Ten Things

Ch.4-No Progress is the Best Progress

Grace

Even against my better judgment, I did grow closer with Tiffany. And I had to admit, it did feel nice being able to talk to somebody. Nobody else in that school would, which was fine with me, but I just had a feeling that if I didn’t have Tiffany constantly badgering away in my ear it wouldn’t have been the same.

The first few days of school were much the same, even if I only attended every other day. People skirted away from me, tiffany babbled on, but the whispers died down somewhat. The new girl could only stay the news for so long.

The one day I was dreading, the check-up, had finally come, and I was counting off in my head a hundred things I would have rather done than seeing some quack doc.

“How are you feeling?” my mother asked me as we settled in to the waiting room.

“Fine,” I replied curtly. It was eight in the morning on one of my off-days from school. I was not a morning person.

“Grace, you’ll need to be more civil to the doctor. At least try.”

I sighed. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

She nodded, patting the back of my hand. The waiting room wasn’t as inviting as the ones in Tennessee had been. Those were full of colors and smiles and TVs airing children networks. This one . . . it was stark. Blank, like a sheet of paper. The people were as dismal and down as the horrible tile and wallpaper choice. Crumpled and outdated magazines were scattered across the tables by the stiff couches. The few patrons waiting in the room flipped through them uninterestedly, not really reading but needing something to take their minds off of whomever they were waiting on in the back room.

I picked at the white sweater I wore. I had a lot of long-sleeved sweaters. They were comfy and soft and didn’t agitate my sensitive skin like some materials tended to do.

“Have you felt dizzy at all?” my mother asked, clearly feeling a need to fill the silence with superfluous words.

“No,” I replied automatically. It was a word I was used to, as “yes” meant a reason to worry and a reason to come back to the paper walls and beeping machines. I didn’t even think about it anymore, even if it was a lie.

“Good.”

And that was the end of that small, meaningless conversation.

“Grace Loving?”

My mother hopped up at the warm voice of the nurse. She had short red hair and freckles all over her face. So far the most colorful thing in the room. “I’ll follow you, honey,” my mother murmured, allowing me to take the lead.

“Hi,” the nurse greeted. Her nametag read Halle. “How are you today, Grace?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I replied politely, never one to forget my manners. Halle led me to a room with a rainbow border and speckled floors. Not as bad as the waiting room, but still lacking in life.

“Have a seat,” Halle said, and I jumped up on the cookie-cutter sheet rolled over a cushioned cot. Halle lowered into a rolling chair and scribbled a few things down on a paper in the usual unintelligible scrawl of medical professionals. My mom took a seat in a toddler chair by the door, clutching her purse to her chest.

I swore, sometimes she was more nervous about these things than I was.

“We’re just going to do some basic check-ups today,” Halle informed. “Nothing too strenuous. We just want to check on the progress of the cells, hoping that there isn’t any such progress to report.”