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I put my fingers to my mouth and whistle. Loudly.
The room goes silent except for the clattering of something metal behind me. The dude is in the instruments drawer. I close my eyes and pray for patience.
“Okay. Thank you all for being such a great support system for Franny. Right now, it’s time for you all to go back into the waiting room. You can work on your choreography in there if you like, but please,” I say, turning to the kid behind me, who has a fist in the glass jar of cotton pads. “Don’t touch anything.”
He raises his hands like he’s protesting his innocence.
There are a few feverish goodbyes from the talkative friends, and after much longer than it should have taken, I’m alone in the room with my patient.
I pull out the leg rest and lift Franny’s leg up. “Any better?” I ask.
She nods. “It’s throbbing,” she says, her tone so reasonable and quiet after the hurricane of voices we just had in here. “Sorry about that,” she says, pointing to the door. “We stick together. It’s usually not such a hassle.”
She’s trying to smile, but I know pain when I see it. “How about some ice?” I ask.
She nods. “Katya held a closed can of soda against it for a few minutes, but it had been in her backpack all day and wasn’t really cold. Real ice might feel good.”
I can see that with a little encouragement, Franny could be a talker, too. I tell her I’ll be right back and head for the ice machine.
I can hear singing from the waiting room, and with a door between us, I guess I can find it amusing. Maybe I’ll ask Sage to go with me to the winter show. I wonder if she knows what a revue is.
I fill a bag with ice and grab a couple of ankle brace options.
When I get back into the exam room, Franny is lying back with both her arms thrown over her head.
“Franny?” I say, more quietly than I usually talk to my patients.
“Mmm?” she murmurs.
“Are you sleeping?”
“Just for a minute, okay? I’m so tired.” A huge yawn punctuates her statement, and either she means it or she’s an excellent actor.
And I can’t blame her. Midterms just ended, and play practice is probably long and stressful. Her friends are not the most relaxing people I’ve encountered. I decide I’ll let her have a ten-minute nap. I pack the ice around her ankle and turn half the lights off. “Blanket?”
“Mmm.” I take that as a yes and pull one out of a cupboard that her friend didn’t get around to opening.
When she’s covered and as comfortable as she’s likely to get, I sit on the chair against the wall and pull out my phone.
There are three texts from Sage.‘Did we say a time?’
‘Now is a very good time.’
‘Did I mention I may starve?’
The last one was sent more than twenty minutes ago.
I should really do this apology in person, but that’s not likely to happen any time soon.
‘So sorry. Medical mishap.’
She answers right away.‘You okay?’
‘Yes. I’m the doctor, not the patient.’
‘You never know.’
‘But I don’t sprain my ankle dancing to show tunes.’
