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“Any news on the CT scan?”
He snorted softly and leaned closer. “Why? Do you have the sudden need to spread another one of my secrets around school?”
The horrified shock that crossed over me as I looked up into his face must’ve been evident. He shook his head and made a pained expression. “I’m sorry, that was crossing a line. You didn’t mean to tell everyone about my cancer. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I said, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. “You have every right to hate me.”
He leaned against the door and looked up at the ceiling tiles. “I don’t hate you, Trina.”
My heart thrilled at his words. It wasn’t much, but it meant everything in the world to me.
“At least tell me you’re going to be okay,” I said softly.
He shrugged. “No news, yet. But I’m not going to dwell on it until I know something.”
I wished I could do the same, but that test had been on my mind every minute of every day since Saturday. It hurt to think that if bad news came his way, I wouldn’t be there to comfort him. I could only hope that Polly would fill that role. No doubt, she would be the best person for the job. Yet another reason why they were so good for each other.
“I saw you with Polly this morning,” I said, managing to give him a small smile. “You two together again?”
He pursed his lips and stared vacantly at the hallway over my shoulder. “We’re...talking.”
Pretty much guy code for getting together. That wasn’t anything new to me, but the thickness in my throat grew worse.
“Oh, good. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” He grunted and then side-stepped me out the door. He got two steps down the hall before he froze and turned halfway to look at me over his shoulder. “By the way, I left something for you on the table. It’s the end of Project Happiness.”
Project Happiness. How could two little words cause me so much misery? And yet, Mason seemed to be doing fine, even after our big blowup. He was talking to Polly. He wasn’t worrying about hearing from his doctor. He was so much stronger than me.
I tried my best to smile at him, but it probably looked more like a sneer than anything. “Thanks. Good luck on Friday.”
He nodded. “Good luck to you, too.”
I pushed through the door to the library, not wanting to watch him walk away again. It was too much for my fragile heart to take. Instead, I forced myself to march toward the table where Mason and I had shared so much time together. Mr. Arnold snored a little as I moved past, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. And sure enough, as I neared the table, I found a small stack of papers with Mason’s scrawled handwriting across them.
Sinking into my chair, I ran my fingers across the dried ink. It was a copy of the survey I’d made Mason take at the beginning of Project Happiness. A way to gauge his current contentment and relationship statuses. I flipped through the pages, silently noting his answers. It wasn’t until I got to the last page that a vice clamped around my stomach.
The final question in Project Happiness was the mother-load of all questions. It measured the subject’s perceived happiness. Mason’s original answer had been a five out of ten. And now, he’d marked a ten out of ten. In small letters below, he’d written something. I squinted at the writing, the sound of rushing blood filling my ears.
If I’ve learned one thing through all of this, happiness is what you make it. I took a chance and went after what I wanted. I have no regrets. Don’t worry about me, Trina. You got your results. Go find yours. - MF
I clasped the papers to my chest and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling his words sink into my soul.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was no wonder my mom had vowed to never wear high heels again. They were a death sentence for all of womankind. As I cat-walked in my presentation outfit for my friends, the heel on my slingback caught on the edge of my bedroom rug and nearly sent me tumbling to the floor. Mandy caught me, her face red with laughter.
“You’re going to break something if you insist on wearing those shoes tomorrow,” she said, stifling another giggle.
“But they’re my lucky heels,” I whined. “I can’t do my presentation without them.”
“They’re also a size too small and should’ve been donated three years ago,” Audrey added, from where she sat crossed-legged on my bed. She strummed her black guitar, moving her fingers deftly down the frets. “Didn’t you wear those to our middle school winter formal?”
“Maybe...”
I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my closet door. Mom had loaned me one of her pinstriped power suits after school today. The jacket fit me perfectly, with just the tiniest bit of shoulder padding that made me look like I was ready to address a courtroom. The pencil skirt hit me right below the knees.
With the latest addition of my lucky heels, I was ready to smash this presentation. It was the very last task in a process that had been so grueling, I could barely think about it without wanting t
