Raychel sighs. “My grades are good enough for a state school, but…”
“Yeah and your financial situation will probably help, so you’re kind of lucky,” I say, trying to sound positive. “I mean, you have guaranteed money here, but that doesn’t mean it’s your only choice.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t applying anywhere else,” she says, words clipped. “Most applications aren’t due until March.”
“True,” I admit. “You’ll get in better places though, if you try.”
“Thanks,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not.
*
At school, Raych goes to class, and I go to the gym to help set up for the blood drive. Everyone’s so busy that I don’t even have to try to avoid Mindy.
I wait to give blood myself until fourth period, the same time Raychel comes to donate. “Hey, Trent,” I call. He looks up from a cookie tray he’s organizing with Rosa. “I’m going to get in line.” He gives me finger guns, nodding at Raychel, and I join her. “How’s your day?”
“Fantastic,” she deadpans. “Yours?”
“Not as bad as I expected.” The line moves forward. I know she doesn’t weigh enough to meet the requirements, but I also know enough not to mention a girl’s weight, ever. Her eyes cut toward the tables, so I try to hear what she’s listening to.
“Have you had male-to-male sexual activity?” a worker asks one of our linemen, who makes a big show of laughing and looking around as he sputters his denials.
“Methinks the meathead doth protest too much,” I whisper, but Raych doesn’t even crack a smile. Maybe this weekend won’t be photo album time after all.
RAYCHEL
I’m glad it’s blood drive day. Getting stabbed with a needle sounds oddly cathartic.
Last night, Mom and I sat down with a budget and tried to find a loophole, but the numbers are nothing but a noose: I’m stuck here next year, unless I can get a full ride somewhere else. I’m trying to feel okay about it. At least I get to go to college. But Matt’s little lecture this morning about “better” places sucked the wind right out of that.
I step forward when he does, waiting for my turn to bleed. Student Council really decorated for the occasion. I mean, they decorate for every occasion, but this one is a doozy. Red streamers everywhere, as high as someone on a chair could reach. Smiling red poster-board blood drops dangle from the basketball goals like morbidly happy rain. There’s even a kid dressed as a plush blood drop carrying a giant stuffed syringe. I’m afraid to laugh. I might not be able to stop.
Matt’s arm bumps mine. I can tell he’s about to put it around my waist, so I lean over to scratch a pretend itch on my leg. He’s been extra affectionate lately, and I’m sure he’s just trying to make sure I’m okay, but it’s getting a little annoying.
When it’s our turn, I answer each question in a normal voice. Might as well make the eavesdropping easy. No recent vaccinations. No sexual contact with a prostitute. “Have you ever had sexual contact with a male who has ever had sexual contact with another male?” the nurse asks.
“Not that I know of.”
She gives me a dirty look. “From 1977 to the present, have you received money, drugs, or other payment for sex?”
“No.” She won’t think beer for boobs is funny. It’s funny to me—funny that it makes the most sense of all my recent sexual encounters. It’s not all that different from tempting blood donors with free food. Surely veins are more intimate than chests.
“Are you sure you weigh enough?” the nurse asks, eyeing me.
“Of course,” I lie, faking a smile. She shakes her head but writes it down. I’m only a few pounds low, and I’ll do anything to miss an hour in the same room with Carson. Talking to Mrs. R. helped, but it doesn’t change the fact that I have to see him every day—or that I’m likely to keep seeing him every day for the next four years. He probably signed his soul to a fraternity in fifth grade.
I was worried that Mrs. R. would be legally obligated to report what happened, but she promised not to. “To be honest, you’d never get a conviction,” she said. She did make me promise to tell my mom, but I’m in no hurry to follow through there.
The nurse preps my arm. “You might want to look away.” I don’t. “Tiny veins…” She taps my inner arm. “Let’s try this one. Little stick…” The needle looks huge, but doesn’t hurt that bad. “Just lie back and relax,” she says, pointing to the TVs they’ve set up with old Disney movies. I can see both Cinderella and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs from my chair.
I watch the bag instead. It fills slowly, blood thinner than I expect. Beside me, Matt’s watching Aladdin and drinking bottled water, his bag slightly darker than mine. “What’s your blood type?” I ask.
He glances over. “A positive.”
Of course.
MATT
The nurse pulls the needle out of my arm. It hurts worse coming out than going in, but I’m ready and manage not to wince. Raychel doesn’t either, and shows me her Disney princess Band-Aid with dark humor, but when she stands up, her eyes roll back in her head. “Crap!” I move on instinct and grab her under the arms before she hits the floor.
“Oh dear,” the nurse says blandly. “I had a feeling that might happen.” When I glare, she glares back. “I bet she learns her lesson.”
I bet she doesn’t.
*
The nurse approves Raych to leave in time to make Senior Seminar. Ms. Moses, our teacher, might understand if Raychel missed, but since she told me I couldn’t skip for StuCo responsibilities, I doubt she’d make an allowance for Raychel responsibilities. “How do you feel?” I ask as we leave the gym.
“Okay. Wobbly.” I offer my arm but she waves it away. “It was worth it for the cheese dip.”
“It is pretty good,” I admit, humoring her. “But Raych…” I grab her hand and pull her to a stop. “You know that was a bad idea. I could have just brought you some queso.”
“I’m a big girl,” she says. “It was fine.”
“You’re not a big girl. That’s why it wasn’t fine.” I smile, hoping she’ll take the joke and the warning and let it go without getting mad.
She lets go of my hand to adjust her sleeve. “It was no big deal. It’s fine.”
Fine.
*
Every week, Ms. Moses gives us a topic to discuss that’s common to all our projects. Today we’re discussing gender equality, which should be fun, given Raychel’s mood. When I’m called on toward the end of class, I mumble something about men and women being inherently equal, but Raychel levels a glare across the room. “You’re just saying that to be PC,” she says, and the rest of the class goes silent.
I put on my calmest face. “So if I say women and men aren’t equal, I’m a chauvinist, and if I say they are, I’m … still wrong somehow?”
“There’s a difference,” she says, taking her pencil out of her mouth, “between equal and identical.”
“Well yeah, but that doesn’t mean one is better.”
“No, but one inherently has the upper hand.”