Chapter 7

I showup early at the DeWitt library the next day, equipped with my anatomy atlas and my textbook, along with a water bottle and a baggie full of chocolate bars and potato chips. Yeah, that pretzel and Coke yesterday were just the tip of the iceberg. All I eat anymore is snack food—I haven't had a real meal in days.

Abe is meeting me so we can study together—the primary social activity at DeWitt. We've decided to try to study together more regularly, although he can't meet every night since he's—amazingly—got a part-time job at a student health clinic. He texts me that he's almost here, and I try to flip through the chapter on the thorax on my own. It's hard to concentrate, though. I keep thinking about my abysmal quiz grades.

"You look deep in thought."

I snap my head up. It's not Abe, like I expected. It's Mason. He looks mildly amused at the expression on my face as he slides into the seat across from mine at the table.

"Mind if I join you?"

I could never study around Mason Howard. He's pretty much the biggest distraction I can imagine. I would have thought spending all this time with him in lab, during which time he's proven himself to be the biggest asshole on the planet, would diminish his appeal, but it hasn't. He's just that sexy.

He looks way too good right now. Every med student I've seen so far today looks like they haven't slept in weeks, but Mason seems like he's just come back from a long vacation at a spa. His clothes aren't wrinkled, and his jaw is clean-shaven. His books are lined up in a neat stack on the table, and I can't help but see one of his anatomy quizzes sticking out of the textbook. The grade at the top is one hundred. Figures.

"I put in some quality time last night with Frank. But now it's time to hit the books," Mason says.

Despite Rachel's discomfort with naming the cadaver and a long email-rant she sent out to the entire class about how disrespectful it was, Mason still calls him Frank. It doesn't bother me. And to be honest, I like how much it seems to infuriate Rachel.

"I feel like I should give up right now," I mumble.

Mason frowns. "Why? What's wrong?"

He really has no idea.

"How do you do it, Mason?" I sigh. "You know everything."

"Well, I want to go into plastic surgery," he says with a shrug. "I'll never match in a plastics residency if I don't study my ass off. What do you want to do?"

"I thought I wanted to be a doctor," I say.

I meant it as a joke, but it's sort of true.

Mason winks and flashes me this smile that makes my heart skip in my chest. Ugh. I need to stop being such a girl!

"Don't look so stressed out, Heather. Don't worry. You'll be fine."

"What if I'm not?" I say. "What if I fail the exam?"

"So you'll get a job at the post office," he jokes. "And one day, you can come back with a shotgun and blow the brains out of all the other students."

I don't laugh. The whole thing is kind of in poor taste considering we're at a school nicknamed Dead Med.

"Come on," he says. "You're going to do fine on the exam. I promise."

Mason reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of mine. And my hand starts to tingle like I'm having a stroke. I hate myself for having a schoolgirl crush on Mason.

"You'll be fine, Heather," he says. "Don't worry so much."

If I were Mason, I wouldn't worry either.

A throat clears, and I look up. It's Abe. He's standing at the other end of the table, holding his anatomy atlas and looking sort of peeved.

"I thought we were studying together," he says to me.

I yank my hand away from Mason's. "We are."

Mason's lips twitch. "Don't worry, Abe," he says as he stands up. "I'm not horning in on your action."

Abe's cheeks turn scarlet. It's sort of cute how his complexion is so pale that it shows all his emotions.

"I'm not…" he stammers. "I mean, we're not…"

"I have a boyfriend, you know," I say to Mason, sticking out my chin. "At another school."

"Is that so?" Mason doesn't wipe that grin off his face. I wish Abe would slug him, especially since he looks like he'd like to.

"Get out of here, Mason," Abe says to his roommate. He doesn't lay a finger on him—it's pretty clear that Abe isn't the kind of guy who goes around slugging people.

Mason is still smirking as he relocates himself to a desk in the back of the library. I notice he's one desk away from little Sasha, and he stops to talk with her for a minute before getting to work. I've yet to have a successful conversation with Sasha, so it's surprising to see anyone talking to her, but especially Mason.

Abe sets down his books on the table and slides into the seat across from me.

"I thought we could start with the heart," he says.

"Fine by me."

"Or we could do the lungs, if you'd prefer?" he offers.

