Authors: Tiffany Schmidt
Ryan led me directly to his bedroom door.
“Am I allowed in here?” I asked.
“My mom’s not home.” He stepped into the room. I’d avoided situations like this before—limiting Ryan to party and parking-lot kisses—but it seemed too late to turn back, so I followed.
It was a shrine to sports: a collection of his trophies on shelves beside his bed, newspaper clippings tacked above his desk, his soccer jersey draped on a chair.
I stumbled over a duffel bag. Ryan caught me and kicked it to the side. “Dirty laundry. Mom offered to do it before I head back.”
I nodded and examined the photographs on his dresser. Some of the soccer team, more of the basketball team, and a couple of the two of us from prom and parties last spring. Comparing my face in the photos to the gaunt, pale one in his mirror was painful. I put them down—facedown.
Ryan stepped behind me, kissed the back of my neck. I felt the afternoon’s tension melt, along with my resolve. “When are you coming home from the shore for good?”
“Not until right before school.” Ryan resumed his kisses. My hair had never been this short, so he’d never had access to so much of my neck before. The feel of his lips almost convinced me to leave it bobbed.
“Really? Not sooner?” My words were breathier than I expected.
“I make extra pay if I work after the college kids go back. And double for working Labor Day weekend. I need the money—I’ve saved enough for my car, but there’s insurance and stuff. Wait till you see it. It’s worth it.”
“Hmm.” I managed an almost word.
“You’ll come visit, won’t you? I don’t want to wait another month to do this again.” Ryan tipped my face back toward
him, leaned over my shoulder, and covered my lips with his. I relaxed into the kiss, luxuriated in it.
I stopped relaxing when his hand began to drift down inside the collar of my shirt. Too close to my port, which hadn’t been there the last time his hand had.
“Stop.” I pulled away.
“What? Come on! We haven’t seen each other in a month. Haven’t you missed me?”
“Of course.” I was tired and a little queasy. The greasy food wasn’t settling well.
“Really?” He sat on the end of his bed.
“Ryan, you’re the one with the commitment phobia. As for this”—I pointed to my shirt—“I’ve spent the past month living with old people. Give me a little while to catch up.”
Ryan laughed. “You are a lesson in patience, Mia. I hope you know that.”
I lay down next to him on the bed. “Just slow down a little. Tell me about your summer.”
Ryan draped a hand across my stomach and started talking.
We’d never had a conversation like this before. We’d talked, but not about things that mattered: how he didn’t like his mom’s new boyfriend or his older brother’s decision to stay at college all summer. It wasn’t why he’d brought me here, but it was nice.
“Was it all bad at your grandparents’ house? I’m glad your grandfather’s doing better.” He picked up my hand and kissed the palm.
I stroked his cheek, tracing the creases of his dimples as he smiled at me. “Thanks. I’m glad to be home. How’s your job? Is it
Baywatch
come to life?”
“Hardly. For every hot girl there’s three old men and five moms with insane kids. When are you coming down to make my
Baywatch
dreams come true?”
Each time he asked about me, I deflected. I relaxed under his stories and warmed under his fingers as they made slow circles on the skin below my belly button. Ever lower circles.
Finally he ran out of stories and I’d run out of questions. He lowered his lips to mine and rolled toward me, keeping his hand where it was: dipped below the waistband of my shorts and just brushing the top of my underwear. “Is this okay?” He pulled his lips off mine enough to breathe the words.
“Yes. So far.” As long as he kept his hands away from my port and out of my fragile hair, I could pass for a thinner, paler version of the girl from June. Except his words had flavored the kisses: I wasn’t hooking up with a hot guy from school; my lips were against Ryan’s, the boy who missed his older brother and dreamed of his own escape to college.
His hand skimmed along the top of my shorts. It stopped at the button and unfastened it in a moment. He paused again—his pinky just edging down my fly—and looked in my eyes for confirmation. There was hesitation; he read it and moved his hand back up to my stomach.
Was he as frustrated with me as I was with myself? I couldn’t figure out if I wanted
him
or wanted reassurance he still found
me attractive. Was I hesitating because I wasn’t ready? Or because I didn’t want to reveal my illness? I needed a sign.
My cell rang. I looked away from Ryan and saw it on his bedside table beside his alarm clock. It was 5:13, my lucky number combined with the unluckiest number. What did that mean?
