The Fruit of My Lipstick (15 page)

“I’m never going to see him again anyway,” I said. Thank goodness.

“Gillian, that’s not the point. The point is, he’s one of the guys who can make a big difference in my career. If you’re going to support me, you have to be careful what you say to people who are important.”

There was something massively unfair about this. “So Mr. Important Guy can say racist things to me but I can’t call him on it?”

Patches of color burned under both his cheekbones, and he stepped over the threshold of the sliding glass door and back into his room. I followed him in.

“He isn’t racist. Both he and Dad have all kinds of gifted Asian scientists in that lab—how can he be racist? I don’t get you,” he went on. “You say you’re a Christian. Ever hear of turning the other cheek?”

“Why should I? I bet he doesn’t say stuff like that to his staff.”

“Uh—didn’t Jesus tell you to?”

“I don’t think Jesus meant for people to lie down and be doormats,” I retorted. “He said for people to treat each other as they want to be treated, but I don’t see Dr. Barchuk doing that.”

“He’s not a Christian.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I snapped. “But that doesn’t let him off the hook. He doesn’t have to be a Christian to be decent.”

“We’re talking about you, not him. You can’t change how he is, but you can change how you are.”

Don’t lose it. Or this is going to turn into your first fight
. “And how would that be?” I said with a pretty good imitation of calm.

“You do this—this thing.” He waved his hands, as if trying to pin down words that fluttered around the room. “You suck all the attention to yourself. But today we just don’t have time for that. This is not getting me into a mindspace where I can concentrate.”

“I do not—”

“Dad’s out there waiting, and you’re going on and on about what Tom said. Can’t you just put that aside and think about me for once?”

“But I
do
—”

“Stop arguing!” In complete frustration, he threw up both hands. I stepped back to avoid getting whacked, and tripped over a running shoe lying on the floor. I lost my balance—staggered—fell—

Clunk
.

The lights went out—and so did I.

Chapter 14

I
CAME TO
in the back of Dr. Hayes’s BMW, just as he pulled up to the doors of the emergency room at the Stanford Medical Center.

My head hurt like it’d never hurt before. Lucas—both of him—sort of swooped by in a lazy, sickening circle, holding the doors for us as Dr. Hayes carried me in, and then the black swarmed over my vision again. “I think she’s concussed,” I heard someone say off in the distance, and then time blinked out.

Until a bright light shone in one eye. Then in the other.
Ow
.

“Hello, young lady,” a deep voice said. “Decided to join us, did you?”

“Unngh.”

“I’m Dr. Matsuda. They tell me you tripped and fell.”

“Uh-hunngh.”

“Looks like you clipped your temple on the corner of a dresser or bed frame or some other hard object. We stitched you up while you were out.”

Gross. Thank you for that.

“How many?” Was I going to be bald on one side?

“Just three. They’ll disappear on their own in a week or so.”

“Thanks.”

“Look up, then down, please.” I did. “Your responses are good. I don’t think you’re concussed, but you definitely need to take it easy for the rest of the day. Maybe even the rest of the weekend.”

“I have to study.”

“You’ll be able to do that tomorrow. But no swim meets or cross-country races.”

“No problem.” I looked past him. “Did a guy come in with me?”

“A guy?” Dr. Matsuda looked puzzled.

“Tall, thin. Seventeen or so. Brainy-looking.”

His face cleared. “Oh, him. He and his dad left a couple of hours ago.”

“Left?
Left?
” How could they have left? Didn’t they care about me? What was I supposed to do, stuck in the wilds of Palo Alto with a hole in my head? Flag down a cab?

Dr. Matsuda put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back onto the pillow. “Relax. When you’re ready to be released, they left a number for me to call and they’ll come get you. Apparently the younger gentleman had to work.”

Work. Oh, my gosh. Because I’d been such a klutz, Lucas had lost who knew how many hours of coaching time. Could my timing have been any worse? Could I have spoiled the day any more?

Dr. Matsuda did a couple more tests with my eyes and reflexes and pronounced me fit to leave. While I ground through the boredom of producing my health insurance card and filling out forms, I asked myself when I was going to get a grip.

