“And they both expressed concern about your staying for Afterschool,” Ms. Castro added.
Now I focused. “You talked to my parents about Afterschool?”
“I did. I explained that I thought it was important—that doing Afterschool would help you feel a part of the Burr community. So we worked out a deal: To start the semester, you can do one day a week.”
“I can?”
“As long as you’re feeling up for it. We don’t want you risking your health. But yes.”
I was so happy I almost leapt out of the chair to kiss her cheek. But fortunately, I stopped myself in time. “Thank you so much!”
Ms. Castro smiled and nodded, shaking her huge scribble-scrabble earrings. “You’re very welcome, Norah. Your parents and I also agreed that we’d like to see you open up a little more.”
Now I stared. “What . . . do you mean?”
“Well.” She clasped her hands in her big lap. “I’ve heard from several teachers that you’ve been a bit closed off.”
“Ms. Farrell?”
“Several teachers,” she repeated, like she couldn’t divulge top secret information.
That stupid paragraph. Just because I wouldn’t write “My Cancer and Me” on command.
“So I’d like to propose something, Norah. Every year at Burr we dedicate a week to a program we call Overcoming Challenges. We invite in folks who’ve faced various types of difficult circumstances. And we were wondering if perhaps you’d like to share with the school community about your own challenge. With your health.”
You mean with CANCER? I swallowed. “No. I wouldn’t like that, actually.”
“Oh.” Ms. Castro swished her earrings. “Can you tell me why not?”
Because I’m not Cancer Girl. I’m a norah. Who may or may not have tentacles. “I just want to go to school and stay for Afterschool like everyone else, and not keep talking about all that stuff.”
“Even to reassure some of your friends?”
“Reassure them about what? They can see that I’m back at school. I wouldn’t be here if I were sick!”
“Okay,” Ms. Castro said quietly. She’s disappointed, but that’s not my problem. Raina said I don’t need to entertain anybody with my cancer story, not even grown-ups. “Well. Will you let me know if you change your mind?”
“Sure,” I said. But I won’t.
* * *
At dismissal, Mom and Dad were still dressed up in their meeting-with-Norah’s-guidance-counselor outfits. I suddenly realized that this was the second-to-last day they’d both be picking me up from school. On Monday, they’d come here together one more time, we’d go into the city for my checkup, and then Mom would fly back to California. The don’t-go panic started to bubble up in my chest again, so I yelled at myself to stop.
“How was it with Ms. Castro?” I asked. “Did you guys play with the Silly Putty?”
Before they could answer, I threw my arms around them in a family hug. And they let me do it, even though it smushed the two of them together. “Thanks for letting me do Afterschool! Really, thank you guys so much! I promise not to overtire myself! But I’m not doing that Overcoming Challenges thing!”
“No one’s forcing you,” Dad said, smiling.
“It was just an idea,” Mom said, as she kissed my hair. “No pressure, honey.”
Ms. Castro was right: I was lucky to have them. And when I thought about how I’d lied—not telling them the truth about meeting Griffin at lunchtime, and even worse, getting away with it—I suddenly felt like the worst daughter in the world.
WHAT YOU SAY
I don’t even remember the rest of that afternoon. I was so wiped out from the week that as soon as I got home I flopped on my bed for a quick nap—and woke up at nine thirty that evening, hungry and headachy. I wasn’t even totally awake when I staggered into the kitchen.
Nicole was sitting on a stool, reading a cookbook. She really was totally food-obsessed, I thought, although I’d never admit that to Mom.
But as soon as I walked into the kitchen, she looked up at me and grinned. I liked her long dark hair with its silvery threads, and the gap between her top teeth, how she’d never had it corrected. “Hey, girl. Have a good sleep?”
“Yeah. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. It was like I passed out.”
“You wouldn’t have slept like that if you didn’t need it. A full week of school is a lot to get used to.”
“I guess. Where’s Dad?”
“Meeting a deadline.” She pointed to his office, which had a closed door. “You hungry?”
“Starving, actually.”
“Yay. I made chicken pot pie, whole wheat bread, fennel salad with heirloom tomatoes, and a blueberry cobbler for dessert.”
I had to laugh. “You made all that just now?”
“Nothing else to do in this house with your dad working and you snoring away.” She got up to serve me. A while ago, I gave up protesting whenever she prepared a plate for me; Dad told me I was being rude, that Nicole actually liked serving people her food. And since she couldn’t be over here that much when Mom was around, I always tried to be extra-considerate.
As usual, all the food was incredible. Warm, comforting, not too spicy or too bland. If Nicole did all the cooking around here, I’d probably ace caloric intake.
“This is amazing,” I gasped between forkfuls.
“Glad you like it. And I love to see you with an appetite.”
It occurred to me that I had one. Not a fake one either.
She broke off some bread and added it to my plate. “So how are things going? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Yeah, because you haven’t,” I said, mopping up some of the chicken liquid with the bread crust. “It’s going okay. Although it’s just the first week, so.”
She snorted. “You’re expecting to fall off a cliff?”
“Well, you can’t be sure.”
I got cancer, didn’t I? Stuff happens.
When I finished eating, Dad finally came out of his office (which he called his “writer’s cave,” only half jokingly). Nicole brought the blueberry cobbler into the TV room, and the three of
