Right away her eyes clouded. “Of course, Norah! I’ll write you a pass for the nurse’s office.”
She did it on a hot pink Post-it, which I crumpled and stuck in my jeans pocket. To get to the door I had to walk past Harper, who wagged her pointer finger.
I ignored her and went straight to the lunchroom.
* * *
What I hadn’t counted on was that Griffin would be sitting with other eighth graders—and that these eighth graders would be Thea, Astrid, and Rowan. I couldn’t imagine just squeezing into the table with the four of them, and having Astrid and Thea quiz me about the Bugs Club, or watching Rowan check out his hair in his phone camera, the way I saw him do during math.
So I grabbed a napkin and drew a Hydra on it. Meet me by the yogurt, I wrote. Then I walked over to Ezra, the boy who’d remembered me from the bus, and asked him to give the napkin to Griffin.
“Why can’t you do it yourself?” Ezra demanded. He squinted suspiciously.
“Because we’re playing a game, and I’m sort of hiding,” I said.
The funny thing was that this made sense to him. He took the napkin and walked over to Griffin’s table. I could see Griffin say something to his tablemates and immediately spring up, like a piece of toast popping out of a toaster.
“Hey,” he said as he spotted me by the yogurt shelf. “Don’t you want to come over? I saved you a seat.”
“Thanks, but no. I can’t draw in front of people.”
“Oh. No, I get that. I can’t play bass in front of people either.”
“You can’t? How can you do rock band, then?”
He winced. “Yeah, it’s kind of a problem. But I’m working on it. So where should we . . . ?”
I pointed to a small, empty table near the exit. As we headed toward it, I tried to ignore the people looking at us, probably wondering why Cute New Boy was walking behind Tiny, Skinny New Girl with Short Hair.
“So,” I said as we sat side by side. “Your hands aren’t greasy, right?”
He shook his head. “Thanks for doing this, Norah.”
“No problem.” I’d always hated that expression; why had I just used it? “Left hand or right?”
“Well, I play left-handed, so left.”
“Me too. I mean, I don’t play anything, but I’m left-handed.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. Lefties always notice other lefties.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I concentrated on the drawing. My hand was trembling a little, but I managed to do the griffin, this time from memory. And I had to admit it looked good—if anything, better than the one on Griffin’s bass.
When I finished I told him to use hand sanitizer instead of soap and water if he needed to clean his hands.
“Hand sanitizer?” he repeated. “They have some at school?”
“I don’t know, but I have a whole bottle in my locker, and I always carry some in my backpack. See?”
When I showed him the small plastic bottle, he gave me a funny look. And right away I realized I’d almost blown it. Again.
UNEXPLAINED ABSENCE
Once I’d finished Griffin’s griffin, there were fifteen minutes left until the start of sixth period. I didn’t want to go back to health (especially not if they were discussing Sensible Decisions), and there was no point going to the nurse’s office for a fifteen-minute nap. Besides, I liked the nurse, Mrs. Donaldson, who had a warm smile and calm blue eyes. If I showed up at the end of fifth period, she might urge me to skip sixth period too—and I already felt guilty enough about missing health.
What I did was hang out in the first floor girls’ bathroom. I had it all to myself, so I spent the time staring at myself in the mirror. Was my hair really growing in, or was that just Mom being supportive? It was hard to tell, but maybe it was a teeny bit longer. And was it the same color as before? Ayesha had told me that after chemo, her hair grew in darker and kinkier. Maybe the norah creature would have long tendrils. That could be awesome, actually.
Just before the bell rang, I obeyed the Bathroom Rule, washing my hands with fake-flower-smelling soap, and drying with paper towels. Not that my parents would ever find out if I used the hand dryer—but right at that moment it felt like maybe I owed them some obedience.
* * *
At dismissal, Dad was in a great mood. His editor had liked some article he’d written about a baseball player so much that he’d assigned him a longer piece for the magazine—the kind of assignment he hadn’t been able to do since I’d been diagnosed. Maybe there’d be a little traveling involved, “but just overnight,” he said quickly.
Mom, who was in the car, turned to him then. “Who’ll stay with Norah?”
“Nicole,” he answered. “I already asked, and she already said yes.”
Mom didn’t reply. But I knew what she was thinking: Time to head back to California. I gave her an extra-big hug when we dropped her off to do some shopping.
When Dad and I got home, we went into the kitchen for my after-school snack. Right away I noticed that the answering machine for the landline was blinking.
“Probably my editor,” Dad said happily as he hit the button.
“BEEP. Hello, Mr. Levy? This is Janice Castro, Norah’s guidance counselor from Aaron Burr Middle School. I’m calling about an unexplained absence. Please give me a call as soon as you get this message. I’m here today until four. Thanks very much. BEEP.”
Dad eyed me. “Do you know what that means? ‘Unexplained absence’?”
My throat closed up. “Not really. I had a pass for the nurse’s office fifth period. If she means that.”
“Well, we’d better check. Don’t go anywhere.” He dialed the school while I pretended to eat carrot sticks dipped in hummus. “Hello, Ms. Castro? Greg Levy here. Fine, thanks. Just got your message. Yes . . . Today? When? . . . Oh. That’s very strange.