Lucas, obviously, had been right. I didn’t do it on purpose, but my subconscious had to be hard at work, making sure I was at the center of everyone’s attention. A ferry crashes into a New York dock? Never mind the old lady squashed underneath her, is Gillian okay? An elevator gets stuck in the Eiffel Tower? Yup, there’s Gillian, hyperventilating and making a scene. A brilliant mind needs a day of coaching so he can be in the Olympics? Sure, as long as we can take time out to get Gillian to the hospital.

For
tripping
. I couldn’t crash something, so my subconscious had worked with what it had—a sneaker. Anything to make it all about me.

Sitting in the waiting room while Dr. Matsuda called the Hayes apartment, I rested my forehead on my cold hand.

Father, I need help, here. I am self-centered, thoughtless, and annoying—not to mention rude to the friends of my friends. Please help me learn some humility. Help me consider Your Son and how humble He was, even when people slapped Him and called Him names. Help Lucas forgive me—and give me the guts to ask for forgiveness from him. If I’ve messed up his chances at the Olympics, I will never forgive myself.

“Gillian?”

I looked up. Lucas shouldered the emergency-room door open.

“Are you okay?”

I slid off the hard chair and went to him, winding my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek to his chest, completely ignoring the other people around us. “Lucas, I’m so sorry.”

“What for?”

“For being a self-centered jerk and ruining your coaching day.”

“Oh, hey, don’t worry about it. Dad and I got some pretty intense work done while you were getting stitched up.”

“Yes, but you could have had hours more if it hadn’t been for me.”

“The question is, are you all right?”

“Oh, sure. All that fuss for three stitches. Big deal.”

“It was a big deal. You had blood running down the side of your face like a murder victim in a slasher movie.”

“There’s a visual.” I made a face. “I’m really sorry. I want to make it up to you. Maybe we can study when we get back.”

“Back?” Arms looped around my waist, he looked down at me.

“The doc says I’m supposed to take it easy, but he said I could study. I hereby donate my study time tomorrow to you.”

“About that.” His hold loosened. “Dad says he can give me a couple more hours tomorrow if I stay the night.”

I clicked through the ramifications of this at top speed. The alternatives did not look good. “Uh—”

“I know you can’t stay.”

“I didn’t bring any overnight stuff.”

“So I’ll drive you back to the city and then come back.”

“But that’ll take an hour each way.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s already nearly four.” And then I had an idea, inspired by my new sense of selflessness. “Tell you what. You drop me at the nearest train station and I’ll go back to school that way. I can take a cab once I’m in the city.”

He was already shaking his head. “No way. I’m not going to put an injured girl on the train by herself. Nope, I’ll drive you, and that’s that.”

He took my hand, and we headed outside to the parking lot.

“No, I’m serious. I’ve already sucked up three hours that you could have been using for equations and important stuff. This is the most elegant solution—you know it is.”

“Well, yeah, mathematically, but it feels terrible.”

“So what? I’m the only one here, and it feels fine to me. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll take the train, and you and your dad will have a whole evening to work.”

“Gillian, I don’t know. . . .” In the distance, we heard a train whistle. He looked at me. “The station’s only a couple of blocks from here.”

“And I’ll miss it if we don’t hurry.”

“My dad has your stuff in the car.”

“Come on. Move it.”

We began to run. I felt a little dizzy at the sudden motion, but that was okay. I’d have all kinds of time to recover once I was on the train. And it’s not like I’m not used to it. The first time I was ever on the subway was when I was about three. One of my first memories, in fact, was the big front light of the subway train coming out of the tunnel with a whoosh and a roar.

So a few minutes later I settled back on the seat and allowed myself to relax as the Peninsula slid by. Until my phone chimed.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Gillian, are you all right?”

Oh, boy. Here we go
. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Because I just got a call from Stanford Medical Center, that’s why.”

“Why would they call you? Everything’s fine.”

“You’re a minor. Thank goodness
someone
saw fit to call me.”

I slid down a little in my seat, though the car was nearly empty. “Mom, it was just a bump on the head. Three stitches. No big deal.”

