By mid-morning on Sunday, the pain in my head had subsided enough that it could be controlled with regular over-the-counter meds, and the doctors agreed that I could be released. I’d just gotten dressed and was sitting on the edge of the bed when I heard a noise at the door.
“Knock, knock.” Dr. Randall stepped into the room. “I hear my favorite patient of all time needed a little staycation at his number one resort this weekend.”
I snorted. Dr. Randall had been monitoring me and coordinating all of my care since I was four years old. At this point, he was almost like family.
Leaning against the door jamb, he skimmed my file on his ever-present tablet. “So the bad news is, that new protocol we introduced last summer? Apparently it doesn’t give you the ability to fly.”
I rolled my eyes. “It also doesn’t make your jokes any funnier, either.”
He clutched his chest as though wounded. “Now that one hurts.” He lowered the computer to his side. “Looks like you’re going to be okay. I’m just here to ask you a few questions about how this happened.”
“All the other docs already did that.” I turned to reach for my phone, hoping he got the hint that this conversation was over.
“Yeah, but none of those bozos—I mean, those esteemed medical personnel—know you the way I do. I know what to ask. What happened in the minute before you fell? Ten minutes before? Did you feel at all off when you woke up that morning?”
“No.” I sighed. He wasn’t going to drop this, and I knew from experience that it would be better to come clean. “If I give you some insider information about what made me fall, can we put it under the heading of doctor-patient confidentiality?”
“As in, I don’t share it with your parents? It’s possible, unless it’s something medically significant that they need to know.”
“It isn’t.” I scrolled through my phone, checking to see if Quinn had answered my last text. “Truth is, I didn’t fall down those steps so much as I was shoved.”
Dr. Randall didn’t react. It was one reason he was so good at his job; nothing seemed to surprise him. “Okay. And since you haven’t given this information to anyone else, I’m assuming you don’t want to implicate whoever did the deed.”
“Nope.”
“May I ask why?”
I trusted Dr. Randall, so I didn’t hedge. “The guys who did it are on the football team. They’d get suspended at best, kicked off the team at worst. Everyone at school would hate me. And maybe by not ratting them out, they’ll give me a break. For a while, anyway.”
“Hmmm. Okay.” The doctor pushed off the wall and came over to me, casually beginning his typical basic exam.
“That’s it? Just ‘okay’? You don’t want to give me some sage advice?”
He shrugged. “Nah. You seem like you’ve got it under control.” He stepped back, grinning at me. “You can’t tell because I’m so freaking cool, but I’m actually doing a happy dance inside. I’m sorry you got hurt, but how you’re reacting, how you’re handling it, is completely age-appropriate. You’re normal, kiddo. Or at least in some senses you are. Color me pleased.”
“Glad I could help you out. Are we done?”
“Pretty much, but out of professional necessity, I have to ask if you feel like you’re being bullied on a regular basis or if you feel unsafe in your current environment.” He made a face. “It’s a thing. I have to document that I asked you so you don’t come back and sue my ass someday.”
I barked out a laugh. “I’ve been bullied as long as I’ve been in school. Most kids are, and that’s the hard truth no one wants to hear. But no, it’s not any worse now than it’s ever been, and no, I don’t feel unsafe.” I managed to stand up without swaying. “Thanks for stopping by. See you next month.”
“All righty then. Here’s my hat, what’s my hurry?” Dr. Randall dropped one hand on my shoulder. “You know how to reach me if you need anything, Nate.” He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “All joking aside, bud, try to stay away from the physical stuff. You’re okay now, but anything like this has the potential for setting you back. Or triggering an advance in the disease. So ... do your best to stay on your feet.”
I humored my mom and stayed home from school on Monday. The truth was, for once I wasn’t eager to see Quinn. I had a hazy memory of a conversation we’d had on Friday before she left the hospital, and I was pretty sure I’d said things that I shouldn’t have.
Since then, we’d only communicated by text. She hadn’t seemed any different, and she’d offered to come over to my house on Sunday afternoon, after my discharge from the hospital. But I’d begged off, saying I was tired and wanted to rest. It was true, but I was also too scared to face Quinn that day. I was afraid that she’d feel compelled to bring up what I’d said, and if she did, I was fairly certain it wouldn’t end well for me.
When I got to school on Tuesday, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Quinn had texted me that the truth about what had happened was an open secret; everyone seemed to know, but no one was talking about it to the administration. I’d texted her back:
Did Leo say anything to them? To Brent, I mean.
Quinn didn’t respond for so long that I was just about to resend mine when she finally answered.
Have no idea. If you want to know, ask him yourself. I’m done with him.
I’d read that line over a few times, frowning. Quinn’s patience with both Leo and me was something I took for granted. If she said she was ‘done’ with Leo, something really serious must’ve gone down while I was still in the hospital.
Everything began to fall into place after I’d stopped at my locker and turned around. Across the hall, Leo was leaning against the wall, and Sarah Jenkins stood in front of him, her arms around his neck and her lips locked to his. Leo’s hands rested on her butt. There was an intimacy between them that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
