by Julie Cross
I roll my eyes. “Why is it that I’m labeled the weird one?”
The amusement falls from his face and his expression turns serious. “I guess I didn’t realize that you did, you know, like real doctor stuff.”
“What did you think I did?” I shake my head. People are so strange sometimes.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Like diagnostic equations or answering fancy questions?”
I laugh. “Fancy questions?”
“Genius-people questions.” He holds the door open to the dorm, letting me in first. “So you’ve been in charge of patients and actual treatment? Can you do anything crazy, like take out an appendix?”
“I’m a surgical intern, so yeah. Appendectomies are typically one of the first solo surgeries doctors perform.”
His mouth falls open. “You’ve done it alone?”
“If by alone you mean with half a dozen nurses, a couple of anesthesiologists, and a resident and an attending watching over my shoulder, then yes.”
“Damn,” he mumbles under his breath. “I almost forgot … I have something for you to look at in my room.”
I charge up the stairs ahead of him. “Is this your way of getting me alone for some more intentional touching? Because if it is, I think we should shower first, don’t you?”
“I love how you act like it doesn’t rattle you. And no, that’s not exactly what I had in mind. Especially after being labeled unprofessional the other night by my co-workers.”
Does that mean he’s not going to almost kiss me again? Or actually kiss me? Is it really against the RA rules? Maybe I need to get hold of his employee handbook.
I do my best to ignore the tiny nudge of disappointment that wells up inside me. I really need to make more friends. Meet some different guys. Then I’ll be able to shift my thoughts elsewhere.
I refuse to enter Marshall’s room until both of us have showered and changed. By the time I’m approaching his door again, pulling my wet hair into a bun, he’s got his cell phone pressed to his ear. But he nods for me to come in, and after I do, he closes the door almost all the way, then reaches for it again, swinging it halfway open. Hmm … concerned about his professionalism again?
“Did you tell anyone?” he says to whomever he’s on the phone with. “Not even your teacher?”
He wraps up his conversation in under a minute and sets his phone down on the desk beside where I’m standing. “My littlest little sister, Allie. She’s having trouble with some kids at school.”
“Hold old is she?” I ask.
“Eight. And she’s terrible about standing up for herself. It sucks.” He shakes his head. “I forgot to call her back last night. I feel like an ass.”
I open my mouth to ask another question, but I’m interrupted by Marshall’s phone playing a Selena Gomez song. I glance at the name. I can’t help myself.
Peppercorn.
Marshall swipes it up and sighs before he answers, holding up one finger, instructing me to wait. “Hey, P … Yeah, I know. I just talked to her.… What do you want me to do?” He leans over his desk and jots down an email address. “I already know what Dad will say.” He laughs. “Don’t forget, if all else fails, kick ’em in the nuts.”
He hangs up again and powers up his laptop. “I’m sorry, Izzy. Do you have class?”
“Not until eleven.” I walk over to the bed and plop down on the end.
“I just need to send an email to Allie’s teacher,” he says. “It’ll take two seconds. Allie’s afraid to tell my parents. My dad still lives by the motto ‘Stand up to bullies,’ and that doesn’t fly in today’s school system. And my mom goes nuts because someone’s bothering her baby, you know?”
“I’ve dealt with my share of bullies,” I admit, thinking about my early years in foster care. It was every kid for himself or herself. The ultimate exercise in survival of the fittest—attention from the adults in our lives being the most sought-after prize.
“Was that another one of your sisters who called?” I ask. I still can’t get over the fact that he has four siblings.
Marshall keeps his back to me, typing his email. “Yeah, that’s my second-littlest sister, Renee.”
“Why does your phone call her Peppercorn?”
He turns around to face me and laughs. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll think it’s mean.”
“Come on,” I plead. “I’m not exactly Miss Ethical over here, so spill.”
He goes back to his email but continues talking. “Me and my older brother, Jesse, gave her a peppercorn when she was five and told her it was chocolate. She ate it.”
I snatch a pillow from the bed and throw it at the back of his head. “You’re right, that’s so mean. And you must not be sorry or you wouldn’t have kept up with the nickname.”
He shrugs, hits Send on his email, and then stands up. “She likes the name. Eight years later and she’s still incredibly proud of the fact that she didn’t shed a tear. She’s the opposite of Allie. Grits her teeth and doesn’t let anyone see that she’s upset.”
I retrieve the thrown pillow and arrange it neatly on the bed again. “So what’s the deal with these bullies? She’s not a super-genius, is she? Because I know all about that kind of bullying.” That’s the reason my parents went with home-schooling until I was allowed to start college.
And this is the type of small talk I’m supposed to be making, right? Asking for information rather than learning it through observation.
He shakes his head but seems to hesitate, like he can’t decide if he wants to explain but finally does. “Allie walks kind of weird, trips a lot. Her foot turns in.”
“Internal tibial torsion or increased femoral anteversion?”
Marshall scratches his head, his forehead wrinkling. “No idea. Should I know that?”
“To what degree is she turning inward?” I hold my hand up and turn my fingers toward my chest to demonstrate. His face is still blank, which makes me laugh. “Never mind. Have they put her in a brace or suggested any surgeries?”
