The Guys Are Props Club

by Ingrid Seymour

  ***

  After I reported for duty in the oncology wing, Rosie, a heavy-set nurse with short hair and a sour disposition, set me to work right away. My first task was to go in the playroom and sterilize all the toys with disinfectant wipes. It took me nearly two hours to get through every plastic truck, ball and building block.

  When I finished, I stood from the colorful carpet and looked at my handiwork with pride. Everything was clean and in its proper place. Toys were stored in their respective bins, books on the shelves, puzzles inside their boxes. I could even see the carpet’s pattern of shooting stars, rockets and tiny astronauts.

  I had just finished congratulating myself when the doors to the playroom opened and several tornados blew in. I looked around in disbelief as one little girl tipped a plastic bin and spilled every single toy onto the carpet. Others joined playing with her. I collapsed onto a little, red chair and watched another girl pull book after book from the shelves. I hugged the tub of wipes to my chest, thinking that I had to clean everything all over again.

  “They’re hideous, aren’t they?” a voice said to my right.

  I turned to find a boy of no more than ten, sitting on a wheelchair. His dark eyes warily watched the smaller kids as they played. The boy wore a pair of SpongeBob pajamas. I also couldn’t help notice the oxygen tank hissing at his side.

  “Yes, they’re hideous,” I agreed. “I’d just cleaned all of that.”

  “I have a little sister,” the boy said. “She drives me nuts.”

  “I bet she does,” I said, feeling a smile creep up my lips. “I’m Maddie.” I put a hand out.

  He looked at it and frowned. I was about to pull it back, thinking he wasn’t going to shake it, but he did.

  “Hunter.” After shaking, he pulled his hand back. It was pale and frail.

  “Nice to meet you, Hunter.”

  He said nothing to that. We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the little kids play and tear the room apart. As I looked closely, I saw that not all the children were as lively as I’d originally thought. Some stopped playing abruptly and then sat there, regaining their breath. A couple of nurses walked around, making sure everyone was all right.

  “You’re new here,” Hunter said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah, today’s my first day in this wing.”

  He nodded, his face serious.

  “You’re cute,” he said without looking at me.

  “Well, thank you. You’re cute yourself,” I responded, being perfectly honest.

  His face was an oval, still retaining the roundness of childhood. His eyes were dark and inquisitive, and his lips very red against his pale skin. He would grow up into a handsome young man one day. Suddenly, I found my thoughts coming up short, wondering if he would get that chance. I stared at the floor as a wave of sadness washed over me.

  “You’re just saying that because you have to,” Hunter said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You sound like my sister,” he said, a little smile creeping onto his lips.

  After a short ten minutes, the nurses rounded up the kids to take them back to their rooms.

  “Can you push my chair?” Hunter asked.

  One of the nurses nodded, letting me know it was okay.

  Tucking my cleaning wipes under my arm, I rounded his wheelchair. “My pleasure,” I said.

  “So do you go to U.C.I.?” Hunter asked, after giving me directions to his room.

  “I do.”

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “No, I don’t.” Which was a good thing. I couldn’t imagine anyone else at the mercy of my mother.

  “Boyfriend?” Hunter asked, his voice not as confident as in his previous questions.

  I answered, trying not to let the smile creep into my voice. “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re lying,” he said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Here we go again.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud this time.

  “How old are you?” Hunter asked as we rolled into his room.

  “Nineteen.” I engaged the brake on his chair and lifted the foot-rests. “Do you need help?”

  I offered him a hand. He fixed me with a look from under his eyebrows. I pulled back. Placing a hand on each armrest of the wheelchair, he pushed himself to his feet, unhooked his oxygen and walked slowly toward the bed.

  “Could you hook my oxygen to the wall?” he asked, holding up the clear tube that sprang from his nose.

  “Sure.” I took it, trying to be helpful, but I had no clue what to hook it up to. I looked around.

  Hunter pointed to a socket-like fitting behind his bed, and after he gave me step-by-step instructions, I had connected him and turned off the tank by the wheelchair.

  Making himself comfortable on the bed, he murmured, “Ten years older.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.”

  I looked around the room distractedly. There were two superhero posters on the wall, comic books on the bedside table, a handheld video game and several cartridges on top of a narrow sofa, and other personal items strewn everywhere. The room gave me the feeling that Hunter had been here for a good while.

  “Are you comfortable?” I asked him.

  He shrugged.

  “Do you need anything before I leave? Maybe one of your video games . . .”

  “No, I’m fine,” Hunter said sharply, turning his face toward the window.

  “Um, okay. Look I have to go and see what else my boss would like me to do.”

  Hunter’s jaw was set stubbornly. He said nothing. I felt bad for him and imagined he spent a lot of time here alone. “If I can, I’ll come back to see you later,” I offered.

  He didn’t even look at me. For some reason, I also imagined he spent a lot of time dealing with empty promises.

