Chapter Forty-Four

Chloe Torres is thrilled to report back to me on everything Fall Fest– related. I originally tried to pry information out of the officers, but Leilani, Everly, and even Hudson had all been sworn to secrecy by Marisol. To my delight, though, she never managed to warn Chloe.

That’s why Chloe is perfectly happy to send me several paragraphs detailing all that I’d missed at school on Friday, including some gossip about how Leilani and her friend, Addison Bell, got into a huge fight because they bought the same dress.

Since I’m stuck in my room until I feel better, this tea is pretty much the most riveting thing that’s going to happen to me, so I soak it in.

Sophie stops by on Saturday morning to drop off my homework, a singular worksheet from my bio teacher, who is the absolute worst and always assigns homework on principle. Marisol tags along with her. Abuela reluctantly gives me permission to practice doing their makeup for the dance so long as I don’t leave the bed. As I work, they tell me stories to distract me.

Then, keeping her voice gentle, Marisol says, “So . . . what should we tell people when they ask why you’re out?”

I stop blending the eyeshadow over Sophie’s lids. “What do you mean?”

“Well, yesterday, people were already noticing you weren’t at school. It was easy enough to say you were sick, but if you’re not at the carnival this weekend, people will wonder.”

“It’s not their business,” Sophie adds, opening one eye to peek at me, “but we wanted to check in with you.”

“We can say whatever you want,” Marisol offers.

I think for a moment. Months ago, having everyone know about my PCOS was one of my biggest fears. I was so, so worried what people would think, that they’d pity me because they assumed it would mean I can’t have kids someday or they’d be disgusted by the fact that the syndrome makes me grow facial hair or they’d just feel sorry for me because there was something “wrong” with me. I was convinced I’d want to hide it forever.

But who cares if they know? I’m tired of keeping this a secret. This syndrome is shitty enough without having to worry what others think about it.

“Just tell them the truth,” I say with a shrug. Sophie opens both eyes in surprise. “If they’re annoying about it, that’s their problem.”

Marisol grins. “Yes! To hell with anyone who has something smart to say. I’ll personally kick their ass.”

“And I’ll cheer her on,” Sophie says.

“You guys are the best. Besides, there will be other drama to distract them soon enough.”

Sophie arches an eyebrow. “Spoken like someone who knows something . . .”

I g rin and, as I go back to working on Sophie’s makeup, fill them in on Leilani vs. Addison.

“How do you even have access to this gossip?” Sophie asks.

“Chloe Torres. We’ve been texting,” I admit.

At that, Marisol crosses her arms. “Why are you texting with Chloe Torres?”

I shrug. “We’re friendly.”

“Not that friendly,” Sophie says.

“We both like Intonation,” I add.

“So? They broke up years ago.” Marisol eyes me skeptically. “Are you trying to get info out of her about the Fall Fest?”

I feign ignorance. “What?”

Sophie’s eyes fly open, smudging the eyeliner I was working on. “Oh my God, you totally are!”

“Can you blame me?! You guys have barely given me a crumb of information! And close your eyes again, Soph, please.” I work quickly to try to salvage the liner.

“Because you don’t need to know!” Marisol argues. “We have it handled.”

“Well, maybe I’m just nosy,” I say. “And feeling a little bummed that I’ll be missing out on everything tomorrow. The timing of this whole thing is awful.”

“It really is. You’ve worked so hard for this,” Sophie says.

“I was hoping I’d feel better and still be able to swing by the carnival, but when I mentioned that to Abuela, she nearly bit off my head.”

“Good. Your stubborn ass needs it sometimes!”

“Sol,” Sophie chides, but the corners of her mouth quirk into a smile she’s trying to hide. I poke her in the ear with the blush brush in my hand and she giggles. “It’s probably best if you just take it easy.”

“If you rest now, then you might bounce back in time for the dance,” Marisol says. “So don’t push it.”

They both have a point, but God, that makes me sad. I don’t want to miss out on any part of the Fall Fest.

“So you’re saying you guys won’t sneak me out of the house and into the carnival tomorrow?” I sigh. “Some friends you are.”

Marisol grabs one of my pillows and threatens to hit me with it. “Don’t make me do this.”

Sophie pretends to pick up her phone. “Hello, 911?”

We laugh, and Marisol drops the pillow. “I wouldn’t hit you for real anyway. You haven’t done my makeup yet.”

Unfortunately, over the weekend, there’s no miraculous recovery. Abuela is as stern as ever. I’m stuck at home.

Abuela at least lets me join her and Lily in the kitchen so I can drown my sorrows in café con leche and galletas de mantequilla.

Then Lily leaves to go to the carnival with Ruby, promising to bring us back a souvenir, and Abuela and I settle on the couch to watch TV, but I keep sneaking glances at the time on my phone, thinking, Oh, the team is probably doing a run-through now. And now they’re likely letting people in. Bet the selfies look amazing. Someone’s probably eating a caramel apple. I wonder if people are having fun yet?

Like a good friend- slash-informant, Chloe texts me updates, as promised, but there isn’t much to tell because everything seems to go off without a hitch. She does send me pictures, though, which I very much appreciate.

All morning, I do my best not to bother Isaiah, since he has to do the work of two people, but it’s killing me. No kickoff carnival and no Isaiah is cruel.

When Abuela leaves to go to El Coquí for the remainder of the day, I’m left alone with just my thoughts. By late afternoon, I’m so antsy I consider marching to the high school just to feel something. Thankfully, Isaiah texts me as I’m contemplating whether I can really get away with my plan.

Zay: how’s my girl doing?

The butterflies go wild in my belly.

Me: Just dying a slow, painful death knowing absolutely everyone from school is at a carnival that you and I organized while I’m sitting at home by myself

Zay: i’m so sorry, whitney

Zay: i know it must be so shitty

Me: It is. We spent so much time working toward this and now I can’t even enjoy it

Zay: would you feel better if i brought the carnival to you?

Me: ??????

Zay: come to the front door

I want to run, but Abuela’s voice is in my head reminding me to take it easy, so I walk instead.

When I open the door, Isaiah is wearing a charcoal bomber jacket over jeans and a crewneck T- shir t with a jack- o -lantern and the words GET LIT. His locs are pulled back into a ponytail and he’s holding a box full of caramel apples, a stuffed pumpkin, flowers, cinnamon sugar donuts, and several other items from the carnival.

“You didn’t,” I breathe.

“I knew you were upset that you’d miss out, so . . .” He g rins at me. “Amaya and Gianna helped me choose what to bring. They may have gone a little overboard.”

I reach for his arm and pull him inside as he points out each thing that’s in the box. He holds up the stuffed pumpkin and makes it give me a little kiss on the cheek.

Touched by this display of pure kindness, I throw my arms around his neck, not caring that I’m in an old, oversize T- shir t and cat slippers. I kiss him until his hands reach for my hips and pull me closer.

When we part, I look up at him. “Is it okay that you’re here? Don’t they need you at the carnival?”

He shakes his head. “I got everything handled.”

I smile at him. “So you can stay, then?”

Zay leans down and presses his forehead to mine. “Why? You offering?”

I glance over at the box of goodies. “Who else is going to help me eat those donuts?”

He grins. “Hand one over.”