it by standing up. The air suddenly turns black for a second as I grab hold of the seat in front of me. Suddenly, her arms are around me, helping me stand.
“Let’s get you off this bus,” she says, leading me down the aisle, and then the steps. “My grandmother is picking me up.
Mom and I haven’t been getting along since my dad left, so Grams said I could live with her for a while. Who’s picking you up?”
My foot catches on something, and I almost go down, but she keeps hold of me. “No one.”
We walk to the side of the bus, and she leans me against it.
“Let’s get your luggage and then we’ll find Grams.”
“I don’t have any luggage,” I say, trying to feel my legs beneath me.
“I just have a backpack,” the girl says. She takes her ticket, shows it to the driver, and collects her pack.
I try to stand on my own, try to balance with one hand on the bus. When I feel somewhat steady, I let go, but I feel sweat against my back. I want to take Gene’s jacket off, but I can see my breath. I know it’s cold outside, but I feel hot.
“Let’s find Grams,” she says, taking my arm again. “We’ll get you to a hospital.”
“No.” I pull away from her and almost stumble backward.
2 9 9
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
“No hospitals. If you can . . .” Think. Think. Think. “A pharmacy,” I say. “If you can drop me off at a pharmacy, that would be great. I just need my medicine. And I can call someone from there to get me.”
She considers me, and I think she knows I won’t get into a car with her and “Grams” unless she agrees to do what I ask.
“Fine,” she says. “Let’s go find her.”
3 0 0
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
s he a drug addict?” the old lady asks for the second time.
“No. He has a fever. He had his appendix out a few weeks ago. I think he has an infection.”
“Then we should take him to a doctor.”
“He wants to go to a pharmacy.”
“Because he’s a drug addict,” the old lady says loudly, like she wants me to know she has me figured out. “We’re not taking him home with us. He’ll rummage through my medicine cabinet and take all my pills.”
“We just need to take him to a pharmacy,” the girl says, her voice strained like she’s trying not to get into a fight with her grandmother before they even make it home.
“Sorry for the trouble,” I manage to say from the backseat.
“I really appreciate the ride.”
“Where are your parents?” the old lady asks, her voice even louder.
“It’s a long story,” I say. And I’m in no shape to tell it right now, I want to add. “I’ll call them soon, I promise.”
3 0 1
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
We stop at a traffic light, and she turns to look at me. Her face is round, her hair is dyed pitch-black. She’s wearing bright red lipstick, and with her white complexion, she looks like a senior citizen who’s gone Goth. Her mouth twitches a little.
“There’s a pharmacy on the next corner. I’ll drop you off if you promise to call your folks and quit using drugs.”
I’d laugh if I didn’t hurt so much. “I promise.”
We pull into a pharmacy parking lot. The girl gets out of the front seat, comes around to the back, and helps me out.
“I’ll walk you in,” she says, and I realize that I don’t know her name. I also realize that, at this moment, I don’t care.
“It’s okay,” I say, lifting my arms in a ta-da motion to show her I can make it inside on my own. “Thank you. Really,” I say, and my eyes start to tear because of the pain and because of Virginia and Gene and now this girl who’s so nice and is so plain and ordinary, and to me, that seems so extraordinary and wonderful, because being superior sucks.
She gives me a smile, but doesn’t get back in the car. Not immediately. Not until she knows I can make it inside on my own.
Thank God the doors are automatic.
The clerk at the front register is chewing away at a piece of gum as she rings up a giant package of toilet paper. She looks at me.
“Pharmacy counter?” I ask.
She stops chewing,