The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,53
painting. So, we’re quits.”
I look at her, confused. She’s radiating all this anger, back to being tense and messed-up like she was at her dad’s house and the Loft. But we got what she wanted; it’s over now. “Why are you being like this? You should be happy; we came through for you!”
“Gee, thanks.” Jolene is sarcastic. “What do you want, a gold star?” She sighs. “You know what? Here is fine.” She opens the door suddenly, climbing out onto the sidewalk.
“Jolene,” Meg calls after her, “it’s the middle of the night!”
“And I can take care of myself.” Jolene hoists her backpack up. She looks in the car, cold. “What, did you think we were going to sit around painting each other’s toenails now? Get a life.”
She stops at the end of the street and hops the low fence onto the golf course. Her ruffles get caught on the top, and she yanks at them furiously before disappearing into the night.
“Should we go after her?” Meg asks, worried.
“Why bother?” I can’t believe that she’s being such a bitch about things, when we risked our lives — well, our good reputations — to go in and save her ass. Some thanks we get. “She wants out, she gets out.”
By the time Meg pulls in to the hospital lot, my ankle is the size of a cantaloupe and hurting like hell. “Do you want me to get a wheelchair?” Meg eyes it dubiously.
“I think I can deal,” I say, “if I just kind of . . . hop.”
She helps me out of the car, and we hobble toward the ER. It’s not the biggest hospital in the area; the serious stuff goes straight to County, so at this time of night, the waiting room is mostly empty — just a couple of drunks slouched in the far corner, a mother whose kid has half a toy tree shoved up his nose, and a middle-aged man cradling an ice pack in his lap. I don’t even want to know.
“Hey, Luann?” Meg taps on the safety glass. “Can we get through?”
“Sure, sweetie.” There’s a click, and the doors swish open. A pale, red-haired nurse in her twenties is running intake, one of those plastic toy stethoscopes draped around her neck. She looks at us with concern. “It’s late for you to be out, Meg. Is your dad OK?”
Meg nods quickly. “Everything’s fine. But Bliss here tripped and hurt her ankle. She just needs a dressing.”
Luann relaxes. “Oh, you poor thing.” She doesn’t flinch at the sight of my gruesome foot, swiveling on her chair to check a chart. “I’ll have Patrick come by and wrap you up. You girls just wait in the staff lounge. He won’t be long.”
“How do they know you here?” I ask, limping down the hall. I’m leaning heavily on Meg, so I can feel her body stiffen at the question.
She shrugs, guiding me down the hallway. “I volunteer every weekend. I want to go to med school,” she adds, “and you need things like that on your applications.”
“You really do plan ahead,” I say, impressed. I wouldn’t drag myself here, just for some school I might want to go to four, five years down the line. “I bet you’ve got everything all figured out.”
She looks down, self-conscious, so I quickly add, “No, that’s a good thing! I mean, you’re making it happen. I bet you’ll get into whatever college you want.”
Meg gives me a pale smile. “I hope so. Otherwise . . . well, I suppose all this will have been for nothing.”
I collapse onto one of the couches, propping my foot up. It’s a small room, with lockers, a fridge, and an old TV set in the corner. Not exactly luxury, but after all the running around we’ve done tonight, it’s kind of a relief just to stay in one place for a while — without the threat of cops/parents/evil sorority girls chasing us down at any moment.
Meg yawns.
“I know; it’s getting late.” I try to resist the urge to crash.
“Oh. No.” She shakes her head quickly. “I’m fine. It’s just, after all that adrenaline, I’m coming back down.”
“Relax,” I tell her, grinning. “You’re allowed to be tired. Tonight’s been crazy.”
She exhales. “It has, hasn’t it? I can’t believe you guys talked me into even half that stuff.”
I bite my lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t have.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“I mean, piling on all the pressure.” I shift, feeling even more guilty as I remember the way me and Jolene