Spinning Out

Chapter 17

JAINA

The internet is a beautiful and scary thing. I stayed up until 2am doing a deep dive into the street take-over crews. I need to find out where and when these take-overs will be so I can go. All I can find right now are videos of old take-overs and since I don't even have a description of the car that hit us, those videos don't do me any good. I need a fake profile.

I hand the women at the counter my ID and vaccine card and tell them Nathan's room. At this point they should just give me a hospital ID. They give me back my paperwork and wave me past. I'm the first guest to come in during visiting hours. The elevator is empty as I make my way up to his room.

I hate the way that days don't seem to matter in the ICU. Even at 9am, the whole floor is dark and there's no way of knowing what it looks like outside. It's a stark contrast from the labor floor. I've seen it a few times when the doors of the elevator opens there. The entire floor seems to be flooded with daylight. Large floor to ceiling windows let the sun in and families gather happily in the waiting room for their new members to arrive.

Not this floor. This floor is grim. The nurses try their best, but the reality is, if you are a patient on this floor, you are not doing so great. I step into Nathan's room and find him looking exactly the same as yesterday.

"Good morning," I tell him. He doesn't move, not that I'm expecting him too.

I inspect the machines as if I know what I'm looking at for a minute. I look at the large white-board hanging on the wall to see who his nurses are today and if they have left any notes for his family. There's a note stating he will be turned in an hour.

"I have so much to tell you," I begin. "You won't believe what happened with the boy from the elevator."

I'm beginning to recall the story when his nurse walks in.

"Good morning," she says.

"Good morning."

"The doctors should be by in about an hour," she tells me.

I nod and reach for Nathan's hand. The swelling is still bad, but I hold it in mine anyway.

I tell him all about my night and the boy who I kissed, wishing so much that he would wake up and make fun of me, or ask me questions. He doesn't. And when the nurses come in to roll him slightly so he doesn't get bed sores, I take the opportunity to head out to the vending machines for some breakfast.

When I get back to the room I explain to Nathan that I need to make a fake Instagram account. If he were awake, this would be the exact thing he would love. He pretends to mind his business, but his favorite parts of the week are when he stumbles upon someone else's tea.

I walk him through every step. First, I choose a name. Easy enough. I looked at the accounts last night and what I realized is that a lot of the female accounts that interact are just pictures of food and sexy girls. I can fake that easily. I search for some picture of girls that don't include a face. I scroll far down so they aren't top in the search. Now I just have to populate my account with the pictures.

"Men are stupid if this works," I tease Nathan.

Next, I follow all the major car companies and even some local tire stores. I follow random people who do not have private accounts. By lunch time, I'm following over one hundred people or businesses and have received some followers as well. It's working. I post a picture of my vending machine haul for good measure. The account will pass as legit to a quick glance, but if anyone really did a deeper dive, they'd see my pictures are all dated today. Over time that problem will fix itself as I add others.

The doctors come to his room as I am returning from my bathroom break after lunch. They look through his information while keeping very serious, straight faces. I watch for any sign of worry or even happiness, but they are true professionals—or robots--and don't give anything away. I tell them I'm on the release list, and they nod.

"Everything is stable," they tell me.

"Is he going to wake up?" I ask.

This questions always causes a moment of contemplation from the doctors, and believe me, I have asked each one.

"Right now we are just helping him heal. We will know more when we can do further testing," they say. It's no different from what I've heard already. I don't press for more.

I help to fluff the pillow behind his head and then open the blinds in his room in case what people saying about sunlight being healing is true. By the time dinnertime comes around, I've told him everything I have found out so far. I've been approved to follow two good leads. I'm stalking their profile when an Instagram story appears at the top of my phone screen.

The background is pavement and the message is just a time and the name of two streets. My heart stops. This is it. I know where they are meeting. I squeeze Nathan's hand and gather my stuff.

ME: I am going tonight.

I send the text to Elijah as I make my way out to my car. My hands are shaking. Am I really doing this? In this moment I'm so grateful he's offered to go with me and I'm hoping he responds. I'm almost home before I get his text.

ELIJAH: Wait for me. I'll pick you up.

I like the text and then run inside to change out of my sweats and into something more appropriate for being out in LA. I hear his car at the end of y street as I'm putting on my shoes. 

**Please don't forget to vote and share**