The ER has moods, and tonight it’s bored.
Jo leans against the nurse’s station with half a jelly doughnut hanging out of her mouth, staring at me like I just told her that the world is going to end in thirty seconds.
“What?”
Maybe it was a bad idea to mention that I’m never going to let Rusty die. But I said it, and now I have to deal.
Emma goes about her business, restocking the exam rooms and making sure that everything is in its place. Sometimes I wonder what her house looks like. Does she outline the position of every item in her home so that, if anything moves while she’s gone, she’ll instantly know? Or is she a closet slob? Some people are like that. They show one face to the world and keep the other hidden. Like Death and Miss Michelle.
“Steven says that boy’s doing good,” Jo says. “But burns are tricky, Drew. Gotta be careful of infections. If death takes that poor, sweet boy, there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it.”
I sit on one of the wheeled stools and spin in slow, small circles. The ER has been quiet all night, which is partly disappointing and partly a relief. We’ve only had two patients in the last ninety minutes. One was a guy who cut his thumb while slicing onions—he needed two whole stitches—and the other was a woman complaining of stomach cramps. She’s still in exam 4 waiting for someone to wheel her away for an ultrasound. Occasionally I hear her groaning from across the hall, but I’ve mastered the art of blocking out other people’s pain.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say to Jo. I know who Death is, and I’ll keep her away from Rusty with a baseball bat if necessary. But Jo keeps giving me funny looks, and if she asks too many questions, I could be in serious trouble. It was hectic that first night I came to the ER, and no one paid me any mind, seeing as my mom and dad and baby sister were dying all over the place. It was easy for me to vanish, but it’s still possible that Jo, or any of the nurses, caught a glimpse of me. And I could accidentally trigger that hidden fragment of a memory if I’m not careful.
“It’s commendable, what you’re doing for that boy,” Emma says as she comes out from behind one of the eggshell-colored curtains. She’s looking flirty tonight, like she came straight to work from a bar. “But I think what Jo is trying to tell you is not to get too close.”
Jo finishes devouring the other half of her jelly doughnut. “Don’t tell me what I’m trying to say. I know what I mean to say, and I think I said it well enough for the boy to get my meaning.”
Emma shrugs and moves on to arranging the charts so that they’re flush with the edge of the desk. She doesn’t look Jo in the eyes—the way an animal trainer might not make eye contact with a lion—but the muscles in her cheek twitch as if they’re short-circuiting. “I’m only trying to help. It’s not healthy to get so close to a patient who might die.”
“Why not?” I ask, hoping to break the tension.
Jo’s face softens, something that I usually only see when she’s dealing with a kid. When it comes to regular patients, Jo is a bull. She gets the job done quickly, efficiently, and without taking any crap. But when a kid comes into the ER, Jo’s demeanor flips like a coin. Heads to tails, like that. She’s patient and compassionate, and she even moves a little slower. That’s how she’s treating me now.
“Drew, if you want to be a doctor or a paramedic or even a nurse someday—and I hope to Jesus that you change your mind and become a teacher instead—then you have to learn how to distance yourself from patients. Never let it be personal.”
“Like Steven has?” I ask.
Emma nods. She and Jo have gone from being combatants to sisters in arms. “Exactly like Steven.”
I give myself another whirl on the stool and extend my legs so that they swing a circle like a compass needle. The world looks different when you’re spinning. Colors run together in the most amazing ways. Everything bleeds into everything else, and you get this idea that maybe there are no differences between any of us. That if everyone everywhere spun, we’d all see that we’re connected.
“But if you love someone, isn’t the risk worth taking?” I ask when I come to a stop, but before everything separates again.
“Who said anything about love?” Jo furrows her brow. “I didn’t say anything about love.”
Emma kneels in front of me. Her eyelids glitter with this blue eye shadow like morning dew. “Are you in love with that boy who got burned?”
“With Rusty?” I ask, surprised. “I hadn’t . . . I don’t . . . I wasn’t talking about me.”
