The nurse was a robust woman, squeezed into a wrinkled white uniform, scuffed white shoes. Her hair was a mass of torched red curls. Her face was sprinkled with freckles—flecks of toasted cheese floating on her pink skin. She sat in an armless office chair she used to wheel herself around the tiny room, moving as recklessly as a drunk driver. The chair wheezed beneath her girth and the black wheels skidded across the dingy floor as she came barreling toward Alex. A second before she lost control of the chair and slammed him into a wall, she caught herself by using the palm of her right hand as a brake and gripping the edge of a waist-high yellow counter.
“Jesus,” Alex muttered at the sight of the commotion she created.
The nurse was a slob. Her work space was in a state of irreparable disarray: students’ personal information spewed out of the sides of overstuffed manila folders, a half-eaten Milky Way candy bar poked out from beneath piles of smudged paperwork. Unopened boxes of tongue depressors and latex gloves covered any empty counter space they could find.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asked too sweetly, perhaps unsure if Alex spoke English since his skin was a few shades darker than hers.
Alex knew the situation was a serious one, but he was distracted by the run in the nurse’s opaque stockings. It started behind her left knee, stretching down to the back of her thick ankle. Her flesh, tarnished by purple-blue varicose veins, seeped through the tear in the taut nylon. Alex continued to stare at the run. It was like a scar, a second layer of skin gutted open to reveal a person hidden beneath a Gila Monster’s disguise.
Heloderma suspectum, Alex thought to himself proudly. He was still fascinated by the scientific names of things, considering it a personal victory when he knew what they were. He contemplated saying the words aloud, as he was certain the Gila Monster in white would have no idea in the world of science she was better known as Heloderma suspectum.
The nurse cleared her congested throat and Alex raised his dark eyes to meet hers. “Are you listening to me?” she pressed.
Alex’s voice cracked a little. His mouth was so dry from the lack of air in the suffocating office. The windowless room was no larger than a closet and it reeked of mildew. Alex nodded in agreement and said, “I think he needs an ambulance…ma’am.”
The nurse shook her head. “He doesn’t want one. He refuses.” She reached for a clear plastic jar of cotton balls, sitting on a wobbly black metal shelf bolted into the wall above the messy counter. “I offered to call his mother.”
“She isn’t home,” Alex explained. “She hasn’t been home in five months.” He thought about making a remark about the affair Martha had with his father, but he fought the impulse.
The nurse continued, as if she were reading a list of her responsibilities and checking them off. “I offered to get a teacher or the principal.”
“They’re all useless,” Alex countered.
“I offered to drive him to the hospital myself.” She reached for a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and unscrewed the white cap. “The only person he wanted me to find was you.”
Alex glanced out of the open door of the office and into the hallway. Robby, half slumped over and half-conscious, sat in an orange plastic and chrome chair much too small even for his skinny frame. As if he sensed Alex’s eyes, Robby struggled to raise his head and look up. The right side of his face was beaten and bruised. His eye was swollen shut. His lips were busted and cracked, parched with slashes of broken skin and caked blood. His nose was now crooked and darkening by the second. He searched for Alex, his eyes wandering around the room, fighting to focus. “Well, I’m here now,” Alex said, mostly to Robby.
The nurse lowered her voice, wheeled her chair closer to Alex. She picked up the phone. “I’ll notify the police.”
Alex’s jaw tightened. “What for?”
“Robby should press charges against the boys who did this to him,” the nurse insisted.
Alex looked down at the adult, stared her directly in the eyes. “You and I both know what this is about.”
The nurse didn’t falter. “I’ve heard things,” she admitted. “I thought it was just talk.”
“Talk?” Alex repeated.
“He’s…a sensitive boy.” When Alex’s eyes demanded a further explanation, she added, “He’s…soft.”
Alex shook his head, displeased with her description of Robby. “He isn’t a pillow.”
The nurse raised an eyebrow. “Then who is he to you?” she challenged.
