manipulated her. We backed her into a corner, even when she made it clear she didn’t want to get involved. I sigh. “I really am sorry. And then I went and said all that stuff . . .”
Meg seems guarded. “I told you, I was fine.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but you didn’t mean it.”
She breaks a small grin. “Well, no . . . but I think I needed to hear it, all the same. I mean, you were right,” Meg adds quietly. “About some things, at least. The truth is . . .” She pauses, uncertain.
“Go on.”
She looks sad for a second. “The truth is, I have given up. Or, I had; I don’t know.”
I must look alarmed, because she quickly continues, “Not on life! But, school, you know? Friends. Being happy.”
“That’s . . . awful.” My voice is soft. She’s not kidding around here. I can tell.
Meg shrugs, awkward. “You get used to it. It’s scary, just how normal being unhappy can get.”
There’s silence for a moment, and then a doctor bustles in. “So who took a nasty spill?”
I raise my hand. He’s in his forties maybe, and balding on top — less McDreamy than McTeddy, but my foot is aching so much, I really don’t care.
“Hmmm . . .” He feels it for a moment, twisting one way and then the next. “Looks like just a sprain. I can give you something for the pain —”
I nod eagerly. He laughs. “And wrap it up to get the swelling down. Unless you want the practice, Meg?”
“Really?” She brightens.
“Sure.” He makes a few checks on a chart and tears off a form. “Hand this to Luann on your way out.”
“Thanks,” I breathe. “I can walk on it, right?”
He nods. “Careful, though. No leaping off tall buildings, or anything like that.”
I catch Meg’s eye and have to hide a laugh. If only he knew. . . .
Meg wraps my foot quickly, like she’s already a professional. Luann checks it and sets me up with a couple of pills — which I gulp down right away. “No driving,” she warns me. I nod obediently. Never mind the medication; I don’t think I could even fit my foot on the pedal.
We make our way slowly toward the exit, Meg supporting my arm.
“Won’t your parents be freaking out by now?” I ask curiously. “Mine know I’m staying at Brianna’s, but you must be way past curfew.”
Meg looks sheepish. “Jolene had me tell them I was sleeping over at your place. An all-girl slumber party. Then I was supposed to drive home later and say you’d all started drinking, so I left.”
My mouth drops open. “That girl!”
“You have to admit, she’s kind of a genius.” Meg laughs. “My dad is super-overprotective, but even he agreed it sounded like fun.”
“Sure, if it’s not your reputation getting wrecked!”
We’re nearly at the exit, but she stops in the middle of the hall. I turn, questioning.
“It’s not just because I volunteer, how they know me here,” she says quietly.
“Oh?”
Meg doesn’t reply for a second; she just looks at the waiting room, her face closed off. “I was here all the time, when my mom got sick,” she says eventually. “Chemo and treatments.” There’s another long pause, and then she adds, “She died.”
Oh.
I grip her shoulder, and for a moment, I can’t tell who is holding the other one up. I feel a lurch of guilt. All those times I wrote off her moping as self-indulgent, or figured she was miserable for no good reason . . .
As reasons go, this one is pretty freaking good.
“Meg . . .” I breathe, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile.
“She’d get a kick out of this. Tonight, I mean. She always wanted me to have great adventures, to take more risks.” Meg starts walking again, so I follow, out onto the sidewalk. “It’s why I kept saying yes to you guys.”
“And I thought it was my charm and persuasion,” I joke, trying too hard, but I’m rewarded with a smile, genuine this time.
“Sure, those too.”
“I . . .” I stop, awkward. I want to tell her I’m sorry for being such a bitch. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known. But she stops me with a look.
“Your ankle’s OK?”
I test it with some weight. “The bandages help”— I nod —“and the pills should kick in soon. Good thing Jolene isn’t here,” I add, still trying to joke. “She’d probably want to sell them on some street corner.”
Meg doesn’t laugh. She