“No, I understand how you might have misunderstood. Adrianna can be a bit unpleasant sometimes too,” I say, quoting Olivia’s earlier statement, when she was describing Rat Boy.
Olivia lets out a small laugh, some brightness coming back to her eyes, and any lingering tension dissipates.
We carry on with our lunch, conversation flowing easily and naturally. When I’m finished with my tray I push it aside and she lends me her notes to copy what I missed from lecture the other day, as promised. Afterward, we walk to English together, going over some new poems Professor Hobb assigned.
Nine
Okay?
The next week flies by. Between classes picking up and football practice, I’m beyond exhausted. But aside from exhaustion, the week hasn’t been so bad. Olivia and I see each other every day in class and walk together when we can. We haven’t had another lunch date or dinner, and I haven’t pushed her any more about possibly having feelings for me.
The only day I didn’t see Olivia was yesterday—Monday—because the game over the weekend kicked my ass. I ended up skipping English, wanting to save my energy for the team’s ninety-degree weather practice in the afternoon. I felt bad for skipping, even more so for ditching her—not that she needs me in our English class. Regardless, I apologized during our anatomy lecture today, and of course she was nice about it. I even ended up scoring her number so I can text her to let her know if I’m going to be late to class or to ask her any questions.
Like I said, the week was going pretty well. That was until Chase took a particularly hard hit and fall at practice tonight.
“Fuck, dude. What if it’s broken?” Chase worries as he gingerly holds his wrist to his chest.
“It’s not broken,” I say, praying my words are true. Because if it is broken, he’s fucked.
“But what if it is? Then I’m fucked for possibly the rest of the season,” he says, seemingly reading my mind. He groans, his head falling back against the headrest in agony.
“It’s not.”
I make a left into the hospital’s ER parking lot, dropping Chase off at the door to check in while I try to find the nearest parking spot. I pull his truck into the first space I see and hop out.
As soon as Chase took the hit and tumbled to the ground with a painful scream, we all knew something was wrong. Coach immediately had me drive him to the nearest hospital; Chase couldn’t hand me the keys to his truck fast enough.
I meet Chase in the waiting room, and we sit around for about twenty minutes before he’s taken back for vitals and X-rays. Instead of waiting—knowing he’s going to be a while—I take a walk, finding the cafeteria.
After looking around for five minutes at the limited, unappetizing selection of food, I finally settle on two granola bars and a Gatorade.
As I walk into the dining area once I’m finished paying, a flash of caramel catches my eye. I look to my left to find Olivia sitting at a table with an older woman who looks to be in her late forties. The woman is dressed in scrubs, telling me she’s a hospital employee of some sort.
There’s a tray of food between them on top of the table. But they’re not eating.
The pair of them sit with their chairs pulled close, their knees almost touching as they face each other. They’re both sitting up straight with their heads bowed a little, their eyes closed, looking somber. The woman has her stethoscope out, listening to Olivia’s heart. She’s deeply focused.
I stand and watch for a few moments, confused.
Why is Olivia at the hospital? Why is a lady listening to her heart in the middle of the cafeteria?
So many questions filter through my head, and then I remember something.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I glance at my home screen, checking that it is in fact Tuesday evening. Olivia mentioned that she had a commitment on Tuesday nights to meet up with a friend for dinner. Even Delilah confirmed how religious Olivia is about this.
This must be the friend she was talking about.
Curiosity getting the best of me, I quickly dart behind a large pillar to observe the pair a bit longer.
After a few moments, the woman reluctantly pulls her stethoscope away with a shaky breath, giving an almost grim smile. Olivia lifts her head and mirrors the woman’s actions, looking just as subdued.
The two seem to collect themselves, then they ease into an apparent natural, comfortable conversation. Suddenly, it feels inappropriate to watch them, and I slowly back away, sneaking out of the cafeteria, praying Olivia doesn’t spot me.
I return to the waiting room and take a seat. I peel open the wrapper of my granola bar, munching on the honey-flavored oats while mulling over what I just saw.
Thirty minutes later, my mind still wandering, I hear a pair of doors open and look up to spot Chase walking out of the ER wing. His injured wrist is wrapped, resting against his chest, while his other hand holds two pill bottles and some papers.
He looks up at me and lifts his right hand, shaking the pills and flashing a tired smile. “Good news, it’s not broken. Bad news, it’s sprained pretty bad, and I’ll have to sit out for at least two weeks. Possibly four if it doesn’t heal properly.”
