It was so far beyond cheesy, but this guy’s eyes took my breath away.
Too bad the stench of smoke on his clothes did the same thing and not in a good way. I couldn’t help it — I turned to the side and coughed. When I looked back at him, he was leaning back in his seat, sliding his heavy black boots far out in front of the desk.
“William Hawkins?” Professor Simon asked, peering down at him.
The guy yawned. “Hawk,” he said. “Just Hawk.”
And with that, he leaned forward, folding his arms on the desk and resting his head there, like speaking those three words had been all the effort he could handle for the day. When he buried his face in his arms like a pillow, I glimpsed the edge of some dark ink snaking along the skin just under the collar of his shirt. I leaned forward the slightest bit to see it before I caught myself and sat upright again, my face burning hot.
Professor Simon’s eyebrows shot up as he regarded Hawk for a second, and then he said, “Mr. Hawkins reminds me of a very important point on the syllabus. I am relaxed, but not so relaxed that I tolerate students strolling into class late. I expect you early or on time if you have any hope of passing with an ‘A.’”
The guy’s shoulders twitched up, and a small noise came from his buried nose. I couldn’t tell whether it was a snort or a laugh. Maybe both. Either way, it meant that he didn’t give a shit.
Whatever. I rolled my eyes and wrinkled my nose at the stale cigarette smell still lingering in the air. I wasn’t going to spend a single extra second worrying about this loser piece of trash.
“I know that fifteen weeks in a semester sounds like a lot of time right now,” Professor Simon said, “but it’s not at all. You’ll need to start thinking about your final projects this week. There are forty of you, and each project will include a 20-minute presentation, meaning we’ll need three-and-a-half class sessions to get through them all.” He turned back to the desk and took his laptop out of his bag.
I did the math in my head, and my hand shot up almost before the calculations were done. “No,” I said when he looked at me. “That would be for twenty of us.”
Realization flashed over his face. “Yes, twenty pairs. It’s a group project.”
I hated group projects more than anything. It made me twitch to think that someone else was partly responsible for my grade in a class, especially when grades were everything when it came to med school admissions. I scanned the room, mentally cataloguing my classmates. Hopefully, I’d be paired with one of the more responsible-looking underclassmen or maybe — ooh! — there was a tallish guy with a nice jaw, I noted approvingly. He was wearing sweats, but if he swapped them out for jeans and shaved…
Holy shit. My total lack of a boyfriend and/or sex life was showing.
Plus, I should probably pay attention to the details of the project. I tried to hold back a sigh and tuned back in to what Professor Simon was saying.
“…a business plan for the business of your choice. Present it to the class, and they’ll decide how much from the general pot of money to give to you. And that’s about all you need to know!”
Shit. I’d missed his whole intro to the project. I scrolled through the syllabus to see if it was in there, but all it said under “Final Project” was “To be discussed in class.”
Shit. At this point, I just had to hope that my partner had taken good notes — and it seemed most of my classmates had been because they were winding down from some mad keyboard tapping. Everyone except Hawk, whose head still rested on the desk.
“I’ve already matched you all with partners using a randomization software program so pay close attention. Just raise your hand as I call your name so you and your partner can find each other after class. You’ll want to meet as soon as possible because this project, if done well, will take several planning and work sessions.”
As Professor Simon called names and I watched hands go up around the room, the supply of responsible-looking underclassmen and other suitable partners dwindled before my eyes. He had called out a dozen pairs and then fifteen and then eighteen before it became clear who the randomization program had paired me with.
“Josephine Daly…” I was almost afraid to raise my hand. There were only three people left who hadn’t been paired off. “…and William Hawkins.”
From the smoky, sleeping, gorgeous-eyed pile of humanity that was William Hawkins, two fingers waved up once, then went back down again.
“Now,” Professor Simon said, “you’ll need to bring your idea for a business and a basic introduction with your reasoning for why this could be lucrative to next week’s class. Every step should be collaborative, so no trading jobs. Business is about working together and exchanging ideas and skills. Is that clear?”
A defeated breath whooshed out of me. Of course. Of course this would happen to me. As if there was nothing else ruining my semester.
The rest of the class passed quickly enough. Professor Simon wrote some definitions on the white board, assigned us to subscribe to the Wall Street Journal, then let us out ten minutes early.
All around me, people gathered their bags and pulled out their cell phones, crossing the classroom to exchange phone numbers with their project partners. I packed up my bag, sighed audibly, and stared at Hawk, still a heap of arms and head on his desk. My stare lasted one, two, three long seconds before I stood up and walked over to him. Only then did I hear the deep breathing of someone who had fallen fast asleep.
Frickin’ great.
Gingerly, I reached out a hand and touched his shoulder. Which — holy hell — was solid muscle. My fingers accidentally brushed just under the sleeve of his t-shirt, moving it up a bit and revealing even more ink. I yanked my hand away, shocked both by the smooth, warm, hard feel of his skin and the fact that I had actually touched it.
His head jerked up, and he sucked in air while blinking. “Oh, Christ. Did I seriously fucking fall asleep?”
