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“What have your parents ruined for you?”
I grew quiet as I considered my response carefully. Christ, why couldn’t I talk to my best friend about the real things bothering me? He’d always had my back; why would this be different?
My voice shook as I pushed out the words. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to swear not to tell anyone.”
“I swear.” He made the motion to lock his lips and throw away the key.
“I’m serious. If the other guys knew, they might—” I threw myself back on my bed. Might what? I had no idea. But I did know that if it got back to Coach, he’d tell my dad. “God, it’s so fucked up.”
“It sounds like something you need to get off your chest.” Spencer’s voice was cautious, serious.
Was I really doing this? But maybe it would help alleviate the pressure I’d been feeling since Lark arrived.
I rolled to my side as he lifted his laptop, placed it at the foot of the bed, and gave me his undivided attention. “Okay, so when I was ten, I started having all these symptoms—night sweats, achy muscles, a persistent sore throat, a fever that wouldn’t go away…”
He just stared at me. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“They did all kinds of tests, and finally it was determined I had leukemia.”
“Holy shit!” he burst out.
“Shh, keep it down,” I said as if someone was listening through the door. It had been such a closely kept secret; I was basically losing my mind at this point.
“Sorry.” He scooted to the edge of his bed. “So what happened? I mean, obviously, you’re here, so you beat it, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, for the next couple of years I was in and out of the hospital and eventually had to get a bone-marrow transplant. That’s what saved me.”
“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?” he asked, studying me. “Are you healthy enough to play football?”
I pointed and raised my voice. “That’s why, right there.”
“Huh?”
“My dad has epilepsy. It’s under control now, but when he was young, he felt lonely a lot because the other kids didn’t understand his seizures—were afraid of them—and kept their distance.”
“Well, that sucks. Guess it makes sense for back then. But now, would it really be that big of a deal? The world is more aware of illnesses and disabilities and stuff.”
“Right. But it might still lead to unconscious bias—that’s what my dad thinks. So he wanted me to have a fresh start in high school, and he spoke to the principal and coaches about it. And now he wants me to have a good college experience too.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Okay, that’s a little much.”
“But you just proved his theory.” Too well. I was beginning to understand why Dad always stressed his opinion with me, sometimes leading to arguments.
“Sorry about that. Guess we still have a ways to go. You certainly made me think.” He sat there, staring into space for a long moment before adding, “It’s also really amazing that you beat cancer.”
“Technically, I’m in remission and still get a scan every year. But my dad cares too much about all this, almost like he’s living vicariously through me, trying to recreate his glory days at Roosevelt.”
“Why are parents so high maintenance? I could see my dad doing the same fucking thing.” He shook his head. “But I’m glad you told me. I won’t breathe a word.”
He thrust his arm out, and we fist-bumped.
We resumed studying in front of our computers, but I could barely concentrate after that. I had actually told someone, and it wasn’t so bad after all. Except…would Spencer think the worst with every little sniffle or cough?
I hated that my dad was right.
Spencer was obviously having the same trouble because he kept staring out the window as if thinking through our conversation. “Is that how you know Lark Levitt?”
Holy shit, he had made the connection. My stomach fluttered even thinking about him.