  Chapter 6

  Next Thursday, I arrived at English class earlier than I had the first day. To my surprise, as soon as I walked in, I found myself searching the auditorium for his familiar face. I hated myself for it, especially when disappointment unwound inside my chest the minute I realized Sebastian wasn’t there. While the professor’s lecture droned in the back of my head, I wondered if he had dropped the class. At the thought, my disappointment concerning his absence immediately grew bigger. And with good reason, my self-hatred tripled.

  After finishing the rest of my classes, I headed to the hospital for my shift. I worked for a few hours, and at the first free chance I got, I sneaked into Hunter’s room for a visit.

  “Hi, there, Hunter Gatherer,” I said, poking my head inside his room.

  He looked up from his comic book in surprise, but quickly donned his cool, stern expression again. “Not very original, Madison Burch.” He laid his reading material on his lap.

  “How do you know my last name?”

  “Simple. I asked.”

  “I brought you something,” I said.

  Hunter sat straighter, and struggled to appear uninterested. “Oh, yeah.”

  I held a plastic bag. His eyes threw a furtive look in its direction.

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?” I sat on a chair next to his bed.

  He shrugged.

  I pulled out a DVD of the latest superhero movie—a reimagining of Batman. It had just come out on Tuesday. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. I would sacrifice all the coffee in the world for that reaction.

  “Have you seen it?” I asked, holding the unopened movie up for him to see.

  “I’m not allowed,” he said with disappointment. “My parents don’t let me watch R-rated movies.”

  “Bummer,” I said, putting the case back in the bag.

  He looked as if he were about to jump off the bed and strangle me. Before he injured himself trying to tackle me, I stood, leaned my head in his direction and spoke in a secretive tone.

  “I guess I’m going to have
to keep it. You could get in trouble if they find it here.”

  He frowned.

  “I’ll keep it safe for you, so it doesn’t get confiscated.” I made air quotes.

  “Yeah,” he said, catching on.

  “When would be the best time for us to watch it?”

  “Um,” he thought for a moment. “At night, after visiting hours, in case someone comes to see me.”

  I nodded, wondering why the mention of visitors had made him sound so doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

  “Can you keep a secret?” I asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Of course.” Hunter was offended.

  “Okay. I think I’ll risk it then. I’ll be here at ten tonight.”

  “You will?!” Hunter was beside himself. He was blinking at a rapid pace, looking from the movie in the bag to me.

  I nodded, looking surreptitiously toward the door as if making sure no one had heard us.

  “You promise?” Hunter’s question was a demand. I was taken aback. His eyes were wavering, his nostrils flaring.

  I leaned forward to meet Hunter’s vulnerable gaze at his level. “Yes, I promise.” I hoped my matter-of-fact tone and firm eye contact left no doubt in his mind that I would do just that. I didn’t want him wondering all day whether I would show up or not.

  “It’s a date,” I said, straightening.

  Hunter’s eyes held a smile, but he didn’t quite let it reach his lips. I pulled out my cell phone and looked at the screen.

  “Why do you keep checking your phone?” Hunter asked.

  “I do?” This was the first time I’d checked it since I’d entered his room, right? “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, you’ve checked like five times.”

  I had? “Uh, I just need to get back to work. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” I backed away toward the door, putting a finger on my lips. “Not a word to anyone, right?”

  He gave one strong nod. “Right.”

  ***

  After Hunter pointed it out, I realized that I was, indeed, checking my phone every few minutes. I had no reason to. No one ever called me. My mom used to when I first moved to Irvine, but since I never answered any of her calls, she eventually gave up. The only one who called me was Jessica when she needed something, but I never looked forward to those calls. They always involved something I didn’t want to do.

  As I prepared to change out of my scrubs, I pulled out my bag and put the phone inside the locker—determined not to look at it again. Lola was also changing a few lockers over, humming an upbeat tune.

  I sat on the bench and started taking out my regular clothes. Before I even began to undress, I stood, retrieved the cell phone from the locker and stared at the screen. I frowned at the device, then set it down on the bench, shaking my head, feeling frustrated. I hadn’t been able to stop looking at it even for one minute.

  After I took off my shoes, I found the phone in my hand again.

  “Expecting someone’s call?” Lola asked in a suggestive tone.

  “Uh, no. Just checking the time.”

  “Unless I didn’t get the memo from the gods,” Lola said, “time’s still moving at the same rate. It doesn’t change that often, honey.” She laughed. “He’ll call. Don’t fret.”

  “No, I’m not . . . waiting for anyone to call.” It sounded like such a lie.

  Lola pulled out a large beach towel from her locker and threw it over her shoulder. “Is it the Latin dancer guy?”

  I didn’t answer her question, but Lola must have seen something in my expression, because she added, “I swear, this guy must be something else to get your panties all out of line. To be honest, I had started thinking those Fruit-of-the-looms were super-glued to your ass.”

  In spite of myself, I laughed. “You did, did you?” I asked.

  Lola sat next to me and angled her body in my direction. “So tell me, what’s his name?”

  “It’s not what you think. The guy, Sebastian, is interested in Jessica, not me. We’re supposed to go to this Latin club in L.A., and I’m supposed to run interference for her. There’s this other girl coming with us, and Jessica thinks she’s interested in Sebastian. That’s all.”

