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Chapter 2

    I sit, completely in shock, as Cliff saunters away. A nurse walks past me, eyeing me suspiciously, so I climb to my feet.

     “You’re not just gonna walk away, are you?!” I shout, trying to sound tough, but I end up sounding more like a wounded puppy. Cliff says nothing, only walks a little faster, rounding the corner in no time; the passing nurse shoots me a dirty look, probably thinking I’d been talking to her. I huff, flick my head in a nervous looking way to clear an auburn strand of hair from my eyes, and haul myself to my feet. I readjust my cream and white striped sweater as I stand on the spot, tapping the toes of my brown boots on the ground. I have no idea what to do with myself.

     “Raina?”

     I spin around, feeling foolish. It must have looked odd standing nervously in the middle of the hallway.

     “Dad.” I try not to make eye contact with the man standing a few feet away from me. His jaw is square, and he has my rounded nose and green eyes. He wears scrubs, but plain ones; boring and sterile, nothing like Courtney’s. He’s never grasped the concept of seeming welcoming.

     “Raina, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be at your desk,” he says dryly, and I cross my arms over my chest. Leaving him standing stiffly and holding his clipboard, I take off and pass him quickly. He doesn’t say a word as I board an elevator, only gives me a stern look as the elevator doors close.

     “Good morning, Raina,” comes the voice of the black haired woman sitting behind the receptionist’s desk. I’m in the hospital’s neighboring building- they’re connected by a sky bridge, all enclosed in glass that sends rays of light shooting in all directions. This is the outpatient and research building; the first seven floors are for waiting rooms, gift shops, cafeterias and play areas- the last three are for offices and labs. Presently, I am on floor four, mostly examination rooms, but more excitingly the waiting room for children awaiting their checkups. I can’t contain my smile at the sight of the space I’m in.

     Colors burst from every inch of the walls; the large oak desk in front of me is the only dark shade in the whole room. There are three spots for receptionists- the black haired woman and a fair red head occupy two large rolling chairs in front of their computers, while the one that awaits me is vacant but welcoming. On the right of the large, joined desk is an explosion of play houses, puzzles, Legos, and toddlers. To the left are parents waiting patiently, some flipping aloofly through magazines while others nervously apply hand sanitizer as though everything in the room is pulsating with germs. 

     “Hey, Janet,” I grin, hopping over the side of the wrap around desk. The fair red head gives me a bleak look, like simply my presence makes her nervous, but Janet just laughs and spins once around in her rolling chair.

     Janet is young, in her early twenties; she’s got a nose stud that you only notice on certain days and applies her eyeliner thick and black like her curtain of hair that hangs down her back. She has bangs that she parts down the middle when she thinks hard, and wears scrubs the colors of sherbet ice cream. When she tucks pieces of hair behind her left ear, the spacer in her lobe is visible, glistening bright pink.  Janet has become my best friend.

     “Red head over there hasn’t said a word all morning,” she says playfully, jerking a thumb at the woman behind her. She’s jabbing at her keyboard stiffly, perched over it like a praying mantis, her index fingers poised- they strike the keys in uneven intervals. I start to reply, but the clearing of a throat sends me whirling around.

     “Aren’t you a little young to be a…” the woman stops, clearly trying to figure out the right word.

     “…receptionist?” I finish for her. She’s standing with her arms folded, slightly hunched over. Her eyes are sunken into her head like she hasn’t slept for days, but even despite this she looks no older than twenty. I wait for a snappy comeback, but she says nothing.