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“Thank you,” I replied, tone heavy with sarcasm.
“But you didn’t get this off me,” she grumbled, rummaging through each drawer until she found the desired folder.
“Fine.”
“I’m serious, Johnny. I don’t need the hassle.”
“Neither do I.”
Flicking the folder open, she quickly scanned the first page before snapping it shut. “Locker 461. In the third-year wing.”
“Great, thanks for this.” I grabbed the pen and scrawled the number on the back of my hand before heading for the door. Pausing in the doorway, I turned and asked, “Can you at least tell me how she is?”
Dee sighed. “The last I heard, her mother was taking her to the A&E for a scan.”
“A scan?” I frowned, anxiety gnawing at my gut. “She alright though, isn’t she? When she left? She was walking and stuff? I mean, she’ll be grand, right?”
“Yes, Johnny, I’m sure she’s fine.” She picked up the pen on the counter and placed the cap on it. “It’s just a precautionary measure.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
Uncertain, I blurted out, “Do you think I should go—to the hospital, that is?” Shrugging, I added, “Should I visit? It’s my fault she’s at the hospital. I’m responsible.”
“Definitely not!” Dee snapped, her tone taking on a hint of authority. “If you know what’s good for you, Johnny Kavanagh, you will stay well away from the girl.” She let out a loud huff before adding in a much quieter tone of voice, “Between you and me, her mother is out for your blood. You’d do well to avoid all contact with her. And if I’m being honest, the girl just doesn’t seem”—she paused, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment before finishing—“well, stable.”
My brows furrowed. “What do you mean, she’s not stable?”
Dee chewed on her pen, looking uncomfortable.
“Dee?” I pressed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Maybe stable isn’t the appropriate word,” she admitted, tone low. “But there’s something…off about her.”
“Off?”
“Troubling,” Dee clarified and then corrected herself by saying, “Troubled. She seems troubled.”
Well, shite. Trust me to fixate on the crazy.
“Right,” I muttered, turning for the door again. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Keep your distance, Johnny,” she called after me. “And stay away from the hospital.”
Deep in thought, I strolled out of the office with the envelope in hand.
I wandered down the left wing of the main building, stopping at a row of freshly painted blue lockers outside the third-year common area. I scanned the rows for locker number 461.
When I found the one I was looking for, I pushed the envelope through the tiny gap at the top of the metal door. I didn’t care if her mother didn’t want the money, she could burn it for all I cared, but I had to give it to them—to her.
Readjusting my schoolbag on my shoulder, I slid my hand into my pocket and retrieved my car keys, decision made to blow off the rest of the day and wait in the car for Gibsie.
Besides, there was no point in going to class right now.
I couldn’t concentrate on business qualifications if I tried.
My head was too clouded with words of warning and images of sad blue eyes.
