“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.”
“I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”
Together, they trudged outside into the pale winter sunshine and biting fresh air. “Free!” Jory exclaimed, lifting her face skyward.
Free. Melissa wondered if she’d ever feel free again. “Want to come over for dinner?” she asked, remembering that Jory’s parents had flown to the Bahamas that morning on some real estate deal.
“Am I invited? Will Michael be there?”
“Aren’t we choosy?”
“Just wondering how to dress, grungy or designer jeans.” Jory’s smile was brief. “Not that he notices either way. But it’s fun to hope.”
Across the parking lot, Melissa saw Brad’s Firebird gathering speed, heading for the highway that ran in front of Lincoln High. Her hopes for him had fled. The wind ruffled her hair, blowing it across her mouth. She pushed it back, but the taste lingered, dry and false.
Chapter Sixteen
After supper, Melissa and Jory sat together on Melissa’s bed, pouring over homework. Melissa felt distracted and her mind kept wandering. It must have been obvious because Jory finally asked, “What’s the matter? You keep staring off into space. Where’s the scholar who’s going to knock the world on its butt?”
Melissa managed a half smile. “I couldn’t knock a fly off a wall.”
“Level with me, Melissa. What’s wrong?”
“It was harder going back to school than I thought it would be. Everything’s different.”
“I told you people would stop talking about you in a few days. It’s no big deal.”
“I saw Brad while I was waiting for you.” Her voice sounded small.
Jory closed her book and nodded thoughtfully. “So, that’s it.”
“Not just Brad,” Melissa balled her hands into fists, searching for a way to explain her feelings. “It’s what Brad represents.”
“Which is?”
“Jory, remember when we didn’t have anything more complicated to think about than what color shirt to go with a pair of pants? Or who was taking who to a party?”
Jory frowned. “Is there a party you want to go to with Brad?”
Agitated, Melissa shook her head and began to pace her room. “Fat chance that Brad Kessing will ever ask me anyplace.”
“You mean you don’t think he’ll ask you for a date?” Jory pulled up her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Is this what’s got you in such a tailspin? You’ve finally decided that something matters besides grades, but now the guy you were ‘sort of interested in’ might be interested in someone or something else?”
“Hardly.” Melissa locked eyes with her friend. “I have cancer, Jory. People treat me like I’m some sort of untouchable. What guy is going to date me?”
“Ric?” Jory ventured.
“What regular guy?” Annoyance edged Melissa’s question.
“So what?” Jory shrugged. “Being asked out is nothing. I go out all the time and mostly it’s dullsville.”
Of course Jory got asked out, Melissa thought. She was fun and full of energy and always ready for a good time. “But I want to be asked. Who wants me? Or my cancer?” Melissa’s words hung in the air between them. The silence was so deep that Melissa could hear the faint sounds of the TV coming from the living room, where her mother was watching it.
“I know what you’re talking about, Melissa. But why should it matter now? Four months ago all you wanted was a college scholarship and no involvements. I practically dragged you to meet Brad. Now, you’re that far away from college.” She gestured with her thumb and forefinger. “You’re getting better and stronger every day. Why should Brad matter so much to you now?”
“Because four months ago I didn’t have leukemia. And Brad looked at me like I was beautiful. Today he looked at me like … like I was a leper. Like if he touched me, he would catch it.”
Jory’s voice grew very quiet. “That’s his problem.”
“No. It’s my problem, too. Because it’s happening to me, Jory. Not to some stranger, but to Melissa Austin.”
Melissa parked Michael’s truck in the hospital lot, en
tered the outpatient oncology clinic, and weaved through the maze of children and toys scattered on the floor of the waiting room. It always amazed her to see how many children had cancer. Some were bald, others looked perfectly healthy, yet what touched her most was not how they looked, but how much they acted like normal kids. They fought over toys, they pitched tantrums, they shed tears over hurt feelings. Their mothers often sat stony and withdrawn, but the children never forgot to be children.
