Needy Little Things(2)
I barge through the door of Nurse Rincon’s office, panting. “Do you have EpiPens?”
He jumps and places his hand over his heart, mouth moving without words.
I yank off my headphones and dislodge the earplugs. “Do you have EpiPens?”
“I heard you the first time, Sariyah.” He unlocks a cabinet and waves a little red emergency case at me.
“Sorry.”
He sits on the edge of his desk, eyes sparkling. “La vidente, is there something I should know?”
I grab a juice box from the mini fridge and drink it in one long slurp. “I’m not clairvoyant.”
He clicks his tongue. “Debatable, my friend. You come to me talking about EpiPen, inhaler, insulin”—he taps his temple—“I listen.”
With as much time as I spend down here and all the little crystals on his bookshelves, I’m not surprised he thinks there’s something mystical about me. “It was just a question,” I say, raiding his candy bowl.
The bell rings and Rincon raises his eyebrows when I pretend not to hear it. “You’re late.”
“Let me stay. It’s quiet here.”
“Sariyah”—he opens his desk drawer and pulls out a hall pass—“graduation will be here before you know it. Progress reports came out last week, didn’t they? How’d yours look?”
“Ugly. But your grades would look like that, too, if your existence was one continuous headache.”
“Do you need your medication? That’s what it’s here for.”
The syrupy concern in his voice actually makes me want to go to class. “No, thanks. I’m good.” I grab the pass and take the long way to English.
Thirty-two minutes later, an ambulance siren wails.
Fifteen minutes after that, Nurse Rincon’s face appears in the doorway. He winks at me, EpiPen case wedged under his armpit.
* * *
After school, I catch sight of Deja and Malcolm in the bus lane. Her with fresh, butt-length honey-brown box braids, him sporting his signature grandpa sweater and high-waters that somehow look fashionable. Malcolm and I don’t have any classes together this semester, so our reunions at the end of each day have become a whole event. I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Mal-col-me, my homie!”
A head taller than everyone else, he spots me easily and dances his way over, singing, “Sariyah, she f?ya!”
We close the distance between us and do our eight-step greeting—one move for every year we’ve known each other.
Deja rolls her eyes and stifles a laugh. “All of that is so unnecessary.”
“You think so?” Malcolm asks, before grinning at me and going in for a dramatic round two that makes her shield her face and act like she doesn’t know us.
Deja turned our duo into a trio at the end of last summer. She fit right in and we get along great, but there’s no denying we’re both better friends with Malcolm than we are with each other. That I can hear her needs, and not his, is proof. I stopped hearing Malcolm’s only a few months after we met and don’t recall ever hearing a single need from my mom, dad, or little brother. It’s like the most unique part of me refuses to share itself with the people I care about most, and I hate that. So I do my best to love them a little harder. But you don’t have to have a deep soul connection with someone to enjoy their company. I throw my arm around Deja’s neck and lead her back to the buses. “You need to hurry up. You know Ms. Irma will see you in the rearview chasing down the bus and press harder on the gas pedal.”
She whines. “I’m not trying to go home. My mom’s been on my last nerve, for real.”
I laugh. “Mine, too. That’s half the reason I got a job.” That and restocking Santa Bag every few weeks ain’t cheap.
“I shouldn’t have signed up for so many AP classes.” She adjusts her ginormous backpack. “I’d probably never graduate if I worked during the semester. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I don’t take AP, and who said I’m graduating?” It’s a joke that really isn’t a joke, but she doesn’t know that, so she laughs.
“Bye, girl.” She hugs me, then shouts over her shoulder, “Call me later, Colmy!”
I frown a little. That nickname was once strictly used by me.
Malcolm and I wave goodbye and watch the buses roll out before starting off down the sidewalk.
“I got in trouble in class today,” I say, relishing the quiet in my mind as we walk farther from the school. “My physics teacher is probably going to be calling your burner.” Malcolm bought a secret extra phone last year when he kept getting his main one taken away for texting during class, but it has come in handy for me more times than it has for him.
“I’m about to start charging you for my services.”
“Love you forever.” I lock on to his arm. “How was your day? Hit me with the recap.”
“First block was ass. No way I’m going the rest of the semester without popping well-actually Harold in the mouth.” He scrunches up his face like something smells bad. “But second was good. Me and Deja finally figured out what to do for our social studies project. We’re going to get a head start next week. I usually wouldn’t condone doing schoolwork over spring break, but your boy is trying to get an A.”