Jo shrugs at Emma. “Then who’re we talking about, Drew?”
“Trevor and Lexi, of course.”
Emma juts out her lip and cocks her head to the side. She’s gone from a state of concern to a state of confusion. “Your friends in Peds?” I nod. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did.”
“Boy.” Jo stabs me with her eyes, and the way she says “boy” makes me feel like I narrowly avoided a backhanded slap. “You had me worried.”
I want to go back to the part where they thought I might be in love with Rusty and ask them how I’d even know something like that. I’ve never been in love—I don’t mind admitting it—and I’m not sure I’d recognize it even if I were up to my waist in the stuff.
But if I backtrack now, I’ll never get them to help me figure out what to do about Lexi and Trevor.
“It’s only that I know they care about each other. More than care. If they were out in the real world, they’d be boyfriend and girlfriend for sure.”
Emma goes back to straightening things. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m not exactly certain,” I tell them.
Jo reaches into the doughnut box she hid under the counter and grabs the chocolate one that I chose specifically for her. The jelly was for Emma, but she’s back off carbs. “How are we supposed to help you if we don’t know what the problem is?”
I shrug. “It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it,” Jo says.
I think for a moment, try to come up with the right words. “Lexi’s too focused on the future to realize that there’s a guy right here in the present who wants to be with her, and Trevor’s convinced that he’s going to die, and doesn’t want to put anyone through the pain of losing him.”
“That’s not his choice to make,” Emma says.
“I know,” I say. “I also know that if I could get Lexi to see what’s right in front of her eyes, she’d choose ten minutes with Trevor over a whole lifetime without him. But I don’t know how to get through to either of them.”
Jo licks the chocolate off the ends of her nubby fingers and stares down her nose at me. She’s got this superior gleam in her eyes that suggests she doesn’t have time for my foolishness.
“You need to get them on a date,” Jo says, like she’s stating the obvious.
Emma squeals and claps her hands together. “A date! That’s perfect. I can decorate the cafeteria. I have a disco ball!”
“Of course you do.” I sigh. Before she launches this crazy plan into orbit, I say “There’s no way I’m going to be able to get them out of Peds for a date.” I tell them about kidnapping Lexi and Trevor and playing hockey on the top floor of the parking garage.
“Well, that was a stupid thing to do,” Emma says as she smacks me on the shoulder. “Sweet but stupid.”
“More stupid than sweet,” Jo says. “And, yes, I’m talking about you.”
“Anyway,” I say. “They took the blame to keep me out of trouble, but I think Nurse Merchant suspects I was the ringleader, and it’s impossible that I’ll be able to sneak them out a second time.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” Emma says. “Difficult, yes, but never impossible.”
The idea of tricking Lexi and Trevor into going on a date is deceptively simple and simply brilliant. If I can get the two of them together for some romantic one-on-one time, they’ll be forced to admit how they feel about each other, and the rest will fall into place.
>
It’s the details that scare me.
“Who does the overnights in Peds?” Jo asks Emma. “Is it Perez? Tell me it ain’t Perez.”
Emma shakes her head. “Cho.”
Jo breaks out into a self-congratulatory smile. It’s so wide that I can see her gums. “We can take care of her.” Jo rubs her hands together. “She’s got a crush on our boy Steven.”
“You think you can convince him to help?” Emma asks.
“Oh, I can. I will.”
“Guys,” I say. I’m feeling a bit anxious and lost. In under a minute, we went from a question to a hypothetical plan to suddenly calling in favors so that we can kidnap my best friends from their rooms and play matchmaker. I’m not sure what I expected when I brought up the topic, but this was not it. “I don’t know. Is this the right thing to do?”
Emma and Jo stop their scheming and face me full on. I feel so small on my stool with the two of them looming over me.
“This is a great idea,” Emma says. “We can throw them the perfect date.”
“But what if Trevor’s right?” I ask. “I mean, he is dying. Is it wrong to encourage Lexi to fall in love with him if he’s going to die?”