I don't have a great understanding of the heart, but it's probably no worse than anything else in the thorax. I'm equally confused about everything.

"Let's just do the heart."

Abe nods and pulls out a stack of index cards. He lays them down on the table, and I see that he's drawn color-coded diagrams of the heart. I gasp.

"Wow," I say.

"What?"

"I just…" I grin at him. "I didn't realize you were such a huge nerd."

Abe looks down at his nerdy index cards then back up at me. "I'm not a nerd! I'm organized."

I shake my head at him. "That's exactly what a nerd would say."

He picks up a blank index card and flicks it in my direction. He obviously meant to hit me with it, but the card doesn't even make it across the table. It just kind of flies into the air then flutters slowly to the ground. Abe and I both watch it then simultaneously bust out laughing.

"Pretty pathetic, huh?" he says.

"The trick is to form it into a plane," I explain.

I grab another blank index card and form it into a little makeshift paper airplane. I aim it in Abe's direction, and it hits him directly in the forehead.

"Ouch!" Abe cries, rubbing his forehead. He grabs himself another blank card. "Okay, you're asking for it, McKinley…"

And then we spend the next thirty minutes making planes out of index cards. I am such a bad influence.

At some point,we get tired of acting like children and start studying for real. It's intimidating that Abe knows his stuff so much better than I do, but at the same time, it's motivating. Someone once told me that it's always better to study with someone who knows more than you do.

If that's the case, Abe is screwed.

It's dark out by the time we decide to call it a day. We're both carrying an armful of books as we head down in the elevator to the parking lot.

"Where'd you park?" Abe asks me.

"Second floor. You?"

"Third." Abe steps out of the elevator. "It's dark out. I'll walk you to your car."

I make a face and stand in the doorway to the elevator so the doors won't close.

"I'll be fine."

"It's safer if I walk you," Abe insists.

The elevator starts to close on me, so I step aside. Fine. If Abe wants to waste his time walking me to my car, that's his business.

"This is Connecticut, you know," I say. "Not Detroit."

Abe shrugs. "Still."

"How are you going to protect me anyway?" I challenge him. "Are you carrying a weapon?"

He rolls his eyes. "I don't need a weapon. Nobody's going to attack me."

"How come?"

"Heather, come on."

Okay, I guess Abe is a pretty big guy. Still, he's not some kind of Superman who can dodge bullets. (Can Superman dodge bullets? I'd assume so. As long as they're not made of kryptonite.)

"So what would you do if some guy attacked you?"

Abe shrugs. "I don't know. Sit on him?"

Actually, that would be pretty effective.

I have to admit, it is pretty dark out, and the parking lot isn't particularly well lit. It's late enough that the lot is completely silent aside from our footsteps echoing on the pavement. As I walk by a white Lincoln Continental I had thought was empty, I detect movement from within the dark car. Like someone is sitting there, waiting. But when I peer through the vehicle's tinted windows, I can't make out a face.

"Hey."

I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice coming from behind me. I reach for Abe's arm and grab onto it for dear life. But when I turn around, it's just a kid from school. A second-year, whose name is Gerald or Harold or something along those lines. He's standing behind us, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"Hey," Abe says back, although he sounds as confused as I feel.

"You're Abe, right?" Gerald/Harold says.

Abe's brow scrunches up. "Uh, yeah…"

Gerald/Harold looks me up and down, frowns, then looks back at Abe. "Well, I just wanted to say hi."

"Okay." Abe gives him a little wave. "Hi then."

Gerald/Harold stands there for another few seconds, like he's got something else to say. But then he turns on his heel and scurries off in the other direction, casting glances over his shoulder at the two of us.

"What the hell?" Abe says, which is exactly what I'm thinking.

"Friend of yours?"

"Not even close."

That whole interaction was seriously strange. A shiver goes through me, and I'm suddenly very glad Abe insisted on coming with me. I was joking around with him before, but he could clearly defend me if he needed to.

"This is me," I tell him, gesturing at my scratched-up Ford.

Abe waits until I'm inside the car and have started up the engine before he turns around and heads in the opposite direction. I'm guessing he had a good study session, too, because there's a bounce in his step as he walks away.