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Navigating the busy hallway, Donja heard Frankie’s voice, and knowing his temperament like the back of her hand, she arched a brow. He’s pissed about something.
Nearing the door, she paused rooted in place, listening.
“Yeah, I hit him first,” Frankie grumbled. “But he deserved it, he was making fun of my sister.”
“Well, that’s admirable,” a male voice which Donja assumed was the doctor drifted out the door. “Are you and your sister close?”
“Kinda except she’s always telling me to get lost.”
“How old is she?” The Doctor asked.
“Ouch, that hurts,” Frankie complained.
Donja peeked into the exam room, unobserved.
“Sorry, but I have to clean it,” the doctor said softly, gauze in hand, a nurse standing beside him. “Now old did you say your sister is?”
“Sixteen and she’s a goth.”
“I see. So how do you feel about that?” The doctor tilted Frankie’s head back with a light checking his pupils.
“It’s okay I guess,” Frankie mumbled. “But some of the guys on my team say nasty things about her.”
A bit rueful, Donja glanced at Debbie who was solemn as lamb. She swallowed hard, then leaned on the door jamb and exhaled. Hearing footsteps she glanced, and she saw her mother approaching at a fast clip. Now suddenly contrite, Donja met her gaze.
“Is he okay?”
“The Doctor’s with him now,” Donja said softly.
Lisa’s eyes narrowed and if the anxiety which Donja heard just minutes ago, still existed, she hid it well. “What’s wrong, honey, you look down.”
“Just one of those days,” Donja stuttered, avoiding eye contact.
Lisa darted into the exam room and Donja seized Debbie by the arm. “Let’s go.”
“We better wait for your mom.”
Donja glanced back to the exam room and watched the doctor and her mom talking. “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.
They strolled down the hallway to a packed waiting room. As they sat down, Donja tugged at her skirt which was riding up her thighs. A fleeting glance revealed two women who were whispering and opposite them, a man who was leering. She averted her gaze and though she was used to it, happened all the time, her temper flared. She exhaled, then forced her eyes on the T.V. watching, but not listening. She folded her arms over her chest with Frankie’s words echoing her mind.
“Say nasty things about her. Nasty things, nasty things, nasty things!”
She slid deeper in to the chair and hugged herself tightly. She knitted her brows and tried to brush it off, but his words stung her cheeks like a slap.
“Holy shit, isn’t that the town where you’re moving?” Debbie asked, eyes on the news broadcast.
Donja jerked from reverie, focused on the television, listening intently to a commentator who was detailing the murder of a nineteen-year-old Chippewa female found in an alleyway in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. “That’s horrible,” Donja said, “but that city’s in Canada. We’re moving to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan.”
Debbie rolled her eyes. “Two cities with the same name, are you sure?”
“Well no, not really, I’ve never been there but…” Seeing her mom approaching, Donja’s words fell short. She stood up and clutched her purse to her chest as a guilt-induced nervousness washed over her.
I wonder if the doctor told her Frankie was defending me?
Her heart thumped as Lisa drew near.
“Is he okay?” Donja blurted with her voice approaching anguish.