“Baby,” Jo says, “if Lexi is in love with this boy, there isn’t a thing in the universe that’s going to keep them apart.”
“But it’s not fair. He shouldn’t have to die at all.”
“You’ll get no argument from me, but you asked us if love was a risk worth taking, and the answer is yes.” Jo shrugs. “If everyone waited for a no-risk situation, no one would ever fall in love.”
I look to Emma, and she nods her agreement. “We’ll help you, Drew. Don’t worry.” She pats my shoulder.
A sudden sense of purpose blossoms in my chest, and I remember now what Father Mike said about Patient F: He’s got to have something worth fighting for. Something worth living for. The same is true of Trevor. If he and Lexi were together, he’d have a new reason to keep fighting to stay alive.
“Andrew Brawley?”
A shiver squirms up my spine, and the hair on the tips of my ears stands on end. I know that voice. I recognize the ginger-scented perfume.
Death is here.
Slowly, I turn around, unwilling to abandon the safety of my stool. Death stands on the other side of the nurses’ station with her arms folded over her chest. She’s frowning at Jo, Emma, and me. She looks confused, and I only have a small window of opportunity to stop this situation from spiraling out of control.
“Michelle? What’re you doing here this late?” Jo glances over at the exam room housing the woman with stomach pains.
Death—still staring at me, not at Jo or Emma—says, “There’s some information missing about the Ramirez boy.” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but what is he doing here in the middle of the night?”
Jo looks like her head might explode. It’s never been particularly official, my volunteering in the emergency room, but I can tell by the way her neck muscles go taut that Jo isn’t going to stand for anyone telling her what she can and cannot do. Which is why Emma steps in.
“Mr. Brawley is interested in becoming a doctor, so he joined the volunteer program. He’s really very smart and quite helpful.”
“It’s”—Death looks at her watch—“It’s after ten.”
Emma looks embarrassed. “That’s my fault. He stopped by after working in the cafeteria to bring us a snack, and we started discussing the appropriate circumstances under which to use a defibrillator on a patient.”
“Right.” Jo grunts, nodding along. “This knucklehead thought you could shock a heart with no rhythm back to life. Isn’t that a hoot?”
“Jo and I were explaining that you can’t shock a heart in asystole, only ventricular fibrillation or pulseless ventricular tachycardia. We must have lost track of the time.” Emma makes her way toward me as she talks, and wraps an arm around my shoulders like a blanket. Or armor.
Death stands there, hands on hips, regarding the three of us with unconcealed suspicion. “Come with me, Andrew.”
“Uh . . .” I stand and take a backward step. “I should really be getting home. My parents are probably wondering where I am.”
“Are his release forms on file?” Death asks Emma. “Surely you haven’t been letting him volunteer without filling out the appropriate release forms?”
Her questions are met with stony silence. I first ran into Emma while working in the cafeteria. We chatted about how I wanted to be a doctor, and she invited me to visit the ER. They’ve never questioned why I keep returning. All they’ve demanded for my continued presence is a steady supply of doughnuts.
“I’m sure I filled out something, right, guys?” I edge slowly away, preparing to make a break for it when Death attacks.
Death walks around the station, reclaiming the space I put between us with only a few high-heeled footsteps. She’s right in front of me. Her brown hair is pulled back into a severe ponytail, drawing up the corners of her bloodshot eyes, and her knee-length skirt makes her legs appear far longer than could ever be possible. She towers over me.
“Come with me, Andrew. We’ll contact your parents and sort this out.”
“There’s nothing to sort. And my parents are busy.” One step back.
“I can reach them.” Death extends her hand.
Jo glances from me to Death and back to me again. “Andrew, maybe you’d better go with her. You can fill out all the release forms and come back tomorrow.”
Traitor. Jo’s trying to save her own skin. Maybe I don’t blame her. Maybe I do.
“Michelle,” Emma pipes up—sweet, dependable Emma. “Honestly, Drew’s been no trouble at all.”
