Page 51 of Things I Wish I Said
I take a step back, assessing.
“You look cute.”
I glance behind me to where Katie’s sitting on the bed, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to survive this, to have her in my life, long-term—as a sister. The image isn’t all that unpleasant, and the way she’s looking up at me could pass for admiration, which I haven’t experienced since . . .
My chest squeezes, pins pricking at my heart as I turn away from her and swallow. “Thanks.”
The moment Katie and I return to the kitchen, Mom and John turn to us. “How’d it go?”
“Good. I really felt like we bonded,” I say, just to be an ass.
Mom rolls her eyes.
“So, Ryleigh,” John starts, helping Mom plate the food, “your mom tells me you have a date. Who’s the lucky guy?”
I grit my teeth because, one—it’s a cliché thing to say, and two—I have cancer.
I’m not sure any guy would be lucky to find himself falling for a girl who has only a fifty percent rate of survival. But to placate him, because anything else will be considered rude, I say, “Just a boy I met.”
“She met him at a Healing Community meeting. Isn’t that right, Ryleigh baby?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I hate it when Mom calls me that. “Yep.”
“I met him in the hospital, then Ryleigh went to one of his games and dinner. It’s all very mysterious,” Mom says, and I know it’s her not-so-subtle hint that I haven’t told her nearly enough.
Beside me Katie crosses her arms. “I wish I could date.”
“You’re only twelve,” John says, glancing over at his daughter. “There’ll be plenty of time for dating once you’re in high school.”
Katie takes a note from my playbook and rolls her eyes.
I grin.
“So, does this mystery boy have a name? Tell us about him.” John asks, leaning against the counter.
“Grayson De Leon.”
“They didn’t make boys like him when I was your age.” Mom sighs wistfully while John scowls, clearly affronted. “Don’t worry, honey.” Mom pats his arm. “I only have eyes for you, sweetie.”
I fake gag. “Gross.”
“Is he going to college in the fall?” John asks, ignoring my jibe.
“Does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to college.”
“Ryleigh,” Mom chides.
“What?” I shrug. “It’s true.”
“You’re only delaying it a semester to see how your health progresses. You’ll likely be enrolled by the spring. There’s a difference.”
Whatever, I want to growl, because the truth is I haven’t talked about my future in ages, not since I had to drop my college commitment to Florida State, and we both know there’s no way in hell I’m going there without a scholarship.
I don’t say that, though. Instead, I focus back on Grayson, the one who’s currently under fire, and the only one of us who actually has a future. “He got a scholarship to play baseball for George Mason.”
“A scholarship, huh?” John’s brows rise, and I plant a smug smile on my face because he loves sports.
“Yep.”