“No.” He seems pleased with himself that he’s able to answer one question at least.
“It’s increased femoral anteversion. The anteversion manifests because of the way the femur is attached to the hip socket. Her femur is slightly twisted.” I tap my right thigh. “The only way to correct it is to surgically remove the entire leg and reattach it—”
Marshall lifts his hands to stop me. “See? This is why I hesitated to explain. That sounds barbaric.”
“Which is why no orthopedic surgeon would perform that surgery unless, maybe, the anteversion was so severe the patient couldn’t walk.”
“We’re talking about my baby sister, not a patient. It’s not possible for me to discuss leg removal of any kind with Allie involved. But,” he says, clearly ready to change the subject, “I have involved my sisters in another, more relevant topic.” He walks across the room and stands in front of his large white board. There’s a towel draped over it. “With their help, I’ve created an extensive list of typical college and teenage activities you may have missed out on due to your unconventional education.”
I straighten up, my eyebrows already rising. This should be interesting. Marshall yanks the towel off, revealing his neatly written list.
Izzy’s Educational To-Do List
Created by Marshall Collins with collaborative input from Renee and Tracy Collins
1. Cultural assimilation: attend a school athletic event (Tracy recommends a football game, Marshall and Renee agree).
2. Literature: read at least five novels that are popular with female teenagers and have zero educational value (Renee recommends Twilight series books, Tracy says anything but Twilight; Marshall has never been a female teenager).
3. Chemistry: experiment with alcohol and/or other substances with similar purpose (Marshall did not seek out input from his sisters on this subject because he refuses to acknowledge that, at thirteen and sixteen, his sisters may know something about illegal substance use).
4. Art and design: create and use a fake ID (again, only Marshall’s idea).
5. Applied sciences: engage in rebellious acts (Tracy suggests a school-related prank, Renee suggests breaking school dress code but didn’t take into consideration the difference between her Catholic grade-school uniform and an average university dress code, and Marshall recommends cheating on a test).
6. Social studies: develop a variety of relationships (Tracy says dating multiple boys at once though Marshall says sixteen-year-old girls should not date any boys, Renee says eighth-grade boys are too immature to date, and Marshall recommends starting slow—like not pissing off your roommate for a week).
“What did you tell your sisters about me?” I ask after absorbing the list.
“That you’re a foreign exchange student and I’m helping you fit in.”
I laugh. “How many different lies are you going to come up with to explain why I’m such an oddity?”
He takes a seat in his desk chair, looking me over carefully. “You’re not an oddity, Izzy.”
The weight of his stare alone is enough to cause goose bumps to pop up all over my arms. I rub them hard, trying to force my skin back to normal. Maybe it isn’t just his stare. Maybe it’s the image of Marshall consciously seeking out advice from his sisters, standing in front of the board, probably last night, and writing down that list.
And what have I done to keep up my end of the deal? Helped him get a 60 on his latest quiz? I can do better than that. I have to do better than that.
“I’d like to start with applied sciences,” I say.
He looks back at the list, scanning it quickly. “The prank or the dress code violation?”
“Let’s go with your idea: cheating on a test.”
Surprise fills his expression. “All right, I’m listening …”
Chapter 10
“So what’s the deal with you and Marshall?” Kelsey asks.
I’ve noticed, over the past few days, that whenever she wants to have one of her psychoanalytical chats she sits at my desk instead of hers. Can we psychoanalyze that?
I shut the angsty teen novel I’ve been choking down for the last hour and roll over on my bed to face her. “What do you mean?”
“You spend a lot of time in his room,” she says, adjusting her black sports bra, then bending down to retie her shoes.
“With the door open,” I make sure to point out.
She allows a long, dramatic silence to fall between us before finally responding. “Marshall’s a really decent guy, but he’s not perfect. And I’ve never seen him date the same girl more than a couple times, probably long enough to bang her and move on. Not that he’s a man whore, just a typical guy having fun. And he’s had lots of gaps between girls, so he’s not always dating someone or anything—”
I’m laughing too hard for Kelsey to continue. “I guess you think home-schooled equates to zero experience with casual hookups?” Since I don’t fit the typical profile of a home-schooled student, I have to goad her a bit to find out what her version of this type is.
Kelsey’s eyebrows shoot up. “You seemed pretty freaked about my one-night stand. And now you’re hanging with Marsh all the time, reading books about girls obsessed with a boy. You never study. I’m not sure what classes you’re taking besides the one that Marsh is in, or even if you go to class at all. What am I supposed to think other than naive girl drowning in her crush on the older, more experienced boy?”
“First off …” I take a breath and bite back the rising frustration. “I’ve pretty much only done the casual hookup thing. I’ve never even been in the same universe as a relationship. But I would never let any of my naked female anatomy come in contact with naked male anatomy without proof of a clean bill of health. That doesn’t make me a naive prude.”
Her eyes widen, and she pulls herself upright. I immediately sit up and turn around. Marshall’s standing in the doorway, his hand raised in a fist like he’s about to knock on the door frame. Kelsey jumps to her feet and turns to me. “To be continued …”
Great. I can’t wait.