Alex felt a strange mixture of emotions clench the sides of his throat. It was a violent feeling, a combination of rage and sorrow. “The boy sitting in that chair is the only person in this entire world who means anything to me.”
“It’s none of my business,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
The wick of anger had been ignited in Alex. It was a fury he hadn’t felt since his mother had hanged herself in the garage last August. “This place is barbaric,” he assessed. “A disgusting zoo full of dumb fucks who can’t even spell their names right.”
“I understand you’re upset.” She was placating him with her sticky voice again, and it made Alex even angrier.
“The cops won’t do dick about this, and you and I both know it.”
She was adamant. “No,” she insisted, still sounding rehearsed. “A crime was committed.”
“It’s bullshit. They’ll turn the other cheek because Robby is a freak to them. He’s a fag and everybody knows it.”
Her cheeks burned. “Will you lower your voice, please? He can hear you.”
Alex had to smile, amused by the absurdity of it all. “Even the teachers talk about him.”
She looked away. Guilty. “I’ve never heard—”
“The teachers are more ignorant than the white-trash rednecks they try to tame long enough to teach them the alphabet.”
The nurse pushed her chair back, nearly smacking into the wall behind her. “I think I should call someone.”
“Who?” Alex waited for her to answer. “There is no one to call except me. That’s what he told you.”
“Maybe you should take him home now.” She took a quick, short breath and added, “After the situation with his stepfather, I’m sure the students will be…disturbed by what’s happened to Robby.”
“This has nothing to do with what Mr. LaMont did.”
Her emotions started to surface when she said, with a strain, “I know that.”
Alex lowered himself so he was eye level with the nurse. He leaned in close and said in his best imitation of a Southern drawl, “Robby’s only saving grace in this situation is he wasn’t born black.”
The nurse didn’t even blink, holding Alex’s stare. “That isn’t fair.”
Alex shot words right back at her. “They would’ve killed him if he were.”
“It isn’t like that here…anymore. Georgia is a very diverse place to live.”
Alex almost laughed. “For who? My mother was Armenian. Look what happened to her.”
“It’s a small town,” the nurse offered, apologizing on behalf of every citizen of Tanglewood County.
Alex forced a tight smile, shoving the ripening wrath into an empty slot in his soul. “No matter how hard you try to understand the life of boys like Robby, you can’t. You’re a dumb-shit school nurse who doesn’t have a clue. Don’t sit here in your squeaky chair and try to convince me you understand how we feel or what we go through. Until you get your fat ass up and walk a million miles in our shoes, spare me the sympathy. You’re doing a job, counting down the days until you can retire and stuff your face on an overbooked cruise ship.” Alex pulled away from her, stood up. He felt revived; surged with pride.
Instantly, the Gila Monster exploded into tears, her cool façade crumbled into delicate pieces. She covered her mouth with her hand, choking on heavy sobs. Her upper body trembled as she leaned slightly forward and cried. Thick, hot tears slid down her face and splashed onto her uniform, into her lap, onto the
backs of her freckled hands.
Alex shoved his own hands into the back pockets of his faded jeans. He rocked back on his heels, his big toes stretching and pressing against the inside tips of his worn-thin black and white Converse shoes. “Good God, what are you crying for?” Alex asked, louder than he intended. “You don’t need to cry.”
“I’m so sorry,” the nurse whimpered.
“Hey,” Alex offered, his words a feeble apology. “I didn’t mean it. It’s not your fault, all right?”
“But it is my fault,” she wailed. “You don’t understand.” She reached a hand up and grabbed a fistful of Alex’s baggy gray T-shirt. “I’m sorry your mother killed herself, Alex. I’m sorry I didn’t know anything about you. I found your student file this afternoon and I’m ashamed to say…I’ve never read it.” She loosened the hold she had on his shirt and Alex began to breathe again. “I didn’t even know you were Armenian until today. God forgive me, but I just thought you had a nice tan.”
“This isn’t about me,” he replied coolly.
“It terrifies me, what they did to him.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her words shaky. “I’ve never seen something like this. Not in twenty-two years.”
