Camp-goers shriek and whip out their phones. Some must be Snapchatting a video, their cameras pointed at him for a while.
A girl strolls nearby and stops dead still. Wide-eyed. “Oh. My. God.”
I know.
I stretch my arm, my blood rushing down to my dick.
She whips out her phone and narrates. “He’s more beautiful in person.”
Accurate.
“Are you guys seeing this?!” she shrieks in glee to her video followers.
“Boners and wet pussies everywhere,” Oscar whispers to me.
I shove his arm.
He laughs.
Then we both quiet and watch a redhead simultaneously sprint and gawk at Maximoff. Completely not paying attention to her feet. Like slow motion, her ankle catches on a tree root. She collapses hard with a loudthunk.
Maximoff saw the whole thing. And of course, he’s the first one sprinting to the girl. I already grab the first-aid bag.
“Akara to Farrow. You’re the closest with first aid. Doesn’t look bad enough for a real doctor.”
I roll my eyes and click my mic, mid-jog. “Iama doctor.” I have an MD.
While I slow down to the girl and Maximoff, Donnelly has to chime in, “Anyone else think it’s strange heonlyreminds us that he’s a doctor when we say he’snota doctor? Any other time, he’s the one telling us he can’t prescribe medicine. Can’t work in a hospital. Can’t?—”
I swivel my radio’s knob. Cutting him off in my ear. I squat down beside the girl. She clutches her ankle, wincing.
Maximoff is knelt close. Me and him exchange one look in brisk greeting.
“Hey, sweetie,” I say to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Ella.” She winces through her teeth.
Maximoff says to me, “I think it’s just a sprain,”
I tilt my head. “And what year did you graduate medical school?”
“What year did you finish that residency?”
“Still better than you.”
He gives me a middle finger and a few cameras flash. #HMCCampAway has been trending on Twitter all day. Maximoff even has a link on his profile page to donate to One More Day.
I focus on Ella. She came down on her hands, then head. “Are you dizzy?”
“A little.”
I slide the first-aid bag to Maximoff who is dying to do something. He’s such a fixer. “Find an ice pack.”
I inspect her ankle: reddened skin, not a lot of swelling. I press a few fingers on the area. “Does this hurt?” I ask, but she’s already shoving my hands away.
Then she bemoans like I stabbed her throat.
Okay.