Death points her fiendish gaze at me. Her eyes are like cold, dead suns drifting in an empty void of nothingness. And that’s what I’ll be if she takes me. A void. Nothing. “I’ve noticed that Mr. Brawley seems to spend an unhealthy amount of time in this hospital, and I simply want reassurance from his parents that they know and approve of his whereabouts.”
Emma sighs, looks at me apologetically, and gives Death a nod. It was such a little nod that it was almost imperceptible. But I saw it. Emma sold me out to my nemesis.
“Jo’s right, Drew. The faster you clear this up, the faster you can return.”
I take another step backward and hit the wall. There’s nowhere else for me to go. “I don’t want to go with her,” I say, but my champions have forsaken me. Patient F would battle his way out, slicing off arms and legs, taking no prisoners. But I am not Patient F.
“We’re only going to my office, Andrew,” Death says. “Please don’t force me to call security.”
I know it’s a bluff. She won’t call security. Death is greedy and wants me all for herself. But I can’t run, because I’ll never be able to return, and I can’t leave with Death, because she might discover who I really am. Either way, I risk losing everything.
Emma and Jo regard me curiously, as if they’re beginning to have their own doubts. I want to hate them for their betrayal and cowardice, but I can’t. I don’t.
All my hatred is directed at Death.
“Fine.” That’s all I say before I fly out of the emergency room, leaving Death to catch up.
I don’t know exactly where her office is, but I know where the administrative offices are, so I make my way there on autopilot while my brain works in a hyperpanic to invent a story that will cover my tracks. My fear, now that Death has my scent, is that it won’t take her long to realize I’m the guy who got away from her—the wayward soul she’s been hunting all this time.
Death doesn’t run to catch up with me. She glides across the floor as if it’s a frozen pond, skating smoothly over the surface until she draws up beside me and matches her stride to mine. We don’t speak as we walk. The only sounds are the clicking of her heels and the uninterested grunts of hello from passing doctors and nurses. She subtly takes the lead. I’m not stupid. Death is handling me.
; “Here we are.” Death leads me into a room, a hole in the wall, really. There are no windows. Death lives and works in a coffin.
The office is small, maybe the size of Lexi’s room, but dominated by a cheap particleboard desk piled high with folders and loose papers. There’s paperwork everywhere, even on her keyboard and spilling over the top of her monitor.
This is not what I expected. This is not the well-groomed woman who sits quietly at lunch reading through folders, meticulously eating.
Death is overworked. Death is a slob.
“Have a seat, Andrew.” Death points to one of the two chairs positioned at the front of her desk.
“I’d rather stand.”
“Suit yourself.” She settles into the nearest chair and crosses her left leg over her right. She lets out a sigh that causes her whole body to shiver. “My apologies. It’s been a very long day.”
“Maybe I should leave, then.” I glance at the door.
“Not so fast.” Death stares at me, unsmiling. “First, tell me why you spend so much time in this hospital.” I swear she hasn’t blinked once since she snuck up behind me in the ER.
I rest my hands on the back of the chair. It feels safer keeping something solid between us. “I work for Mr. Jaworski in the cafeteria.”
Death nods. “I know, and I’ll be speaking to him tomorrow.”
My palms are an ocean of sweat, and I wonder if Death can smell my terror. Does she know that Arnold is paying me under the table? If not, what will she do when she finds out? Maybe she already knows everything and is merely toying with me. “I work in the caf, and my grandma is in long-term care.”
“You mean Eleanor Brawley?”
That stops me cold. She knows about Grandma Brawley. I am Death’s plaything.
“Andrew,” Death says, “it’s admirable that you visit your grandmother and that you spend time with your friends in Pediatrics—heaven knows those kids need all the friends they can get—and that you work and volunteer. But I worry about you spending too much time here.”
I clear my throat, swallowing the lump in it. “It’s . . . it’s summer,” I say. “Lots of free time. And these people are my friends.”