The second she’s out of the room, I lean against the wall and focus on the other side of the room over Marshall’s shoulder. I’m not willing to make eye contact at the moment. “I thought you had U.S. history.”
“Our quiz took ten minutes and then we were allowed to leave.” He picks up my latest novel and takes a seat on Kelsey’s bed. “How’s the book?”
I figure we’re not going to talk about what he most likely overheard. “Honestly, you should forbid your sisters from reading this shit. I didn’t think it was possible to lose IQ points from reading, but I’m positive I just did.”
“Good thing you have a few extra to spare.” He flips through the book, keeping his head down. “My brother gave me his tickets to the football game next Saturday. We should go.”
The way he says it, it doesn’t feel like it’s just an item on Izzy’s Educational To-Do List, but I could be overanalyzing this. Yet another reason that I really need to meet some new boys. ASAP.
“We can watch Kelsey cheer. That’s a good roommate bonding activity, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” He closes the book and sets it beside him. “Look, Izzy …” Okay, here we go—the “I have to be professional even if you have a crush on me” speech. “About your applied science plan …” All right, maybe not. “I’m not sure I can do that. It feels like I’m using you, and I don’t want that. Besides, you can’t take every test for me. At some point I have to learn the material.”
I roll my eyes and stand up. “Go get your books and laptop. We’ll study, you’ll learn as much as you can, and then I’ll make sure you get a decent enough grade to maintain your B average. You’re going to be a gym teacher, not a doctor. Who cares if you memorize all the names of the bones?” I look him over carefully. “Now can you ditch the bullshit guilt?”
His mouth pulls into that sexy half smile. “I think you gave a very convincing argument.”
While I’m waiting for Marshall to come back, my cell phone rings. I check the screen and hit ignore the second I see it’s Mom.
I’ve been doing this a lot lately, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m angry with my parents or if the fear of being alone is so heavy right now that I’m already trying to distance myself—ease out of their lives so that it hurts less later on.
I enter the unfamiliar lecture hall keeping my head up and making sure I appear completely confident in my need to be here for this exam. Marshall’s seated in the second-to-last row, just like we’d discussed over the past week. He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder to check if I’m here or not while the TAs are handing out test booklets. When the stack gets to Marshall, he turns no more than thirty degrees, sticks the booklet out in front of me, and spins to face forward again. I quickly jot down Marshall’s name and student ID number. All his studying helped him get a 77 on the last quiz, so he instructed me to aim for something not too flashy—like an 88.
It takes me exactly six minutes to scan the test and answer all fifty multiple choice and true/false questions correctly. And I’ll admit, my heart is pounding in that fearful yet excited way. It’s a lot like the feeling I’d get when a new gunshot-wound case was wheeled into the ER and Dr. Rinehart would let me examine the patient first and identify the bullet entry and exit wounds.
The process of choosing the six questions Marshall is likely to answer incorrectly isn’t very difficult, either, considering I’ve been pulling my hair out studying with him for the last week.
4. The basic unit of life is ____
A. The cell
B. Water
C. The atom
D. The heart
We’d studied this question many times and the dialogue went something like this …
“Easy. The heart.”
“No. The cell.”
“Okay, so it’s like the basic unit of life as in all living creatures, I thought this was a human anatomy course.”<
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“Regardless, it would still be the cell. And you know what? This is one question that will be on the exam exactly like this. No tricks or scenarios to talk yourself in circles around. All you have to do is memorize it.”
“But all those other answer choices are so tempting. I can’t just memorize it. I need a song or something to remember. Can you make up a song, Izzy?”
“Make up your own damn song!”
I smile down at the test booklet, erase A, and switch it to C.
28. Based on basic tissue type, which of the following terms does not belong grouped with the others?
A. Cartilage
B. Blood
C. Muscle
D. Ligament
“I have no idea.”
“Muscle. We’ve done this one three times already and I’ve told you the answer three times.”
“How do you memorize stuff?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ha! Finally, a question the great and powerful Izzy can’t answer.”
“Shut up. And surely you’ve memorized something in your life?”
“The Lord’s Prayer, but I spent nine years in Catholic school reciting it every single morning. It was more like brainwashing than memorization.”
“Anything else?”
“ ‘That groupie? She was a Band-Aid … all she did was love your band and you used her, all of you!’ ”
“What the hell was that?”
“Almost Famous.”
“Who’s almost famous?”
“You mean what is Almost Famous. It’s a movie. A fucking awesome movie. Okay, adding to Izzy’s Educational To-Do List item number seven—watch any and all fucking amazing movies that she has been deprived of.”
“If this is anything like the angsty teen novels, I’m vetoing addendum number seven.”
Once I’ve finished everything on the test and given Marshall his requested 88, I watch him from behind—his pencil is constantly being flipped over while he erases and recasts his answers. I can’t see his forehead from behind, but I’m sure it’s wrinkled and tense. By the time we’re told to pass our papers forward, it’s hard to tell if he’s made it through all fifty questions or not, but regardless, it doesn’t matter. His test will be tossed in the garbage. I’m not sure why he even bothered to try to answer all the questions.