I decided not to say anything to Harper about Addison’s snotty attitude, though. First of all, because I saw the two of them chatting together at the start of social studies, so obviously Harper liked her, for some reason. And second of all, because as soon as Harper and I walked into the cafeteria, I wobbled.
Harper noticed immediately. “Norah, are you all right? Should I get the nurse?”
“No, no, just give me a minute.” I couldn’t explain, even to Harper, about the “smell memories,” how certain foods (especially fried meat) made me woozy. I knew it was crazy—but after eating hospital hamburgers at the beginning of my treatment, just thinking about them still made me want to barf. And today was Hamburger Day in the cafeteria, apparently. Bleh.
“Anyway,” I said, with a cheery all-better-now voice. “Do you see Silas? We’re supposed to have lunch together.”
Harper’s eyes widened. “You are? Oh.”
“Is something wrong with that?”
“No. I just never hang out with him anymore.”
“How come? Did you guys have a fight?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you had a fight?” I searched Harper’s face for an answer.
“Norah, look, go have lunch with him if you really want to,” Harper was saying. “I’ll eat with my Art Club friends. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yep. Absolutely.”
But the truth was, even though the hamburger feeling had passed, I still felt wobbly—because Harper had never mentioned any weirdness with Silas before. Whenever she’d told me about stuff going on with people—fights, crushes, parties, hurt feelings, new friendships—I always thought I was getting the whole story. It had never crossed my mind that Harper was holding anything back. I mean, why would she? And what she said, that she “didn’t know” if they’d had a fight, just seemed strange. Maybe I could ask Silas about it at lunch.
I searched the lunchroom. But I still couldn’t spot him, so I figured he was getting his food. I should too, I told myself, even though it meant walking over to where they were making the dreaded hamburgers. Just keep breathing out. Grab a strawberry yogurt and an apple. Don’t look where they’re cooking it. Keep moving.
“Norah, over here!”
Aria was calling me. She was sitting at a big table with a bunch of people: Kylie, Harrison, Malik, Cait, Addison, and Silas.
Wait. Silas? Had he forgotten our lunch date?
No, because now he was waving me over. Seriously? I hadn’t specified that this would be a private lunch (and honestly, I’d assumed Harper would be joining us)—but why did he think having lunch with me meant eating with like half the grade? Especially considering I hadn’t seen him up close in almost two years.
Plus, he hadn’t even saved me a seat next to him. I had to squeeze in between Cait and Aria, which put me opposite Malik and kitty-corner from Silas. How was this “lunch with Silas”? It wasn’t.
“Hi,” I said just sort of generally, to everybody. Then I looked directly at Silas, who was eating—guess what. A hamburger. So I had to look away before I barfed.
“Hi, Norah,” Kylie replied, like she was the emcee of the table. “We were just talking about what we’re doing in Afterschool. I’m taking Modern Dance and Hip-Hop.”
“Oh, cool,” I said.
“I’m doing soccer,” Cait said. “Norah, if you want, I could show you how to sign up.”
With a writing utensil. “Thanks, but I’m not doing Afterschool this fall.”
“Why not?” Kylie challenged me. “Don’t you want to?”
I suddenly realized that I did. I mean, a lot. And if I could choose anything to join, I’d choose Art Club. Not only to be with Harper—although that would definitely be great—but because Art Club was where I belonged, like Griffin said. Even if that snotty Astrid was in charge of it.
But, of course, after school there were the hypernervous Parent Rules, which I didn’t want to explain to everyone at the lunch table. “I just have other things to do,” I said.
“You mean cancer things?” Malik asked.
“Malik, your mouth?” Aria reminded him.
“That’s okay,” I said as I pulled the foil off the top of my yogurt container and began to mix in the strawberries. When I looked up, everyone was watching me stir my yogurt, like I was Picasso mixing colors.
“Norah, can I ask you a question?” Addison said. “Is your hair short because cancer made it all fall out?”
Aria rolled her eyes. “No, you cheese-head. Cancer doesn’t make your hair fall out. The medicine does.”
“Yep,” I said. “The chemo drugs.”
Addison made a face like someone pinched her from behind. “Omigod, if I lost all my hair, I’d want to die.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Aria said. “If it was a choice between hair and dying, Addison, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t choose hair!”
Although who knew, maybe she would. Addison had a million cornrow braids you could tell were super-important to her. Right up there with oxygen.
“So was it really bad?” Harrison blurted. “I mean, the chemo.”
I licked my spoon in straight lines. “Uh-huh. Sometimes.”
“I heard the drugs they give are worse than cancer.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s just stupid.”
“So what kind did they give you?”
“You mean, what were the names of all my medicines?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m just curious.”
“Harrison wants to look them up online,” Malik teased.
“I do not,” Harrison said. But he was blushing.
“Actually, there were so many I don’t remember,” I lied.
Kylie groaned. “Can we PLEASE change the subject?”
“But it’s interesting,” Harrison protested.
“Not to me. I think it’s depressing.” Kylie tossed her shiny black hair. “No offense, Norah.”
“I’m not offended,” I replied.
Aria smiled at me helpfully. “Anyway, chemo makes people get better. My grandma had chemo for breast cancer, and it made her hair fall out. And she said, Okay, if I need a wig, it’s gonna be a hot one! So she got this big blond beachy-wave thing. It looked hilarious on her!”
“Norah, did you get a wig?”