“It’s my mom,” I groaned and reached for the phone.
“Let it go to voice mail. You’ll call her back.”
“I can’t.” With the old me, that would’ve been fine. Now? She’d dispatch the police and an ambulance if I didn’t pick up. The thought of Gyver’s mother walking in motivated me to wiggle out from under Ryan and answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Are you okay? You sound out of breath.”
“I’m fine.”
“I want you home. Your dad read an article and he has me all freaked out about public places and germs. You’ve seen your friends. You can still see them tomorrow, but come home now so I can stop worrying.”
“Okay.” I would’ve been more annoyed if I wasn’t so exhausted. I shut off the phone, slipped it in my pocket, and buttoned my shorts. “I’ve got to go.”
He’d been watching me with heavy-lidded admiration, but his eyes blinked into sudden focus. “What?”
“Sorry.”
“You’ll come back over later though? After dinner?”
He looked so confused. It hurt to disappoint him. “I can’t. I really can’t.”
“When did your parents get strict?”
“Long story.”
“I liked it better when you had no curfew.” He sat up and reached for my hand, pulling me to stand in front of him.
“Me too.” I gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll try and come see you at the beach. If you come home again, call me.”
“Don’t get mad, but can I ask you something?”
“Okay.” I tugged my hand, not quite wanting him to release it.
Ryan stared at the floor. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, what are we doing?”
“What?” The unexpected question had me flustered and blushing. “You think that’s the only the reason I’d be here with you? Is that the only reason you wanted me here?”
“No.” He squeezed my hand but didn’t look up. “I like talking to you; you listen to me. And you’re smart and nice and hot. But I do want to sleep with you.”
I tried not to melt from embarrassment. Why couldn’t I be confident about this stuff like Hil or tactless like Lauren? “Ryan, I like you. I’m just not ready for that.”
“But you’ll be ready eventually, right?” His blue eyes met mine and I felt equal parts mortified and attracted.
“I’ve got to go. We’ll talk soon.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me—did he know how sexy that was? “Talk or … ?”
He knew.
“Talk,” I repeated. I leaned in and kissed him good-bye. The type of kiss he’d remember when he was in his lifeguard stand and a bikinied girl romped by. Then I pulled my hand free and ran for my car.
Lauren was the first to arrive the next morning. Her red curls fought against her green headband as she struggled to carry the essentials: a bag of Twizzlers, sunblock, and stacks of magazines. “You’ve got Diet Coke, right?”
“Yes.” Although I wasn’t allowed to drink it anymore—one of Mom’s new obsessions was making sure that everything that passed my lips was natural and organic.
“Hil was getting out of the shower when I called and Ally was leaving to pick her up.” Lauren breezed through the kitchen, greeting my dad on her way to the pool. He was “working from home” today, which translated to “babysitting Mia.” Mom had left with Gyver’s dad for her first day back in the office. She’d called four times.
I poured three sodas and a water and followed Lauren into the backyard. She turned the chaise longues to face the sun and stripped down to her bikini. “Aren’t you going to change?
You’ve got to tell me what diet you’re on. I feel like an elephant next to you.”
“You’re not! I’ll change in a bit.” Lauren would start to crisp in twenty minutes. I planned to point that out and we’d both move to the shade. She’d be thrilled to have company and I’d avoid bikini, port, and weight-loss exposure. She selected a magazine and handed me the stack. I’d read them all in the hospital. Thank you, Nurse Hollywood.
It didn’t matter, because Lauren shut the magazine as soon as she opened it and turned to me with a confiding expression. “I really hated camp without you. Don’t tell Hil and Ally because they did their best to make me feel included, but they had all these captain meetings and I couldn’t go. I felt so lame and third wheelish.”
“That sucks.”
“They totally deserve to be captains—it’s not that—and I missed you the whole time you were gone, but especially then.”
“Sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you’d rather have been with us too.” She flipped her magazine open again.
“Definitely.” I pulled my feet up on the chair and thought. Of the Calendar Girls, Lauren was the best listener. Ally was too easily distracted and Hil was too opinionated. Lauren wasn’t a Gyver give-advice type listener, but the kind you went to when you wanted someone to nod and agree.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asked self-consciously.