  Lola twisted her mouth in a disapproving gesture. “Girl, you need to take care of number one.” She poked me with one finger. “Your roommate’s a big girl, and I’m pretty sure her undies haven’t been super-glued for a while, now. You’re the one who needs a little action.”

  Lola and Jessica had met on campus last semester, and they didn’t like each other, to say the least. Two divas were more than enough inside any given twenty-foot radius. I had never told Lola about G.A.P., even though it might have helped explain some of the things Jessica did. I was sure Lola wouldn’t approve of the club, and it wasn’t something I went around sharing with everyone. I didn’t want them to think I was crazy.

  “Take care of your needs,” Lola continued. “If you like the guy—and judging by the way you’ve been staring at that phone, you do—then don’t let Jessica or anybody get in the way. Go after him.”

  Lola winked at me, got up and walked toward the showers. I watched her leave, shaking my head. She had it all wrong. I wasn’t interested in Sebastian, and I certainly didn’t need a little action.

  I finished changing without checking my phone again, trying to prove to myself that Lola was indeed wrong. I even made it all the way to campus without looking and had started to feel very proud of myself, when the phone rang. I answered it without thinking. My heart leapt into my throat at the sound of the deep baritone on the other end. With dismay, I realized that Lola was right. I had been waiting for his call.

  “Hi, Maddie. It’s Sebastian.”

  My mouth went dry. That I had been expecting his call made no sense. That he had actually called me was even more confusing. Shouldn’t he have called Jessica? Or maybe he had, and she hadn’t answered her phone. Or maybe he had already talked to her and was calling me just to be polite.

  I was headed to the food court at the student center for a quick dinner. It was 7 p.m. and campus buzzed with students—all white noise. Yet the only sound I heard was his breath on the receiver.

  “Hi, Sebastian,” I said, slowing my pace on the sidewalk.

  “Did I catch you at a good time?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Are you still up for a visit to The Bongo Room tomorrow night?”

  I thought about my stomach bug excuse, but I hadn’t counted on me being the one telling him I was pukie. Gross! Even if—at some subconscious level—I had been waiting for his call, I had consciously figured he would call Jessica. They would make plans, and I, at the last possible minute, would claim cholera or something like that. The problem was: This excuse didn’t quite make sense a full day ahead of schedule. I could be all better by tomorrow. Besides, Jessica had made me promise to go and run interference with Cristina. She would kill me, if I ruined this Play for her.

  “Yes, we are,” I said, cringing at how unenthusiastic I sounded.

  “Okay, we’ll pick you up at your place at eight. Sound good? Where do you live?”

  After telling him the name of our housing complex, I hung up and changed directions. For some reason, I had lost my appetite. The way my stomach seemed to be fluttering, I doubted feeding it would be a good idea.

  He hadn’t called Jessica! My stomach did a weird flip. Maybe I had cholera, after all.

  ***

  Jessica walked into our room a few minutes after I did. She wore a jean mini-skirt, pink high heels and a matching top. Kicking her shoes off, she collapsed on her bed. With the curtains drawn back, the glossy posters on her wall reflected the light from the windows. On one of Jessica’s hangings, a Calvin Klein model sucked on his fingers, next to an anorexic female counterpart. I didn’t really approve of her decorations. My posters were way cooler. Like the one that read: If everyone likes what you’re doing, you’re doing it wrong.

  “I hate sociology,” she said. “Why do I h
ave to take sociology?”

  “You ask the same question about every class.” I closed the browser and turned away from my crappy computer.

  Jessica massaged her toes, then wiggled them in front of her. “I can’t believe Sebastian hasn’t called me yet.” She rolled onto her back and laid her head on the pillow.

  “Actually,” I said.

  She propped herself on one elbow to look at me.

  “He called me like thirty minutes ago. He said he’ll pick us up tomorrow at 8 p.m.” I spat the words out as quickly as possible, as if that would stop Jessica from wondering why he’d called me and not her. For my part, I had concluded that he’d called me by mistake, dialing my number when he’d meant to dial Jessica’s. Both had been on the same piece of paper, after all. If Jessica brought it up, that would be my explanation, and I would stick by it.

  Judging from the tightening of her eyes and lips, however, I could tell my rapid-fire technique hadn’t worked. She considered for a moment, then dropped her head back onto the pillow.

  “Fantastic,” she said. “Everything’s going as planned.”

  For some reason, Rule No.7 of the playbook came to mind: Members should never allow a Player to come between them.

  I wondered if we were making a mistake.

  ***

  After working on my biology homework while Jessica painted her fingernails, I stuck a bag of popcorn inside our miniature microwave. When it finished popping, I threw it inside my messenger bag and headed for the door.

  Jessica looked up. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a date,” I said.

  “A date?! Do tell, who’s the victim? By the way, I entered your name in the Play pot, so this is good.”

  “Jessica, I told you I can’t afford to enter the pot,” I protested.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you covered.” Jessica flicked her hand as if shooing a bothersome fly.

  I inhaled to gather my patience. “Take my name out, please,” I asked nicely.