Suicide Med (8 page)

I
almost gasp. Say what? Abe thought the test was hard too? Is he just being nice? Abe is really smart and if he thought the exam was hard, maybe I’m not too stupid to live.

“You… you thought the test was hard?”

“Oh, definitely!” Abe says, nodding vigorously. “I don’t know what Conlon was smoking when he said it was easy. That was brutal.”

“Yeah, it sort of was,” I
say, perking up for the first time since handing in my test paper.

“Some of the
pins in those bodies…” Abe shakes his head. “I mean, I really had no idea. I felt like I was looking at an abstract art exhibit or something.”

I
finally smile for real. Encouraged, Abe continues, “And those multiple choice questions on the written exam? I think I could have filled in the bubbles before seeing the test and gotten the same score.”

I
laugh. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Abe rests his large hand gently on my shoulder.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m going to walk you to your car.”

“Okay,” I agree.

“And then,” he adds, “we are going to drown our sorrows in pizza. And beer. I’m buying.”

I dutifully follow Abe to the parking lot.
To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do without this guy.

Dr. Conlon is really taking his sweet time grading those exams. Honestly, I think this is sadistic. How can he make us wait so long? I’m going to get an ulcer at this rate.

A week after the exam, Dr. Conlon
announces that the tests are “almost completely graded.” His expression is slightly grim.

“I think I may have
made the exam too hard,” he admits, an apologetic note in his voice. He fiddles with the handle of his cane. “I generally don’t curve, but I want to assure you that
most
people did pass.”

A hand
goes up in the third row. “Dr. Conlon, how many people failed?”

The professor looks
uncomfortable. “I… I’d rather not say the number. But I promise I’ll have your grades posted by tomorrow.”
So hold off on killing yourself for the next twenty-four hours
. “I know how hard it is to wait, so we really made an effort to get the grades out as soon as possible. Please don’t ask me for your grade before tomorrow… everyone will receive their grades at the same time.”

I
sink down in my seat. Rachel is sitting a few seats away, looking completely unconcerned. I’m honestly baffled by that one. It doesn’t seem humanly possible for Rachel to have passed that exam. But whenever I bring up the test, Rachel just shrugs and says, “Chill out, Heather. It’s just a grade.”

Just a grade.
A grade that might make the difference between being a doctor and… folding jeans at the Gap. But at least she didn’t tell me any more condescending stories about strawberries.

When classes end for
the day, I find myself wandering in the direction of Dr. Conlon’s office. I don’t really have anything in mind, exactly. I’m not going there to beg him to tell me my grade or anything.

His office i
s just around the corner from the anatomy lab and I wonder if he can smell the formaldehyde from there. Of course, he’s probably used to the smell by now. Maybe it smells good to him. He probably likes it. You’d almost have to if you have a career in anatomy.

The door to Dr. Conlon
’s office is closed, but I can see the light on under the door. He’s inside. I can hear soft voices talking but I can’t make out any of the words. I hesitate, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. Do I really think Dr. Conlon is going to tell me my grade after saying flat out that he wouldn’t do that? I’m not that charming.

The door to t
he office swings open suddenly and I jump back to keep from getting smacked in the face. And the person who steps out is none other than Mason Howard. He seemed equally surprised to see me.

“
Heather!” His face breaks out into a grin. He always seems so cool and collected. And sexy, of course—hard to forget that one. “What are you doing here?”

“I just…”
I clear my throat. “I needed to talk to Dr. Conlon.”

“Oh?”
He raises his eyebrows at me.

“Yeah…”
I wonder what Mason’s doing here. I know he isn’t here because he thought he had failed, that’s for sure. Maybe Dr. Conlon wanted to personally congratulate him for getting the highest grade in the class.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” Mason
says with a wink.

He nudges
my shoulder as he walks past. Don’t tell anyone, but I sort of love it when he touches me.

