“Oh mygod, Nate.”
He’s blushing—I don’t even have to see his face to know it. I grin, because that scandalized tone was what I’d been shooting for. “Sorry.”
“I can let you go if you want to go have fun. I just wanted to tell you about Carter, since I know you played together.”
“Nah, you’re good. I’m not feeling it tonight, so you’re giving me a good excuse to hide outside.” Scooting backward in the truck bed, I stretch my legs out and lean against the rear of the cab. Tipping my head back and closing my eyes, I settle in to listen. “Tell me about the gardening in Antarctica.”
8
Marcos
I try notto fidget as I wait for the doctor, feeling ridiculous and more than a little embarrassed in the thin paper gown. I can feel cold air blowing on the exposed skin of my upper back, sending goose bumps skittering down my spine. The patient table is too tall—as they usually are—and I idly kick my feet in the open air as I wait, attempting to calm down a little bit. I try to organize my thoughts, and prepare what I want to say to the doctor. When I’d called to make the appointment, I’d given them only a vagueI need a general checkupand left it at that. Before I can cobble together some sort of script, however, the door opens to admit a middle-aged woman in a white coat. I clear my throat, and straighten so that I’m no longer hunched over.
“Marcos?” I nod, and she holds out a hand for me to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Dr. Adrianna Radford—I’ll be taking care of you today.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, twisting my fingers together in mylap and trying to convince myself this is the same as any other time I’ve been to the doctor. I need to relax. It’s just like a routine physical for baseball—nothing to get worked up about.
Dr. Radford leans over the small sink in the corner, washing her hands. She looks over at me and smiles a small, friendly smile that is obviously intended to put me at ease.
“I noticed this is your first time visiting us, so I’m going to start with a routine exam. After that, we can chat about what brought you in today. Sound good?”
“Sure.”
She goes through the motions in near silence, speaking only to tell me what she’s doing or to ask me to move a certain way. When she listens to my lungs and heart—the stethoscope cold on my chest and back—she smiles at me and murmurs a softexcellent.I relax as she does the exam, feeling more comfortable now than I was when I first got here. I think I could actually see myself telling her what my problem really is.
“Well, Marcos, you are a very fit young man,” she praises me, sitting down at the desk and inputting a few things into the computer. “Do you get enough sleep at night?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“And you feel well-rested in the morning?” she presses, apparently sniffing out a lie in that response. I shift, and the paper covering the table crinkles softly.
“Sometimes,” I reply, dodging the truth. She adds a note, and proceeds to ask me a few more leading questions. I try to answer as honestly as I can, but lying about how I’m doing has become second nature at this point. Several times I remind myself that I’m here for her help, and withholding the reality isn’t going to make that easier for her.
“And is there anything in particular that brought you in today, or merely a wellness exam?”
Taking a deep breath, I sit up a little straighter once more. I can do this. I said it to Nate, and I can say it to a doctor.
“Well, actually, there is something else. I…I think there’s something really wrong with me. I, uhm, I sometimes…I don’t like it when people touch me. A lot of the time, actually.”
I say this last part in a rush of air, the words exhaling out of me so fast they barely sound like words at all. Dr. Radford doesn’t even blink, just rests her linked hands on her lap and regards me calmly.
“Can you tell me a little more about that?”
“Well, it’s not—I have a big family and growing up there was never anyspace, you know? I’ve never liked being that close to people, but it wasn’t ever a problem. I just didn’t like it. I could go have a sleepover at Max’s house, and sleep in his bed and be fine. But now…”
She waits patiently, before gently encouraging me to continue when I take too long to keep talking.
“But now things have changed?” she prompts. I nod.
“Sometimes, I get sick. Like, when someone’s sweaty arm touches mine in the locker room, it makes me feel like my skin is too tight and like I’m burning up with a fever. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t breathe, and my heart beats strangely. I don’t know the right words to describe it.”
She nods. “Okay. And when did this start getting worse? Recently?”
“About two years ago.” I hesitate, because I think I can pinpoint the exact date things started getting worse. “Me and my best friend transferred here at the start of our sophomore year, and it was…it was a really stressful year.”
“Okay. We’ll circle back to that in a moment. Did it bother you when I was examining you, just now?”
I shake my head. “No, that was fine.”