Something about the completely boyish shock on his face mixed with the swear word made me laugh out loud. “You did. Do you remember the part where we were matched as partners on the group project?”
He yawned and swept his eyes down my body. I tugged at the edge of my cardigan, wishing I’d worn my usual plain t-shirt for no reason that I could identify.
“You’re Josephine?” His eyebrow quirked again. “Guess that makes sense.” He grabbed the strap of the dingy backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the door.
Something made me propel my short frame after him. “Yeah. Joey, actually. And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned around and shrugged. The smell of cigarette smoke was back. I wrinkled my nose.
“Josephine is the kind of name a girl like you would have.”
My mouth dropped open, but he continued right over the words I wanted to say but hadn’t been able to form — or think of — yet.
“So you want to meet to work on this project, is that right?”
“Um, yeah. The sooner, the better.”
He just kept staring at me, waiting for me to say more.
“Um…we could go to the library?” Why was I stumbling so much? Probably his basic lack of social capability. “Tomorrow? I’ll be there all night.”
The corner of Hawk’s mouth quirked up in a smile, and my cheeks burned when I realized what I’d just said and how he had interpreted it. I pulled an eye roll to cover it up. “What time can you get there?”
He yawned again and turned toward the door. “I can do quarter after eight, earliest. Okay with you?”
“Yeah, I…I guess.” By the time I’d stuttered out my answer, he was already halfway down the hall.
“Wait — where?” I asked.
“At the library, like you said,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll find you.”
I shook my head and threw my hands up in the air. “Okay…” I called lamely back.
One second later, he’d left the building.
Chapter 3
I sho
ok off the frustration of my interaction with Hawk — I cringed just thinking his name — so I could get my head in the game to start my clinical shadowing. Doctor O’Donnell was the friend of a family friend and saw both general practice and oncology patients in her office at ’The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. I knew that today I’d be following her around while she did well baby visits, but I was hoping eventually she’d let me shadow her in the oncology ward as well.
I introduced myself at the check-in desk promptly at one o’clock. “Is she expecting you?” the receptionist asked. “Because Doctor O’Donnell didn’t tell us she was taking a shadow. She never has before.”
Just then a woman with a swoop of brilliant red hair rounded the corner. Her eyes sparkled through her thick-rimmed glasses as she smiled and extended her hand to me. “Josephine?”
“Joey,” I said, grasping her hand.
She smiled, her blue eyes surprisingly bright behind her glasses. “Your father was a very talented man. The community still misses his contribution to our work.”
The receptionist raised her eyebrows stared at me. I tried my best not to make a face back at her. ’Instead I asked, “You knew my dad?”
“More like knew of him, but yes. When Doctor Levy told me you were the next in line of the Doctors Daly, I couldn’t turn down their request. ”
Oh. So this was nepotism.
“I promise you, Dr. O’Donnell, I’m completely dedicated to the field.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Doctor Levy told me that you’d wanted to do this since you were little, and from your resume, your grades seem good enough.”
Yeah. That was when I’d only taken introductory Orgo, but I held my tongue.
“Being Doctor Daly’s daughter made this a no-brainer. I don’t accept most students for shadowing, but I’m happy to do it for you.”
The stress in my chest eased a bit. “Thank you, Doctor O’Donnell. It’s an honor.”
She nodded slightly. “Follow me, Josephine.”
“Joey is fine,” I said, half-regretting my knee-jerk invitation to use the nickname. What the heck was wrong with me? Josephine was the name of a grown woman. Starting physician shadowing meant that I had to grow up.
Except “Josephine” didn’t sound like me. Never had.
“Fine, Joey.” Doctor O’Donnell led me to a spotless office with an antique white writing desk and comfortable, flower-upholstered chairs. “Have a seat, and we’ll talk about expectations.”
I sat down without a word and forced a smile on my face. Something about this office made me feel uncomfortable. Like the deliberately homey design was fake.
“Now, you should know that Philadelphia Children’s is an amazing place for me to do my oncology work and research. I keep clinic hours, doing well-child visits and such, as part of the exchange. It’s not my passion, but you will learn that being a doctor is about doing a lot of things you’re not passionate about.” I must have had some weird look on my face because she continued, “I don’t allow many undergraduates to shadow me, but when I do, I don’t sugarcoat it for them.”
“Okay,” I said, fighting to keep the smile on my face. The words made sense to me, and I knew they were true, but when I was finally a doctor, I’d have more passion about it than that. I couldn’t picture this woman caring for a kitten, let alone humans. But maybe it would get better as the day went on.
“This is shadowing only. That means that you don’t do any procedures. You don’t touch any supplies or patients, and you don’t say a word. Is that understood?”
“Of course.” My voice was nearly a whisper, but I kept the smile on my face and nodded slightly.
For the next four-and-a-half hours, we saw patient after patient, half of them kids under the age of ten with worried or frantic-looking parents. I watched as Doctor O’Donnell told a mother whose child had had an on-and-off fever for five days that it was just the common course for viral infections, there was nothing she could do, and she shouldn’t worry. The woman thanked her but still hugged her baby close and seemed the opposite of relieved.
