Page 24 of Things I Wish I Said
“So?”
“So that’s more than two thousand miles away.”
“You said you were thrilled at—”
“I know what I said,” she snaps. Bowing her head, she grips the arms of her chair. “But you’re asking too much.”
“Mom, please. I totally understand why you can’t take me, but this means everything to me. Soccer, this award, is the one good thing I’ve done in my life that’s been truly incredible.” I flex my hands before curling them into fists. “It’s everything, the one mark I can leave on the world before I’m gone. It’s a chance to be Ryleigh Sinclair again?The Missile?rather than Ryleigh Sinclair, the poor kid who got cancer. I hate being that girl. Let me have this one thing, and I’ll never ask for anything else.”
“You were an amazing athlete, Ryleigh, and incredible at soccer, but it doesn’t define you. It’s not all you are, yet you’re acting like it is.”
I scoff.
She’s wrong.
Soccer did define me, and if it weren’t for my cancer, it still would.
It was everything, and now it’s gone, and I want it back. But if I can’t have it, at least I can have this. I have no fucking clue what it feels like to be me without it, and I have little desire to find out, if it’s anything like the last few months.
I say nothing, staring at the wall ahead, hoping she might acquiesce.
The rhythmic rise and fall of Mom’s chest grows shallow in the silence, and I wonder if she might cry. I hope not. I want Mom to give in, but I don’t want to hurt her.
Eventually, she lifts her head, and her eyes glisten with tears as they meet mine. “I’m not making any promises.”
Hope soars in my chest. “But . . .?”
“But if I get to know him, I might consider it. No promises. No guarantees. It’s a maybe at best, especially since I’ve never even heard of this kid before now.”
Mom eyes me skeptically, and I understand why. It’s not like I have a social life, so a boyfriend out of the blue is quite suspect, and I have a feeling she’s banking on the fact that I’m lying.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, knowing when it’s time to quit.
“Sure, baby.” Mom rises to her feet looking more tired than when she entered this room today, and I feel a pang of guilt. “I’m grabbing that coffee now. You want anything from the cafeteria?”
I look at her like she’s crazy, and she laughs, patting me on the arm. “Be right back.”
“Take your time,” I call out.
Once she’s gone, I lay my head back on the pillow and stare at the wall, my thoughts drifting once again to my future, or lack thereof. Once I found out I had cancer, it’s like my life stopped. Time continued to pass, but my future disappeared. Now, my senior year of high school is over, and summer is here. I should be preparing for travel with the U-19 women’s team and prepping for college. Instead, I’m sitting in a hospital bedgetting fed the latest dose of poison in the hope it destroys the ticking time bomb inside my chest.
I have no idea what the future holds or if I even have one.
All I have is today, and if I’m lucky, tomorrow, and the next day.
But I can also have the Gatorade award. It’s the one thing I want for myself that’s still within reach, the only proof of who I used to be—that I wasn’t always sick or broken.
I grab my cell phone off the side table and click it open, fingers hovering over Grayson’s name in my contacts.
I still don’t understand why an eighteen-year-old athlete, headed to a Division 1 school in the fall, would want to help grant my wish. When I asked him about it, he was vague at best, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth when he’s my best chance at getting what I want.
I have six weeks to convince my mother we’re crazy about each other.
Six weeks for him to earn her trust feels like a large feat, but it’s not going to happen sitting on my ass in chemo. If this is to work, we need to know more about each other and feel comfortable enough so Mom can’t sniff out the lie.
A reason to say no is all she needs.
I open a new text message, debating whether to text him, then decide screw it, and begin to type.
