It doesn’t make them easier to handle.
“River?” Asch’s words break into my thoughts, and I realize he’s been trying to get my attention. “You okay?”
I blink several times, trying to clear my vision. “Yeah,” I say automatically, only to amend, “Not really. I hope he’s okay.”
I need him to be okay.
The doors open and close repeatedly as more people filter in, but none of them askabout Franklin at the desk.
I wonder if his parents will even show up.
Mine wouldn’t.
“Yeah,” Asch says. He awkwardly pats my arm. “It’ll be all right. We got him here pretty fast. And we’ll get an epi-pen for if this happens again.Andstab those fuckers, because apparently there needs to be more stabbing of our frat brothers.”
I try to smile at him, but I can’t muster it. “We got him here fast, but I don’t know how long it was before we realized something was wrong,” I say.
The next time the door opens, Blaze walks in, accompanied by an older woman wearing sweatpants and a large sweater. She rushes to the front desk, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
Blaze spots us and walks over to us. “Hey,” he says, tapping his foot against my leg. “That’s Mrs. Delgado. Franklin’s father lives in Seattle, but he said he booked a 6 a.m. flight… I guess that’s 9 a.m. our time.”
I nod, watching as a nurse leads Mrs. Delgado to the back.
I don’t have a good feeling about this.
About fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Delgado storms back out, eyes red and furious. “You,” she says, pointing at me. “What did you do to him?”
I stare at her, my mouth going dry. “Is he… Is Franklin?—”
He can’t be dead.
We got here as fast as we could. He hadn’t been doing well, but he had beenalive. I’m sure of it.
Except I hadn’t seen him as the nurses had pulled him out of the car. Had he been dead and gone already? Had we been too late?
We couldn’t have been.
I can’t think that way. I can’t?—
“I talked to him this morning!” Mrs. Delgado shouts. “He was fine then! Now he’s… Now he’s…” She starts sobbing, the tears running thick down her cheeks.
Blaze goes to her side and hands her a tissue. She slaps away his hand, and it makes a loud sound in the otherwise deadly quietwaiting room. “It wasn’t River, Mrs. Delgado. Franklin had an allergic reaction.”
“One that wouldn’t have been deadly if he hadn’t been drunk!” she yells. “You fraternity boys, drinking and drinking, and Franklinknowshe’s allergic, he wouldn’t have eaten anything with cinnamon, and…” Her sobs grow louder.
One of the nurses hurries over and guides Mrs. Delgado away from us.
I don’t miss the judgmental glare from the nurse.
It doesn’t matter. I deserve it. I deserve that and worse for failing to protect Franklin when I should have made him stand up for himself.
IfIhadn’t been drinking, I wouldn’t have stood for it.
My limbs feel heavy, and I stare at the floor.
I should’ve paid more attention. I shouldn’t have gotten distracted by Blaze and Zayden and their stupid games.
“I was his friend,” I say, biting out the words. “And he died alone in the back of your fucking car because I didn’t do anything to help him.”