I
peek into Dr. Conlon’s office and see him sitting at his desk, shuffling through some papers. His cane leans against the side of his desk. I remember seeing him at the bridge the other day, and how ominous he had looked at the time. But now, in light of day, he seems completely harmless. I actually feel pretty silly for having run away like that.

I
’m debating whether or not to knock when he looks up and spots me.

“Dr. McKinley
!” he says, a smile on his lips.

Damn.
I try my best to put on a surprised face. “Oh, I, um, I didn’t realize this was your office, Dr. Conlon!”

He squints
at me. “You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t,”
I say, continuing with my lie. “It’s, um, really nice. I like the, um…” God, I know nothing about decorating. “I like the wood.” Okay, that sounded awful. I have to say something else. “And… I like your bowtie.”

Stop talking, Heather.
Right now.

“Um, thank you,
Heather,” Dr. Conlon says, a perplexed look on his face. He adjusts his glasses on his nose. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

I
squeeze my hands together. “Well, um… I guess, since I’m here…”

“Have a seat,” Dr. Conlon
says, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. I close the door to his office and sit down in the chair in front of his desk almost gingerly, as if afraid it might collapse under my weight. Which is actually possible, considering how many cookies I’ve consumed in the last month. “What’s up?”

“I just…”
I bite my lower lip. “I think I failed the exam, Dr. Conlon. I
know
I failed it.”

Dr. Conlon furrows
his black eyebrows, “Heather…”

“I studied so hard for it, I swear!”
Now I’m
crying
, for God’s sake. What’s
wrong
with me? I’ve morphed into this stereotype of a hysterical medical student. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and notice Dr. Conlon is gawking at me. “I just… I don’t know what happened! The test was so hard… maybe I just… I’m not as good as… sometimes I don’t know what I’m even doing here… I just feel like…”

“
Heather,” Dr. Conlon runs a hand through his black hair. “Stop, okay? Stop. You passed, okay?”

What?

“I… what?”

“You passed.”

I
don’t know what to say. Honestly, I sort of want to jump across the table and plant a big sloppy wet kiss on my professor’s face. But that would be unprofessional. So instead, I settle for tearfully thanking him for a solid five minutes, followed by a brief speech about how he is the kindest man I’ve ever met in my life, concluding with something about how he ought to win a Nobel Prize.

After
I finish making a complete idiot out of myself, Dr. Conlon sighs and shakes his head.

“Christ,” he says, but he’s
smiling. “I forgot what it was like to be a medical student.”

I
wipe my eyes. I really can’t picture Dr. Conlon twenty years younger, starting out as a nervous young medical student. Dr. Conlon always seems so confident. He knows everything about the human body, as far as I can tell.

“I didn’t know you had to go to med school to teach anatomy,”
I comment.

“Actua
lly, you don’t,” Dr. Conlon says. He lowers his eyes as he toys with a button on his shirt sleeve. “I actually dropped out of med school.”

Before
I can stop myself, I blurt out, “But why? You’re so smart!”

Nice job.
I can’t believe I just said that to my professor.

But t
o my relief, he laughs. “Believe me, getting a doctorate in anatomy is not exactly a walk in the park.”

I
watch as he puts his left palm on the handle of his cane and absently spins it around. I asked Abe once if he knew what’s wrong with Dr. Conlon and he said he had no idea. I wonder if his disability has anything to do with why he left medical school. I wonder if he resents us for doing what he couldn’t do.

Dr. Conlon gives me
a stern look.

“Now,
Heather,” he says, “you better not tell anyone I told you that you passed. If I see a line of a hundred and fifty students outside my door, I’m going to be really angry at you.”

“I won’t tell,”
I promise, although I’m not entirely sure I could keep my mouth shut more than five minutes. How can I?

He smiles
, “Good. And you really need to have more confidence in yourself. I see the way you are in lab and you’ve made huge progress.”

I
almost faint with joy. Finding out I passed the exam and that Dr. Conlon thinks I’m smart is an incredible high. I’m pretty sure even little white caffeine pills couldn’t make me feel any better than this.

