Without warning, I want to cry. My bottom lip quivers and my eyes fill. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Hey.” Luc isn’t laughing anymore. He reaches forward and tucks a stray lock behind my ear. I put my hair in a ponytail today because I can’t remember when I last washed it. I’m sure I look like a turd on roller skates. “You’ll feel better soon. I’ll take care of you until then.”
My throat aches with the effort not to sob or sniffle. I force a nod and look down at my knees so I don’t have to face Luc like this. I see his steel-toed boots step away and then return before he thrusts a tissue in front of my face.
Defeated, I take it and dab my eyes.
“It’s okay, Millie,” Emmett says beside me. “At least you didn’t throw up.”
The door opens then and woman in her forties with a lab coat and braid streaked with gray steps in. She takes in my current state and Emmett’s pallor and addresses Luc. “What have we got here?” Her words are clipped, touched with an Indian or perhaps Pakistani accent.
Luc points to Emmett. “Sore throat, fever, vomiting. Started last night.” Then he shifts to me. “Sore throat, chills, fever spikes, delirium, no appetite. Started probably Monday.”
I blink, stunned at his account. I’d like to contradict him, but I can’t. He’s right.
Dr. Singh eyes me with pursed mouth. “Mmm. Not too good.” She draws her stethoscope from around her neck and sets the earpieces in her ears, nodding to me. “You first.”
She listens to my heart. My lungs. Shines a light in my nose. Checks my ears. Then I get the tongue depressor.
“Mmm. Very red,” she says. “We’ll swab it.”
The nurse shadows her as she gives me a gag-inducing throat swab. Seriously, it’s like I’ve tried to swallow a sword. The nurse takes the nasty thing to the back while the doctor swaps out her gloves and gives Emmett the exact same treatment, finishing him off too with a swab job.
“Shouldn’t be long. Wait here.” She leaves the room, and I clear my throat trying to shake the scratchy tickle. At least I don’t feel like crying anymore.
“My money’s on strep,” Luc says, leaning against the table again.
I shrug. “Maybe. We’re not coughing, so it’s probably not flu.”
The door swings open again.
“Streptococcus,” the doctor says. Then she turns her pointed stare at me. “You shouldn’t ignore a sore throat and high fever. Strep can develop into rheumatic fever, and if you get that, you’ll have rheumatic heart disease. Not too good.”
The nurse comes in with a tray bearing two syringes. Emmett gasps.
Dr. Singh looks at him and cracks her first smile. “These aren’t for you, young man. They’re for your sister.”
“Both of them?” I ask, hoping the urge to cry isn’t resurrected.
“Both,” she says, and I’ll be damned if she doesn’t look happy about that. “That is, the penicillin you have to take. The cortisone is optional, but if you take it, you’ll feel better by tomorrow.”
“I want to feel better.”
“Then two shots it is. Hip or thigh?”
“W-w-wait. Why doesn’t he get one?” I jab my thumb at Emmett, who’s now eyeing me like the traitor I am.
Dr. Singh smiles again. “You’re worse off than he is. We caught his early. He gets the oral antibiotic. Hip or thigh?”
Since either one of those options require me to drop my pants, I point to Luc and Emmett. “You two. Out.”
Emmett scrambles to his feet. “Thank God. I don’t wanna watch.”
Luc gives me a look of amused concern. “You sure, Millie? That cortisone shot isfuerte.I could hold your hand.”
I shoot him a sour glare. “Go.”
I have no idea whatfuertemeans, but it doesn’t sound good. It’s the nurse who does the honors while Dr. Singh scribbles out Emmett’s prescriptions on a pad. The penicillin is just a pinch. But Luc is right. The cortisone shot goes into my hip like a fiery lake through a straw.
