greater detail about follow-up and monitoring. This was a frightening bump in the road, but in my opinion it truly is just that.”
“All right,” I manage, and then he says some other things but I don’t hear them because I’ve already dropped my phone into my lap and put my head in my hands so that I can full-on bawl my eyes out. Hinges squeak and I smell floral shampoo as Phoebe kneels on the ground and wraps her arms around me. Knox crashes into me from the other side.
“We eavesdropped. I’m sorry, but we’re so, so happy,” Phoebe chokes out.
I can’t speak enough yet to tell her Me too.
* * *
—
I need a few minutes by myself after the news. As much as I appreciate Phoebe and Knox being there, I’m relieved when they leave and let me pull myself together. I want to talk to my parents but the lunch bell is about to ring, so I send quick texts with a promise to call later. I already know what their reactions must be: so happy I’m not dying that they won’t even be mad at me for keeping them in the dark for weeks.
Which, I’m only starting to realize, is something I need to sort out if I’m ever going to truly move on from being the sick girl. For most of my life, I’ve gotten a free pass for the things I do wrong. Hardly anyone gives me a hard time or holds a grudge. Even Knox came around once leukemia reared its ugly head again.
It’s not a crutch I ever asked for, but I’ve been leaning on it anyway.
I send one final text to a number that I saved to Contacts instead of deleting like he’d suggested:
Hi Luis, it’s Maeve. I’ve been meaning to thank you for the video. It was helpful. Also, I’m sorry for what I said at Cooper’s game. I didn’t mean it. Not that this is any excuse, but I was having a bad day and took it out on you.
I really am sorry.
I’d like to talk more sometime, if you would too.
Then I drop my phone in my bag. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Phoebe
Thursday, March 26
The graffiti scrawled across the dividing wall next to the paper towel dispenser in the girls’ first-floor bathroom is brand-new, written in wavering blue ink. Phoebe Lawton is a total…Except I can’t read the last word, because somebody crossed it out with a black Sharpie. Thank you, unknown benefactor who is probably Maeve. Then again, no. She’d have covered the whole thing so I wouldn’t see my name.
My hands don’t even shake as I’m washing them. At this point, personalized graffiti in the bathroom is nothing. In the past few days I’ve gotten two more Instagram messages from Derek, cleaned up after my sister twice, and flunked a science test because I can’t concentrate in this hellhole. Plus Maeve keeps texting me screenshots of that forum she’s gotten obsessed with all over again, where somebody named Darkestmind constantly yells WHERE ARE YOU BAYVIEW2020? Like it’s some kind of Missed Connections board for freaky loners.
Me? I’m just relieved that school is over for the day, and I can forget about Bayview High for a few hours.
I’m pulling a paper towel from the dispenser when the door opens, and a second later Jules appears. “Oh, hi,” I say, flustered. I haven’t talked to Jules since I watched the video Luis took from Sean’s phone. I barely see her at school anymore, unless you count all the times I’ve skulked past her hallway makeout sessions with Sean.
“Heyyy,” Jules says, her eyes flicking toward the graffiti. She doesn’t look surprised. I’d love to think she’s the one who halfheartedly crossed it out, because at least that would mean she still cares a little bit about me. But it’s just as likely that she wrote it in the first place, considering how far up Sean’s ass she is now. She’ll even lie for him—something I’d never have believed possible if I hadn’t seen the video with my own eyes.
I toss my wet paper towel in the wastebasket. “How’s Sean?”
Her mouth purses as she pulls out a tube of lip gloss and unscrews the top. “Don’t pretend you care.”
Watching her outline a perfect pout makes me acutely aware of my own dry lips. I pull a tube of Burt’s Bees lip balm from my bag, grimacing when I realize it’s coconut flavored. My least favorite.