“Good,” Alex told her, stepping back. “The minute this sort of thing becomes routine, we’ve lost hope.”
Slowly, the nurse stood up. She tried desperately to smooth out the wrinkles on the front of her uniform. She tugged at the material around her hips, trying to lower the hemline on her skirt, to cover the front of her knees. She inhaled deeply and then said to Alex, “I’m just like you.”
Alex shot her a look, not sure of what she meant. “You don’t look Armenian to me.”
The nurse wiped at her eyes with her fingertips. She laughed a little, small and nervous. “That’s not what I meant, Alex. I live with another woman. We’ve been together for six years.”
Alex was impressed the school nurse had confessed she was a lesbian, but he didn’t show her an ounce of approval. “I don’t care what you are,” he responded. “I just want to make sure Robby and I live until Thursday. As soon as we graduate—”
“It doesn’t scare you? The fact he needs you so much. You’re both only eighteen.”
“And in a year, we’ll be nineteen. Not much will change for us between now and then.”
“How can you be so sure? You’re just a child. Both of you are so young. I mean, is this what the two of you really want?” The nurse suddenly reminded Alex of the hostess of a daytime talk show. Her questions felt scripted again, planned.
Alex reached for the bottle of peroxide. He scooped up a handful of cotton balls. “It’s not about making a choice. Robby and I found each other. We just knew…”
“For whatever it’s worth—”
“I think you and I have said enough to each other,” Alex decided. “You’re just doing your job.”
She lowered her head, her eyes. “Not very well, I’m afraid.”
“At least you’re here.” Alex offered her a small smile. “Do you mind if I clean him up a little? I’d like to get him out of here before sixth period ends. You know what Fridays are like around here.”
The nurse straightened the collar on her uniform. “I think Robby would prefer it.”
“Alex Bainbridge, you’re the only son of a bitch I know who can make the school nurse cry.”
Both Alex and the nurse turned toward the scarlet voice in the doorway.
“Have you no mercy?” Jillian Dambro asked. Almost nineteen years old and seven months pregnant, Jillian commanded the room. She was carrying a straw handbag emblazoned with an embroidered pink magnolia on it. She looked at Alex with new sparkling green eyes and waited for an answer.
“She and I were having a private conversation,” he explained.
“I hope one of you had the decency to call the cops.” Jillian’s powerful presence made her appear even taller than she was. Her head turned, sharply, toward Alex. “Stop staring at me like that. We’re in the middle of a crisis.”
“You’re wearing colored contacts,” he said, with thick disgust. “I got used to the whole black hair thing, but this is ridiculous.”
“I wanted to call the police,” the Gila Monster offered. She suddenly appeared nervous, anxious, as if she wanted to be acknowledged. Alex had figured it out long ago—Jillian had that type of effect on people. Everyone she met suddenly wanted to become her best friend, her disciple.
The nurse turned to Alex and came to Jillian’s defense with, “I think she looks like Bettie Page.”
“Thank you, Giselle,” Jillian replied to her and the nurse beamed, her thin lips curling into a tortured smile.
“Green?” Alex continued. “Your eyes are brown, Jillian.”
“Alex, can you try to focus on the issue at hand, please?” she responded. “I paid eighty bucks for these things to make myself feel better about resembling a bloated sea creature. Will somebody please tell me what happened to Robby, or do neither one of you give a shit?”
Alex let out a sharp breath. “Can you try to not talk like a call girl for one afternoon?”
“Don’t get pissy with me. I got my fat ass down here because Mrs. Gregory told me a bunch of fuck wads tried to bash Robby’s skull in.”
In the hallway, Robby shifted uncomfortably in the tiny chair he’d been forced to sit in while the others around him argued over his welfare. Alex knew how much it bothered Robby to have people make a fuss over him; he hated to be the cause of someone’s anxiety. Alex stepped forward, knowing he needed to lighten the mood. He threw his words at Jillian. “You look like a giant watermelon.” It worked. Robby tried to smile and his shoulders relaxed a little.