_____

I sing in my car all the way home
from Dr. Conlon’s office. My radio is blaring some top forty pop station and I’m screaming out Maroon 5 and Pink songs at the top of my lungs. Thankfully, the windows are up, so nobody has to go deaf from my horrible voice. I love to sing and I do it probably more than I should considering I can’t hold a tune. A few times, Seth has told me that if I didn’t stop singing, he was going to stuff a gag in my mouth.

He was joking, obviously.

When I get back to the dorm, there’s only one person I want to talk to and that’s Seth. Okay, things haven’t been super great with him lately, but that’s about to change. I’m going to make an effort to make it work from now on. Maybe next weekend, I’ll drive out to see him.

Before reaching for
my phone, I pull a photo of Seth out of the drawer by my bed. In the picture, he’s lying on his bed, his curly brown hair tousled, grinning with those adorable dimples at the camera. It’s like I’ve somehow almost forgotten what he looked like. I trace my fingertip over the curves of his face, trying to remember how much I care about him.

I do.
I know I do. Even though he’s sort of been a jerk lately.

I
place the photo on my pillow and flop onto my stomach so that I can gaze lovingly at the picture while I call him. I dial the number and wait for him to pick up. It takes seven and a half rings and he answers just when I’m certain the voicemail will pick up. What is he always doing that he can’t manage to answer the phone in the first few rings?

“Hey,” Seth says
.

“Hi, it’s me,”
I say.

Thank God, he doesn’t ask who “me” is.
And hallelujah, it doesn’t sound like there are any girls laughing in the background. Seth is all alone for a change. We can have a real conversation.

This
relationship could work. It’s
going to
work. Two hundred plus miles isn’t so far for true love. Seth and I have the kind of love they make Disney movies about. I would be… well, I don’t really see myself as a Disney princess. Maybe, I don’t know, Sleeping Beauty because I’m just that tired right now. And Seth would be… whatever the prince that Sleeping Beauty fell in love with was called. Prince Charming? Prince Charles? Well, it doesn’t really matter. The princes are all kind of interchangeable.

“
Hi…” Seth says.

He sounds… oddly serious.
But whatever, I’m not going to obsess for once. I prefer Serious Seth to the apathetic guy he’s been lately.

“So guess what?
I passed my anatomy exam!” I almost get chills when I say it.

“That’s great… I knew you would.”

He did? It sounded like he was certain I’d bomb it. But whatever, I’m not going to pick a fight.

“So… I thought maybe we could celebrate this weekend,”
I say, circling his face on the photo with my index finger. I didn’t even notice until now how bitten up my fingernails are. “I could drive in Friday night…”

“I don’t know if thi
s weekend is good,” Seth mumbles.

“Why not?”

There’s a long pause on the other line. What’s going on? “Seth?”

“I just…” he sighs
loudly. “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore. I mean, is this enjoyable for you?”

“It’s not about enjoyment,”
I say. “I want to be with you. We both knew the long distance thing was going to be hard.”

“But…
shouldn’t
it be about enjoyment? I mean, we’re twenty-two years old. Why shouldn’t we be able to enjoy ourselves?”

Seth might be the love of my life.
But at that moment, I hate the bastard.

“I mean, if this isn’t making us happy…”

He’s dumping me. He’s
dumping
me! How is this possible? Over three years we’ve been together! How could he? We love each other, damn it! Unless…

“Is there someone else?”

“No… well, not really,” Seth stammers. And now I really hate him. “There are other… I mean, aren’t there guys at school that
you’re
interested in?”

“No,”
I say, although I can’t help but think of Mason.

“I’m sure there are.”

“Fuck you,” I say.

There’
s a long silence on the other line. I grip the phone in my fist, not wanted to be the one to break the silence. If I talk first, he wins. I can’t let him win.

“I need to go study now,”
Seth finally says.

He wants to hang up. He
’s not going to insist that I hang up first, and then tease me when I tell him he has to hang up first. He just wants to be rid of me.