Since she’d come for only a blood workup Melissa walked straight into DeeDee Thomas’s office The diminutive, dark-haired nurse offered a beleaguered smile. “Hi, Melissa. It’s a madhouse around here today, but I can work you up in a few minutes. Do you mind waiting?”
“Of course I do. But I will. Just for you.”
The nurse poked her playfully. “You’re too kind, Oh, incidentally, there’s someone in the chemo room who’s been asking for you, Rachael Dove. I told her you’d be in today and she’s been waiting for you ever since.”
Melissa felt a softening sensation. “She’s such a doll. How’s she doing?”
Nurse Thomas’s hands kept busy, sorting through piles of paper on her overloaded desk. “Now where’s that form? Ah … Here it is … Second remissions are even tougher to achieve and maintain. It’s a battle, but she’s holding her own.”
The nurse’s honesty caused a chill to go through Melissa. She said with brightness, “I’ll go visit her now, and you can come get me when you’re ready to draw blood.” She walked quickly down the hall to the chemo room—the contour chairs and IV stands seemed all too familiar to her.
Rachael lay in one of the chairs, curled on her side and coloring. “Hi, Rachael.”
The tiny girl glanced up and gave her a toothy smile. “Hi, Melissa, I’m coloring this just for you.” Melissa looked at the scene from Cinderella. “This is Cinderella after her fairy godmother dressed her in her ball gown. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful. I like pink.”
“I’ve still got some more to do.” Rachael sounded disappointed.
“Oh, I’ll be here a while. You can finish it.”
The little girl grinned. Her skin looked paper thin, and she’d lost all her hair. Her blue eyes seemed too large for her tiny face. “I picked this page,” the child explained, “because you’re all grown up and can go to balls and dances and stuff like that.”
“I’d rather read a book.”
Rachael giggled. “I’d rather go to a ball and meet a prince.”
Deciding to change the subject, Melissa asked, “So how’s your baby sister?”
Rachael made a face. “She cries a lot. But sometimes Mommy lets me hold her and give her a bottle. It was fun till she wet on me.”
“Isn’t that just like a baby? Do you like her any better than you did the last time we talked?”
“I guess so …” Rachael admitted with a sheepish shrug. “Sometimes she smiles at me. There!” Rachael announced triumphantly. “All finished.”
Melissa reached down, took the book, and carefully tore out the page. “I’m going to hang this in my bedroom, and every time I look at it, I’ll think of you.”
The child beamed. She reached over to a small metal table and fished a clump of red curls off the top. “See what Mommy bought me? It’s my new hair.”
“So it is. Why’d you pick red?”
“Because I watch Annie on the VCR all the time. It’s my favorite movie. Will you help me put it on?”
Melissa nestled the wig on Rachael’s head. “You look just like a little movie star.”
“I do? Justin Malone in Sunday school says I look like a clown.”
“He’s just jealous. You look lovely.”
“I want to be a movie star when I grow up. What do you want to be?”
Melissa felt herself stiffen. A million thoughts tumbled through her head. High school graduation, college, her name on a brass nameplate. Would she see them all? “I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer,” she said.
“You do? But you’re so pretty. You could be a movie star.” Touched, Melissa stooped down and hugged the child to her. “Thank you, Rachael. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in ages.”
DeeDee Thomas leaned into the room. “I’m ready for you, Melissa.”
“Coming,” she said. “You take care, Rachael, and I’ll see you again real soon. Thanks for the picture.”
“I wish you were my sister,” she said.
“I am, Rachael,” Melissa said. “Because of all the things we share, I am your sister. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”
The Brain Bowl session hadn’t gone well and Melissa knew it. She’d been slow on the buzzer and twice her mind had gone blank. She assumed it was because Brad was at the drill. The minute Mrs. Watson released the team, Melissa bolted for the door, eager to get away as quickly as possible.
“Melissa! Wait up!” Mrs. Watson’s voice hailed her as she hurried out into the bright wintry afternoon. She reluctantly stopped and turned to the teacher. Forcing a smile, she said, “Yes, Mrs. Watson. What’s up?”