Jillian glanced down at the white maternity shirt she was wearing, which was sprinkled with tiny pink and green polka dots. “Oh my God, I do.” She turned her back to Giselle and Alex, directed her loud words to Robby. “Sweetie, don’t feel so bad. With my new pair of eyes, I look like a fucking slice of fruit.”
“Hey.” Alex tugged on the short sleeve of her shirt. “How in the hell do you know the nurse’s real name?”
Jillian moved, facing Alex again. “She used to write notes for me so I could skip P.E.”
“Jillian and I go way back,” Giselle gushed.
“Did Giselle tell you that she and Miss Hoffman have been having a hot and heavy affair since we were in the seventh grade?” Jillian asked matter-of-factly. Giselle’s cheeks singed with heat, showing her embarrassment.
“Your P.E. teacher?” Alex asked.
Jillian rolled her eyes, tucked a strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear, and shot at him, “Don’t be such a cliché, asshole. Miss Hoffman teaches German.”
Alex threw a look over at Giselle. “Ew. You’re doing my old German teacher?”
Giselle moved toward the door, anxious to get out into the hallway with Robby.
“I hate the contacts,” Alex told his friend.
“Good,” she replied. “Then I got my money’s worth.” She took a breath and then said, “Jesus, Alex, what in the hell happened today? He looks awful.”
“Help me get him out of here,” he responded quietly. Jillian nodded in agreement.
In the hallway, Giselle leaned down toward Robby, her mouth only inches from his ear. “It’s going to be okay,” Alex heard her say. “I know these people love you.”
Jillian
Jillian had an intense craving for potato chips. She licked her lips as she wedged herself behind the steering wheel of her old Geo Prizm. The car was filled with the faint smell of coconut, thanks to a sun-faded air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
“You’re so pregnant, I’m surprised you can fit in the car,” Alex mused. He sat next to her, struggling to roll down the stubborn window on the passenger side. Robby was silent in the backseat.
“I need to make a stop,” Jillian announced as they pulled out of the student parking lot. The hula dancer doll in the back window started to shimmy, shaking her hips
provocatively.
“Doritos?” Alex asked.
Jillian shook her head, brushed thick strands of ink-black hair from her newly green eyes. “Pringles,” she replied. “Salt and vinegar.”
Alex scrunched up his nose. “Those things are disgusting. Don’t breathe on me after you eat them.”
Jillian clicked on her signal, braked, and made a left turn onto a two-lane highway. “I hate the sight of this town,” she said, eyeing a billboard advertising a new housing development. “Every acre, every inch.”
“Feeling hormonal today?” Alex opened the glove compartment and started to sort through Jillian’s slim CD collection: Metric, Civil Twilight, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Shiny Toy Guns, Morningwood, the Dollyrots, and Tegan and Sara.
Jillian glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on Robby. He had a strange look in his eyes, as if he were somewhere else, disconnected from the present. Maybe he was imagining the three of them sitting on the shore of Alex’s island. He was watching the passing countryside with an expression of soft sadness. The sight of him made Jillian want to cry.
She turned to Alex, who was still looking for the right song to fit the mood. “I have to be to work soon. A five-hour shift,” she told him. “I switched schedules with Amber, so I’m off at nine.”
“Won’t be long before they make you Employee of the Month.”
Jillian felt the edges of her eyes start to burn with hot tears. “God, kill me first.”
Alex pressed the issue in his usual smart-ass manner. “That’s no way for an expectant mother to talk. Where’s your hope? Where’s your faith?”
“Up your ass with the rest of this God-awful place. Don’t make fun of me, Alex. I’m serious. I’m pissed off already.”
“About what?
“I’m pregnant, hello?” Jillian wanted a cigarette. She hadn’t smoked in five months, since that fateful December afternoon at the Tanglewood County Department of Health.
“You’re eight weeks pregnant. You’re going to be a mother,” the female doctor with bad breath had said with a strange smile. Her eyes had narrowed like a rat when she asked, “Do you know who the father is?”
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