When Dad and I get back to the house we discover Ronnie, Bender, and Bastian sitting on the front porch. They jump up when they see us. “Hey, Cass.”
It’s Sunday afternoon. I’ve hardly slept. I haven’t showered. I’m sure I smell like hospital. I was hoping to come home and clean up and maybe take a nap. “Hey?” I say blearily. “What are you all . . . doing here?”
“Nyla sent us,” Ronnie explains. “She had church, but she thought maybe you could use some moral support. Like a group hug or something.”
They give me a group hug. It’s awkward, but good. Then they step back and consider also giving a hug to my dad, who looks so tired he’s about to fall over.
“Hey, Papa Bill,” says Bender.
“Hello, Mr. McMurtrey,” Ronnie says at the same time. Dad was her teacher in fifth grade, and she’s never been able to call him Papa Bill like the rest of my friends.
“Hello, kids,” he manages, trying and failing to call up a smile. He glances around the group. “Ronnie, of course. Bender. And . . .” He frowns when he gets to Bastian.
“Bastian,” Bastian provides. “I’m in the play.”
For some reason the boy I like introducing himself to my father makes me blush. Which is so dumb I can’t even. But then, I’m ridiculously tired.
“Right. The play,” Dad murmurs. Because he also knows that of course I’m going to quit the play now.
“We brought pizza,” says Bender helpfully. “And salad and bread and cheesecake from the grocery store.”
“And flowers, for your mom,” says Bastian, picking up a bouquet of daisies from the porch.
“That’s so thoughtful of you,” Dad says. “Come in.”
We shuffle inside and force down some of the pizza, and then my dad disappears into his bedroom. I sit in the living room with my friends for a while, chatting about I don’t even know what—my mom, a little, how great it is that she’s been moved up on the donor list. How everyone’s sure she’ll get a new heart now. How much hospital life sucks. And then they talk about the play, which leads to how Alice is still ticked off at Bastian, and how that’s problematic because Bastian is the wolf and Alice is Little Red Riding Hood, but they’re just going to have to work together like professionals.
“She’s right to be mad” is all Bastian has to say on the subject. And then everybody kind of stops talking. No one wants to discuss state drama, which is how I can tell they all know about the scholarship situation.
Nyla must have told them. I’m so exhausted I don’t even know how I feel about Nyla telling my friends that I didn’t get the scholarship. I mean, of course everyone was going to find out eventually, at school. But Nyla and I haven’t even had a chance to talk about it. Not that I want to talk about it. Not that a stupid scholarship should mean anything to me right now.
My mom’s what’s important.
Eventually my friends get up to leave, but Bastian lingers.
“I know I haven’t even met your mom,” he says, “but I’m sorry.”
I try to smile at him. “Thanks.”
“I’m here for you, okay?” He gives me a long hug. It’s warm and comforting and nice, and he smells really good. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” he says when he pulls back.
I think about it. I mean, he has a car.
So I say, “Actually, can you give me a ride?”
“Yeah. Anywhere,” he says.
I bite my lip. “I need to take a shower first. Can you wait?”
“Absolutely. Take your time.”
I leave him in the living room and hurry myself in and out of the shower. When I’m done I feel about 25 percent more human than I did this morning. And I look and smell a whole lot better.
Bastian stands up when I come back into the room. “Okay. You ready?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Consider me your own personal Uber.” He slings an arm around me. “Just tell me where.”
When Nyla’s family gets home from church, I’m the one sitting on their porch. Mama Liz rushes out of the car with her arms outstretched to hug me until I think my ribs might be bruised. Then I get hugs from Nyla’s dad and all of her many siblings.
It’s been a huggie day. It makes me feel like my mom’s dead already. But I know everybody means well. All this hugging means that I am loved.
“Oh, you poor baby,” Mama Liz keeps saying. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.” She cries a little and hugs me again and asks me if I need anything to eat.
It’s a while before I’m alone with Nyla, but finally we’re in her room. The scholarship thing is still hanging in the air between us. I can’t look directly at her, because even though I know it’s not important, it still hurts in this weird way, so I wander around her room examining the posters on her bright yellow walls like I’ve never seen them before. I run my hand along the length of her dresser. I look out the window, where there is absolutely nothing interesting to see.
“Cass,” Nyla says finally. “About state drama, I want to say—”
“Don’t,” I say quickly. “It’s fine.”
“But—”
“Please don’t.” I sigh. “I just need you to do something for me now, okay? Do you think you can cut school tomorrow?”
“Um, sure. Why?”
Get the letter. Then we’ll go from there. “I have someplace I have to go,” I say. “For Mom.”