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The nurse raised her head from reading along. Her eyebrows raised. “You said it verbatim. No one ever does that.”
I hadn’t been taught that English word, but it didn’t matter. I took her shock as a good thing. “Did I pass?”
“You’re definitely not concussed.”
“Does that mean I can sleep now?”
She frowned and studied me. “You don’t happen to have an eidetic memory, do you?”
Yet another English word I wasn’t aware of. My pulse skittered. “I’m not sure—”
“If I asked you what twelve times fifty-six was, you’d say—”
“Alti yüz yetmis iki.” I flinched. “Sorry, in English, I’d say six hundred and seventy-two.”
“How about forty-seven times ninety-two?”
“Four thousand, three hundred and twenty-four.”
Her eyes widened. “Have you always been good at math?”
My heart folded in on itself. “My father was a math professor.”
“Oh.” She nodded and stood, her eyes still locked on mine. “I suppose that explains it.” Moving toward the drawers, she slipped the concussion test sheet back inside and closed it quietly. “I’m sorry...about what happened.”
My throat closed up.
I said nothing.
She hovered over me for the longest time, almost as if she wanted to say something else. But then she rolled her shoulders, forced a smile, and said softly, “I’ll come check on you before my shift is over.” She went to leave, but at the last second, she placed her hand on my cast, wrenching my eyes to hers.
“You’ll be okay, I promise. I know it’s scary to be interviewed by officials but just tell them the truth, and you’ll be fine. You seem very special and...they’ll see that. They’ll know what an asset you could be to this country.”
Tell the truth?
I swallowed a morbid laugh.
The truth would get me slaughtered.
Pulling my hand from beneath hers, I fluffed up the stiff and bleach-smelly sheets that Neri had wrinkled her nose at. “Goodnight.” I lay down on my side, giving her my back.
A few lingering seconds before a shuffle of her shoes and a quiet sigh. “Goodnight, Aslan.”
I waited until I could no longer hear her.
I waited longer just to be sure.
I waited until the patient next to me behind the curtain started snoring again.
Only then did I rip back the sheet, swing my bruised legs out of bed, and bite my tongue to silence my groan as I dropped to my feet and grabbed the bag Jack had left me.
With shaking hands and fighting the awkwardness of my cast, I quickly tore off the backless gown, shoved my legs into black boxer-briefs and navy shorts that were far too big for me—cursing the boot around my ankle the entire time—and shrugged into a cream t-shirt that dwarfed me. In the bottom of the bag rested a belt that I notched to the tightest hole and flip-flops that stuck out behind my size eight feet.
I only needed one shoe, thanks, once again, to the damn boot.
I turned to go, but something caught my attention.
Cash.
