I can do this.
7
I showup early at the DeWitt library the next day, equipped with my anatomy atlas and my textbook, along with a water bottle and a baggie full of chocolate bars and potato chips. Yeah, that pretzel and Coke yesterday were just the tip of the iceberg. All I eat anymore is snack food—I haven’t had a real meal in days.
Abe is meeting me so we can study together—the primary social activity at DeWitt. We’ve decided to try to study together more regularly, although he can’t meet every night since he’s—amazingly—got a part-time job at a student health clinic. He texts me that he’s almost here, and I try to flip through the chapter on the thorax on my own. It’s hard to concentrate, though. I keep thinking about my abysmal quiz grades.
“You look deep in thought.”
I snap my head up. It’s not Abe, like I expected. It’s Mason. He looks mildly amused at the expression on my face as he slides into the seat across from mine at the table.
“Mind if I join you?”
I could never study around Mason Howard. He’s pretty much the biggest distraction I can imagine. I would have thoughtspending all this time with him in lab, during which time he’s proven himself to be the biggest asshole on the planet, would diminish his appeal, but it hasn’t. He’s just that sexy.
He looks way too good right now. Every med student I’ve seen so far today looks like they haven’t slept in weeks, but Mason seems like he’s just come back from a long vacation at a spa. His clothes aren’t wrinkled, and his jaw is clean-shaven. His books are lined up in a neat stack on the table, and I can’t help but see one of his anatomy quizzes sticking out of the textbook. The grade at the top is one hundred. Figures.
“I put in some quality time last night with Frank. But now it’s time to hit the books,” Mason says.
Despite Rachel’s discomfort with naming the cadaver and a long email-rant she sent out to the entire class about how disrespectful it was, Mason still calls him Frank. It doesn’t bother me. And to be honest, I like how much it seems to infuriate Rachel.
“I feel like I should give up right now,” I mumble.
Mason frowns. “Why? What’s wrong?”
He really has no idea.
“How do you do it, Mason?” I sigh. “You knoweverything.”
“Well, I want to go into plastic surgery,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll never match in a plastics residency if I don’t study my ass off. What doyouwant to do?”
“IthoughtI wanted to be a doctor,” I say.
I meant it as a joke, but it’s sort of true.
Mason winks and flashes me this smile that makes my heart skip in my chest. Ugh. I need to stop being such a girl!
“Don’t look so stressed out, Heather. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
“What if I’m not?” I say. “What if I fail the exam?”
“So you’ll get a job at the post office,” he jokes. “And one day, you can come back with a shotgun and blow the brains out of all the other students.”
I don’t laugh. The whole thing is kind of in poor taste considering we’re at a school nicknamed Dead Med.
“Come on,” he says. “You’re going to do fine on the exam. I promise.”
Mason reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of mine. And my hand starts to tingle like I’m having a stroke. I hate myself for having a schoolgirl crush on Mason.
“You’ll be fine, Heather,” he says. “Don’t worry so much.”
If I were Mason, I wouldn’t worry either.
A throat clears, and I look up. It’s Abe. He’s standing at the other end of the table, holding his anatomy atlas and looking sort of peeved.
“I thought we were studying together,” he says to me.
I yank my hand away from Mason’s. “We are.”
