck a rhinestone clip on my wig, painted on some makeup, and headed downstairs, pausing a moment on the landing to clench and unclench my hands until my pulse calmed.

“Hey, beautiful.” Ryan greeted me with a kiss. I frowned at the scent on his breath and the flush in his cheeks; turned away from a second beer-flavored kiss. Mom was too busy with the requisite
ooh
ing and
aah
ing to notice.

She waved a thermometer at me, but I shook her off with unveiled annoyance. “I’m not messing up my makeup. I’m fine. We need to go.”

“Just a few photos.” I forced smiles through the dizziness of camera flashes.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

Mom frowned. “He’s been on the phone for an hour. I knocked a few minutes ago to tell him you were almost ready, and he snapped at me that he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“
Dad
did?” I’d never heard him yell at Mom. Ever.

“I know!” She seemed less upset than surprised. “I’m sorry, kitten. I know he wanted to see you—it’s got to be a very important phone call. Maybe it’s that doctor in Boston he’s been trying to get in touch with? I don’t want you to be late; I’ll just show him the pictures when he gets off the phone. Have fun, you two.”

Then she was shooing us out the door, and all my worries about his odd behavior were forgotten as I inhaled outside air. It had gotten colder in the last few hours. There was a feeling of snow in the air, and it burned like icy fire when I breathed.

Chapter 46

“Aren’t I driving?” Ryan asked when I stopped at my car and opened the door.

“Are you kidding? You’ve been drinking—I can’t believe you drove here. Get in the car.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Let me just grab my bag—we’re still staying over at Chris’s, right?”

I ignored his question and the accompanying raised-eyebrow grin, waiting until he’d shut his door to demand, “What were you thinking?”

“You look great.” Ryan reached over and touched my knee, trying to slide his hand across the endless tulle until I swatted him.

“Thanks.” There wasn’t any enthusiasm in the word. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”

“I like your dress. You look hot. Sometimes I forget …” His words and caresses bypassed playful and seductive and
escalated to turmoil. He sighed and pulled his hands back into his lap.

I turned into the Scoops parking lot. It was closed for the season, the picnic benches coated with a lace of frost and the neon ice cream cone turned off. “What’s going on?”

“Do we have to do this now?” he asked, not looking at me. “Can’t we just go to the dance and the party and not do this?” Instead of waiting for my answer, he got out of the car.

I followed. The icy air of the parking lot sawed at my lungs, providing some clarity but cutting into my breathing. I choked my way from the car to the picnic bench.

“You okay?” Ryan asked, his concern shooting through multiple levels as my inability to catch my breath continued.

“Fine,” I gasped. “It’ll pass.” I dabbed my eyes and shrugged farther into my coat, taking slow, shallow breaths until the choking stopped.

We sat on the bench closest to the building. Ryan wasn’t filling the silence or trying to overpower my raspy breaths with compliments and reassurances. Not a good sign.

“Ryan? Talk to me.”

“I can’t do this anymore.” His head was in his hands. His voice was shaking.

“Do what?” Although I knew, and knew I couldn’t do it either.

“This isn’t what I thought. I’m scared shitless all the time. What if Mia gets a cold? What if I kiss her and get her sick? Can I touch her without bruising her? What if you don’t get better?”

He turned toward me, his eyes wet and face crumpled. “I shouldn’t say that—I shouldn’t even think it, but it’s all I think about. Mia, I love you, but I can’t handle the idea of—I can’t handle that.” He dropped his head into his palms.

“I know.”

I put a hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own. “I just wanted to get through high school and get away to college. And you … shit! I thought I could handle this, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

He kissed me and it felt nice, but no longer necessary. He tasted of tears, longing, and farewell. “I’m sorry.”

I remembered when his blue eyes had laughed instead of worried and his hand had tickled instead of clamped. “Don’t be sorry. You were the best part of this year. The only good part.”

His face collapsed under my sincerity. “Maybe I …”

“Ryan, why don’t I drop you at the school? We can talk tomorrow.” The cold was creeping through my coat; each icy inhale burned my lungs.

“What about you? You could still come.”

“I just want to go home and put on pajamas.” My head was heavy, cloudy—sleep would help. “Go with Chris and everyone; you’ll have fun.”

“Fun? You really think anything that happens tonight could be fun? Mia—”

I wanted to think through how Ryan must be feeling, but more than that, I wanted to go home. I tried to swallow through my tightening lungs, and choked out a sputtering cough.

He exhaled and deflated. “It doesn’t matter anymore. C’mon, drop me off and then get to bed.”

The drive to the school was tense. My fingers wouldn’t stop trembling, even after Ryan redirected all the heat vents at me. He’d sent a few texts, then slumped against his window, fists in his lap. The only time he spoke was to comment on the music.

“This is Coldplay, right? Can we turn it off? It’s depressing as shit.”

I nodded.

Ejected Gyver’s CD.

Gulped air, then forgot how to exhale.

My head spun as pieces clicked.

Coldplay. Gyver. Oh God! “Surrender” song.

Gyver?

I bit my lip to keep myself from sobbing. Clenched the wheel to prevent myself from pulling a U-turn and speeding home. What would that accomplish? What would I do? He’d said … And I’d said … My head was too busy tilting and blurring to focus. It took all of my concentration to see the dotted street lines and navigate the roads to East Lake High.