30 Days Too Late

Frustration

Rudy

"Good job today," Coach Johnson compliments. "Though everyone seems a bit off."

Heavy breathing draws everyone's attention to Dexter on my left. He sits tensely with a wet towel over his head. "Go to the health and wellness building Dexter," Coach Johnson says.

"I'm fine," he replies and raises his head.

"Go!" Coach Johnson shouts. Dexter throws his towel against his closet and shoulder checks Micheal on his way out.

"Scrimmage is next week, and I cannot stress this enough: take care of your sticks. Our first game is next Friday against the same team," he reads from a paper. "One last thing, the opening ceremony is tonight. Please attend before heading off to the social. Wear your hoodie, jersey, sweats, and bring your skates," he lists.

"Everyone else can leave except Rudy," he says, waving me over.

"Yes?" I ask, approaching him.

"I need you to keep Dexter calm through all this. He gets skittish," Coach Johnson explains.

"Skittish, like an animal? Can you fill me in? What's the deal with him?" I inquire.

"Just do what I ask," he says, walking away. So now I'm stuck babysitting an adult—this must be a dream. I gather my things and head to my dorm.

"Rudy," my name comes through my headphones, spoken by AI Sombra. I look down at my phone; it's a text from Dexter.

"What?" I text back.

"Come back to the dorm," he replies quickly.

"I'm going to the market for a snack," I respond.

"Please come," he insists.

I groan, wondering what he could possibly want.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the health building?" I type.

His three dots disappear, and I groan. He better be dying; I don't play about my BBQ croton. I unlock the door and step in. I hear a crash from the bathroom, he must be in there.  "Dexter," I call.

"It should be here," he pants. 

"What should?" I ask.

"My medication bags, I can't find them," he panics. He flings items from both our sides of the bathroom. He's even turned the shower upside down. "Can't find them," he repeats. "Can't find them!"

"Dexter," I call but he can't hear me in his current state.

"I'll check your room," I offer. I stop in my tracks, struck by how decorative it is. There's a large wizard broomstick in one corner and a collection of alien spaceships. Near his fluffy bed, there are even more alien collectibles. He's a complete dork! "Alien 2," I read from the base of one figure. "Oh!" I exclaim, lifting my foot. I pick up the pieces of a tablet, hoping my weight wasn't what crushed it.

I turn around and see a trail of broken tablets leading toward his three medication bags. "Hey, I think I found your tablets. You must've stepped on the capsule container when you rushed out this morning," I say.

"Really?" he rushes in.

"Yes!" I reply as he drops to the ground, picking up each piece.

"Are these for anxiety?" I ask.

He stays quiet, his hands shaking a little as he continues gathering the tablets. I sit back and watch him. "I have a question about your parents. Do they stress you out often?"

He avoids my gaze, swallowing hard. "Stress makes you sick, you know," I add.

"No, that's not it," he laughs nervously.