“And what caused this bump on the head?”

“I was at a friend’s place and I tripped over a sneaker lying on the floor. Totally dumb. And they overreacted and drove me to Emergency. Honest, Mom. I’m fine. I’m on the train right now, heading back to school.”

“They take you to the hospital and then put you on a train to take care of yourself? What kind of friends are these?”

“It was my idea. My friend has to study. The Physics Olympics semifinal exams are in a couple of weeks and he’s in major prep mode.”

Silence. “He?”

I winced and mentally smacked myself on the forehead. A slip of the pronoun.

“Yes, he. A friend.” I took the truth and stretched it just a teensy bit. “I came down this morning to be part of his coaching team. I figured I could use the practice myself.”

“But you aren’t taking physics this year.”

“Not until next year. But it can’t hurt, can it? It’s pretty advanced stuff.”

“In the meantime, your own homework suffers? I thought your exams were coming up. What are you doing riding around on trains when you should be studying?”

Honestly, there is no winning with my mother. “I’m riding this train so I can get back to school so I can study. The doctor said no vigorous activity for a couple of days, so that’s what I plan to do.”

“But how can you, with this bump on the head? Do you have headaches? A concussion?”

I did have a headache. The anesthetic was wearing off and my scalp hurt, not to mention the bruising on my arms from an unprotected landing. But this is not the kind of thing you can say to my mom. She’d have the train stopped halfway up the Peninsula and a Life Flight chopper waiting on the tracks.

I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear and rummaged in my backpack. “No and no. Honest, Mom. I’m fine. Everybody is making a big deal about this for nothing.” Aha. I found the bottle of Tylenol that Lissa had given me and uncapped my water bottle. While Mom got her feelings about the situation off her chest, I swallowed two Tylenol and waited for the relief.

By the time she wound down, we were already in South San Francisco. “Mom, I’ve got to go. My station will be coming up soon.”

“Call me tomorrow. I want to know that you had a comfortable night.”

“I have Tylenol. No problem.”

“I’ll call the school and let the medical staff know.”

“You will not!” Spencer had two nurses onsite, mostly to bandage up the newbie golfers who didn’t know their own strength—or that of their woods.

“If I can’t be there to look after you, Jiao-Lan, then I will find someone who can.” I closed my eyes. If she’d reached the point of calling me Jiao-Lan, argument was pointless. She could be like a train herself, barreling down a tunnel with only one objective in mind. If you didn’t get out of the way, you’d be seeing the big white light before you knew what hit you.

“Fine, Mom. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“I love you, Gillian.”

I opened my eyes with a snap. “I—I uh—”

“I know I don’t say it enough. But I miss you very much. I wish you would decide to stay home for your senior year.”

“Mom, I—” I took a breath. “I love you, too.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will. ’Bye, Mom.”

I was in the cab and well on the way up the hill to Spencer before I got over the surprise.

DORM, SWEET DORM. Despite the Tylenol, my head had really begun to pound. I pushed the door open, incapable of anything but crawling into bed and pulling my red silk quilt over my head.

Except that Shani sat on it. The very last person on the planet I wanted to see. She and Lissa had clearly been quizzing each other on biological processes, because each of their textbooks was open to the chapter review.

“Gillian?” Lissa said tentatively. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. Pointed at my left temple. “Three stitches. Excuse me, please,” I said to Shani. “I need to shower and lie down.”

She scooped her stuff up and went to sit at Lissa’s desk. Turning my back on both of them, I stripped to my undies, grabbed my pajamas, and went into the bathroom. I washed away the dust of the train, the smell of the hospital, and the day that had begun so well and had ended in pain and disappointment.

But my head still hurt when I came out.

“Got anything stronger than Tylenol?” I asked Lissa. “I must’ve clunked my head harder than I thought. Killer headache.”

“What happened?” Lissa asked. She shook a couple of Advil into my hand, and I emptied my water bottle washing them down.

I crawled under my quilt. Bliss. Now if they would only go away and shut off the lights behind them.

“I tripped. Fell against a dresser or something. Went to Emergency.” There. That about summed it up.