“Just spacing out. Sorry.” I looked away, searching for a sign. Not finding anything obvious, I reached over and plucked
a flower out of one of my mother’s patio pots. Tell her. Tell her not. Tell her. Tell her not … Not.
I dropped the naked stem onto Lauren’s open magazine. “So tell me about camp.”
She launched into a play-by-play and was still talking when Ally and Hillary flopped onto the waiting chairs and added their commentary.
“I hate that you missed everything: camp, parties, our trips to the shore—you should see the Mathersons’ shore house. And Ryan talked about you a lot,” Ally said.
“Really?” I sat up.
“Really. And he was all touchy-feely at Iggy’s,” Ally said.
I nodded. Hil put down her magazine.
“And he wanted you alone last night,” she added.
“So? Did you finally sleep together?” Lauren asked, since Ally wouldn’t. Hillary sat up and turned toward me. Ally squeezed in next to me on my chaise.
“No. We didn’t. We just talked. And kissed a little.”
“Ryan? Talk?” Hil scoffed. “Not when we were hooking up.”
“’Fess up,” teased Lauren. “We won’t judge.”
“He could talk to Mia.” Ally leaned her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you, Ally. Sorry to disappoint, but that’s all we did. I don’t know, do you guys ever look at him and think … he’s got so much potential?” I asked.
“I look at him and think, God, he’s hot!” laughed Lauren. Ally gave me a puzzled smile.
“What do you mean?” Hil asked. “Boyfriend potential? Because you agreed.”
I struggled with the words, wanting to explain why I was so attracted to Ryan, besides the obvious. “That’s not what I mean. Like, he could be so much more than he is … if he wanted to. Does that make sense?”
“Um, not really. Sorry,” said Ally.
“What did you two talk about?” Hil asked. She was studying me again, clearly on the cusp of some bigger question. One I probably didn’t want to hear and probably couldn’t answer.
“Lots of stuff. His job, living with Chris.” I shrugged, frustrated I couldn’t express it and they couldn’t understand. My eyes darted over the fence to Gyver’s house. He’d get it, but he wouldn’t tolerate the topic.
“Hil hooked up with Chris,” Ally exclaimed. “Did we tell you? It was when we visited.”
“No way!” I turned to her in surprise. “So? How was it?”
Hil pulled a rhinestone flask out of her bag and began mixing its contents with Diet Coke. “I need a drink before I’m ready to relive that.”
She distributed cups and toasted, “Drink up, buttercups.”
I joined in the echo of “I will, daffodil,” but only pretended to sip. I knocked the contents into the grass and drummed my fingers against the empty plastic while they rehashed the hookup, then some party, or a beach trip, or whatever from their summer full of: “so wasted,” “oh my God, so funny,” and “you should’ve been there.”
I stood, mumbled “snacks,” and walked into the house.
I took my time pouring popcorn into a bowl, watching out the window as Ally demonstrated a cheer move and almost fell in the pool.
They were laughing; I was gripping the countertop with white fingernails.
It was the same summer day we’d had for years—but it seemed trivial, boring.
I wanted them to leave as fiercely as I’d wanted to see them—anything to end this hollow feeling, like I was betraying our friendship by not being on the same page. Or like they were betraying me by being the same when I wasn’t.
“Mia!” Hil was standing on her chair, yelling toward the house. “Where are you? Do you need help?”
“Coming.” I picked up the popcorn and practiced my casual smile at the toaster until it felt less like a grimace. Pushing open the screen door, I called, “Hey, Laur, you’re starting to burn. I can see it from here.”
Gyver was my bridge between the hospital and real life; he made it impossible to separate the two or doubt the existence of either. We sat in his basement after cheerleading tryouts. All I’d done was demonstrate a few routines, but I was exhausted. Gyver was playing guitar and I was slipping into a doze when a thought blurbled into my mind.
“You were chatty in the hospital,” I accused.
“One of us had to be.” Gyver took off the guitar and sat on my side of the couch. I rested my sleepy head on his shoulder. “Luckily, you slept all the time so I never ran out of topics.”
“What did you talk about?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Some—but not a lot.” My hospital memories were smudged a bit. Even my emotions were faded, like it had happened to someone else—a character in a book I’d read or a movie I’d seen. “It’s all hazy. Like trying to take a test after
pulling an all-nighter. I’d flunk if you quizzed me on my own life.”