Another young dad showed us a rash that had snaked from his daughter’s forearm all the way to her back. Doctor O’Donnell took a look, nodded, said, “I’m not worried about it. Apply this cream twice a day — ” She scribbled on her prescription pad. “ — and it should clear up.” The dad looked blindsided as we left the room.
Another mom with tears in her eyes explained that her baby seemed to be favoring one leg while walking for the past couple weeks. Doctor O’Donnell nodded and said, “In these cases, we do have a concern about malignancy. I’m sending you down for an MRI tomorrow morning.”
The mother’s lip trembled. “Will you be performing the procedure?” ’
“Possibly. I’ll have to check my schedule. But I will definitely receive the results since I ordered the test. Do you have any other concerns about…” She flipped through the chart. “Dylan?”
“No,” the woman said softly as we left the room.
I desperately wanted to ask Doctor O’Donnell why she had such an attitude with these patients. She made it clear from the way she spoke and acted that all she saw when she looked at their charts were neurotic parents with no clue what they were doing. But that didn’t change the fact that those patients were people. Crying people, at that. It was tearing my heart out.
“This’ll be the last appointment,” Doctor O’Donnell told me, walking down the hallway at such a fast clip I had to jog to keep up with her.
We moved into a room where a mother was clutching a squirming child to her. She explained that she had found a large area of chipped paint in the corner of their new house, along with crayon marks covering the wall. She was concerned that the little girl had eaten some of the paint since she had been complaining of stomachaches for the past couple days.
Doctor O’Donnell sighed. “Okay. We’ll have to do a lead test. It’s just a finger prick, and then we’ll gather blood in this tube.” She held up a vial that looked humungous compared to the girl’s tiny, pudgy finger.
“It’s too bad you’re not a nursing student, Joey,” Doctor O’Donnell said, glancing at me. “All our nurses are busy, and I hate doing these things. The children always scream.”
I could practically see the mother tense up.
“You’ll have to hold her, Mom,” Doctor O’Donnell said while tearing the top off of an alcohol pad.
“I don’t know how. She’s squirming everywhere, and I don’t want to mess it up…”
I felt so helpless, wanting to help the mom, who was clearly panicking. Just then my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I had an idea. I whipped it out and did a quick video search for cartoons. I cleared my throat and spoke before I could fully think about what I was doing.
“Do you like SuperGirl Squad, honey?”
The little girl’s face lit up, and she launched herself off her mother’s lap over to where I stood, practically knocking me down onto the chair and scrambling into my lap. I laughed, and relief swept over her mother’s face.
Doctor O’Donnell shot me an annoyed look, but I nodded my head toward the needle and the vial. She sighed, but the little girl was already settled. I wrapped my hands around each of her forearms, holding her hands still so that Doctor O’Donnell could take the sample. She whimpered at the needle prick and the doctor’s squeezes, but I kept asking her questions about the cartoon to distract her.
It was over before we knew it, and I grabbed a Band-Aid from the counter and wrapped it around the little girl’s finger. She bounded out of my lap and back to her mother, who gave me a grateful smile.
On our way out of the room, I felt good. So proud of myself. The look on that mother’s face and the fact that I had helped the little girl deal with the pain of that test made me feel like I had really made a difference — almost made up for the fact that I ’had been such a lump at all the other patient visits.
Doctor O’Donnell led me back to her office without saying a word.
She sat in her desk chair and started typing on the computer. After a few seconds of the room filling with the loud clacks of her keyboard, I cleared my throat to get her attention. She still stared at the screen, typing like crazy.
I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. I wasn’t someone who took kindly to anyone ignoring me or being rude, which was what was going on here. Just thinking that made my blood start to boil.
However…
This was a doctor. Not just any doctor — Doctor O’Donnell, the renowned pediatric oncologist. If I really wanted to get into med school, shadowing her was as sure a ticket as any. And continuing to shadow her meant I probably shouldn’t be rude, even in response to rudeness.
But the clicking kept going. Finally, after clearing my throat one more time, I spoke up. “Is that all for today, Doctor O’Donnell?”
Slowly, she dropped her hands from the keyboard and turned in her chair to look at me. “Why don’t you tell me, Josephine?”
“I…uh… I’m so sorry, but I’m not sure when you’d like me to come back. I thought I’d come once a week or something…”
“I did, too. But then you ignored my very specific instructions not to touch anything or speak to anyone.”
Her words felt like a punch in the gut. Embarrassment bloomed hot through my body.
She turned back to her computer and continued typing. “I’m finishing up these files for today. Then I’m going to go home and relax. I’ll be able to do that because I didn’t get too emotionally involved with the lives of my patients, who need more time and help than I can give them.”
I stood there, speechless. She knew exactly what I was thinking, and now I was even more embarrassed. My jaw dropped open, then closed again.
I finally managed some words. “I…uh…”
Too late. She was already jumping in again. “I know that you care about people and that’s why you want to be a doctor. But if you really want to apply to med school, I want you to understand what the work is really like. A big part of that is being able to detach. A bigger part of that is being able to follow instructions and learn in any environment. Do you understand?”
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