Match Your Weakness With A Name

Twenty-Three?

"Geoff," echoes Ryan. "But anyway, I was a dick to him before and this is the least I can do. Also one of the paramedics told me where they're taking that kid. So yeah, I'll do it."

"Really?" I ask. "You'd actually..."

"Yes," says Ryan. "If Derek can come with."

"Sure," I say, and turn to Jenna. "What about you?"

She shifts her weight between her feet. "I guess so, yeah."

"Come on," says Ryan, clapping his hands. "I'm seventeen, I don't drive that fast."

Moments later, I am in the backseat of Ryan's white suburban mom minivan next to Jenna, with Derek riding shotgun and Ryan inching down the street. He wasn't wrong.

Jenna's still shivering, but she looks better since I gave her my jacket. Less likely to pass out from the cold. That's a good sign, I think. I can't help but wonder what she's feeling. Probably pretty shitty, considering she had a crush on Awsten and I swooped in and took him away and now he's tried to take himself away and she never even got to talk to him once.

I tip my head back against the seat.

The drive is dead silent, save for Jenna's chattering teeth and my nervous breathing. Ryan takes at least fifteen minutes to find the damn place. But when he does, he finds a parking space in thirty seconds. I undo my seatbelt, open the door, and let myself out all in one motion and start walking to the hospital doors without looking to see if my friends and Ryan are following me.

When I walk in, the receptionist looks like she's about to explode. I don't blame her, I mean, I'd explode too if I was a hospital receptionist. There's way too many people here.

Regardless, I hold my breath and approach her. "Excuse me."

"Yes?" she spits.

"Uh, is there anyone named Awsten Knight here?" I ask.

"Awsten Knight?" she murmurs. "Spell it." I spell his name out and she types something into the computer in front of her. "Yes, an Awsten Knight was brought in just a few minutes ago."

"Can I see him?" I burst out.

"Let me see," she says. "It'll take just a bit."

She types something else into her keyboard. One minute goes by. Two. I rock back and forth between my feet, nervously waiting for an answer.

Finally, she looks up. "I'm afraid you can't. He's still being stabilized. You can wait in the trauma center waiting room."

He's alive.

I bite my tongue to keep from crying and continue listening.

"Go down that hallway-" she points "-and take the first left you see. It's in big letters. You'll know it," she says.

"Thank you so much," I say.

"Of course," she mutters, and I start down the hallway she directed me to. I hear the other three walking behind me; their footsteps echo on the tile floor. It's unnerving.

The first hallway to the left is marked with a small blue plaque. It's the right hallway. I turn onto it and see the giant sign the receptionist spoke of.

TRAUMA CENTER

Under it, in smaller letters, are labels to the places inside the trauma center. I search out the arrow to the waiting room, and it's literally right next to us. Derek coughs and I see it immediately. "I'm dumb," I mutter, and enter the room.