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I go to my own locker, pop it open, and start to shove my things in it.
“I can tell you one thing,” Jason gives in.
“What?”
“Her sister was better.”
Gross. His friends howl with laughter, but I have a hard time hiding my disdain. My locker rattles when I slam it, and I hear their laughter come to a halt.
“Hey, Nick,” Jason says, “does something smell fishy to you?”
“Yeah,” Nick says, “smells like the whole fresh market just walked in.”
My jaw clenches. I keep my eyes on the floor, keep my back to them, and ignore their obnoxious cackles as I enter the adjoining room.
We take our class sessions in a repurposed conference room, with a long oval table surrounded by black swivel chairs. The other two students have already taken their seats, notebooks open. I wouldn’t call them friends. No one is exactly friendly to me, since King and his clan put a target on my back last summer and therefore fraternizing with me is social suicide.
It wasn’t always like this. Believe or not, Jason and I used to be almost-friends. Between the beachgoers and the patients in and out of the clinic, Hannsett is an island of transplants. No one stays here very long.
Except for me and Jason. We’re a rarity. Year-around natives. Hannsett Island is like a prison—you love the one you’re with. Before he surrounded himself with summer partygoers who call him King and decided he preferred obnoxious boat parties, frat boys, and picking on anyone he considered an easy target.
Which included me.
I sit next to Ernest, who is quiet and generally ignores me, which I’ll take over taunting. Even he rolls his chair a little further away from me today, though.
I did spend half of the day cleaning a fishing boat. Maybe I do smell like chum.
Eventually, Jason’s crew takes their seats, and our teacher arrives. Dr. Esmeralda is a middle-aged Black woman who has been at the hospital as long as I have. She was here when my mom got sick, so I feel like I already know her. She has a warm bedside manner, but she’s stoic in the classroom.
“Let’s see who did the precursory reading,” she says once we’re all settled in. “Three patients enter the emergency room with heat-related illnesses—something we get a lot of at Hannsett. The first patient is seventy-two, has fainted, and feels dizzy. The second patient is a homeless man, who seems confused and exhibits poor coordination; he also has hot, dry skin. The third is a swimmer with tachycardia and nausea. Who do you see first?”
Her eyes scan the room. Then they land on— “Jason.”
Jason lifts his head from his notebook. He blinks as though he’s come out of a dream. “Um…”
“Um? That isn’t a diagnosis I’ve ever heard of.”
A ripple of laughter across the room. Jason isn’t laughing, though. He has the look of a bull post-matador fight. Wounded. Tired. And plotting to run everyone through with his horns as soon as he gets his strength back.
“Can you repeat the question?” he asks.
“No.” Dr. Esmerelda’s gaze swings over to me. “Donovan.”
“I’d treat the homeless patient first,” I recite immediately. “The temperature of his skin suggests heat stroke, which can be life threatening for someone in his condition.”
“Seems you have a guardian angel, Jason,” Dr. Esmerelda says. “Donovan just resurrected your patient. Let’s spend less time hitting the beach this summer and more time hitting the books.”
I can feel Jason’s stare, like ice chips sliding down my spine.
I ignore it and press my pen deep into the paper, making a welt in my journal. I’m going to pay for opening my big dumb mouth later, but…
At least my hypothetical patient lived.
I make a beeline to my locker after class. Jason and his crew are loitering. Jason is sitting on the counter with his shoes on the table.
Respect is for lesser humans, apparently.
He looks at me, and there’s a glint in his eyes I don’t like.