“Nothing much. It’s just the first opportunity I’ve had to talk to you since you’ve returned to school. I wanted to discuss Brain Bowl with you. You seemed a bit off today.”
Is that what her teacher wanted? To criticize her performance? “Sorry. I know I’ve done better in other drills.”
“Yes, you have. What was wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“The school board has scheduled the Brain Bowl round-robin between area high schools for the week following spring break in April.”
“It has?”
“That means we’ll be choosing our final panel the week before the round-robin match.”
Melissa added up the remaining time. There were two and a half months until the panel would be chosen. “Why tell me this now?”
“I want you on it.”
The teacher’s forthright honesty caused Melissa to raise her eyebrow. “And I want to be on it.”
Mrs. Watson smiled. “I didn’t start this project to fail, Melissa. I didn’t think you had either.”
The insinuation annoyed her. “I didn’t. I had a bad day, that’s all. Am I the only one who can’t have a bad day?”
Mrs. Watson studied Melissa for a long moment. “I want a winning team, and you’re one of the best in our group.”
Melissa was confused, unable to grasp the purpose of the conversation. “Is this a pep talk? I have every intention of making the team. I’ve probably worked harder than anybody for a spot. I can pull my own weight if I make the team, so don’t feel you have to carry me.”
“We can’t carry you. So please don’t stop working this close to the final selection process.”
An inkling of Mrs. Watson’s objective began to drift through to Melissa. She thought about the four other teachers responsible for choosing the team—Mr. Marshall, of course; Dean Crane; Mr. Wilson, the assistant principal; and Miss Judd, a science teacher. Counting Mrs. Watson, there was a total of five, so there could be no deadlocks on their votes. “Do the other faculty advisors think that my cancer may affect my ability to perform?” When Mrs. Watson said nothing, Melissa added, “It won’t, you know. I’ve missed a lot, but I can do it.”
“I know you can,” Mrs. Watson said kindly.
“But some don’t, is that what you’re saying?”
Mrs. Watson touched Melissa’s arm. “Prejudice isn’t limited to race or religion, Melissa. I won’t belabor the point.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “But please, keep pouring yourself into this effort. Now, remember, this conversation was between us girls, and I never would have said anything unless I wasn’t pulling for you one hundred percent.” She backed toward the faculty parking lot. “Tomorrow, Melissa … give it everything you’ve got.”
Melissa watched Mrs. Watson hurry away, not sure whether she felt encouraged or defeated. Her teacher liked her and seemed to be on her side. But who wasn’t on her side, an
d why? With a weary sigh, she crossed the vacant parking lot, unable to deal with it at that moment. Suddenly she heard someone calling her name and saw a guy leaning out of a blue van. She took a deep breath, recognizing Ricter Davis.
Chapter Seventeen
“Surprised to see me?” Ric asked as Melissa approached the van.
“Very surprised.”
His face had filled out and his hair was stylishly cut, but his eyes were as dark and soul-piercing as she remembered. “Hop in,” he said.
The van was carpeted in blue and outfitted with a small table and cushioned benches. “Looks like a home on wheels,” she told him.
He chuckled. “In case I don’t pay my dorm bill, I’ll always have a place to stay.”
His jeans hid his artificial leg, and she looked away immediately, afraid he’d think she was staring. “How did you find me?”
“I watched the school empty and kept an eye out for the pretty girls. I’d almost given up.”
“I had Brain Bowl drill.”
He glanced to the side. “Actually, I’ve waited for you before, but you always seemed to be with that girlfriend of yours.”
“Jory.” Melissa wasn’t sure if she was flattered or not. “You could have called and come by my house.”
He ignored her comment. “And then I saw you out front once with some blond-haired guy who looked pretty important to you.” Her cheeks flushed, remembering how she and Brad had attempted to sidestep each other but wound up nearly colliding. “So I was right. He is important,” Ric said when she didn’t respond.
His condescending tone was irritating. “Ric, this is really silly. There’re a hundred guys at Lincoln High.”
“But only one you care about?”
She leaned forward, suddenly angry. “I think I resent this. You have no right skulking around the school, spying on me.”