Chapter 11: Nurse

There wasn’t any other class that day besides the orientation, but I decided to skip it. I was in no frame of mind for that, and it’s not as though anyone would even notice my absence among hundreds of students.

I collapsed onto my bed, my head reeling with a million thoughts I couldn’t even comprehend. My father’s deadline was ringing in my head, reminding me that I had just made a very foolish mistake with Vesper this morning.

"You look like you're plotting a murder," a voice drawled from the other side of the room.

I looked up. It wasn't Aleera. It was Myla, my other roommate. Myla was different from Aleera. Where Aleera was soft edges and kindness, Myla was sharp angles and had a certain mysterious aura about her. She was sitting at her vanity, applying winged eyeliner on her face.

"Just a headache," I lied, rubbing my temples. "Stressing about credits."

"You scholarship kids are always so high-strung," Myla said, not unkindly. She capped her eyeliner. "If you need extra credit, you should hear the drama down at the infirmary. Madam Holloway—sorry, Nurse Thorne—is on a warpath."

My ears perked up. "What happened?"

"She fired her assistant. Again." Myla turned on her swivel chair. "Apparently, the girl was spending too much time ogling at the boys and not enough time sterilizing equipment. Now the old bat is looking for someone 'competent and devoid of hormones,' whatever that means. She needs someone to handle the intake files for the athletes."

The athletes.

My heart slammed against my ribs. The infirmary. It looks like the universe is giving me another chance perhaps.

"Does she have a replacement yet?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Doubt it. She’s turned away three girls since lunch. Claims they all have 'ulterior motives.'" Myla laughed. "She’s not wrong."

I grabbed my blazer, and the school map. "I’m going for a walk."

"Have fun," Myla called out, already turning back to her reflection.

The infirmary at Obsidian was more like a private clinic. It smelled of antiseptic and lemon polish. I smoothed my skirt, took a deep breath, and walked up to the reception desk.

The Head Nurse, Mrs. Halloway, was a formidable woman with steel-grey hair pulled back into a bun so tight it pulled at her eyebrows. She didn't look up from her paperwork as I approached.

"Excuse me," I started, putting on my best polite-scholarship-student voice. "I heard you might be looking for a student assistant?"

She stopped writing. Slowly, she looked up over the rim of her spectacles. Her gaze was withering.

"Name?"

"Sylvania… Sylvania Rodgers."

"Scholarship?"

"Yes, ma'am,” I responded, swallowing my saliva. These people seem to have a thing against scholarship students.

"Let me guess," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Pre-med? Nursing interest? Or are you just hoping to hold a cold compress to a quarterback's bruised ego?"

"I need the work-study hours," I said firmly. "And I have a 4.3 GPA. I’m organized, I’m quiet, and I care about sports."

I know I sounded stupid, but that was the sharpest reply my brain could think of.

"They all say that," she scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "I need a professional, Miss Rodgers. Not another fan girl looking for access. The position requires a level of discretion and detachment I have yet to see in this student body. We are done here."

"But—"

"I said, we are done."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I opened my mouth to argue, to beg, but the heavy double doors swung open behind me.

"Halloway!" a deep voice boomed. "Tell me you have the stash ready. My shoulder is killing me."

I turned.

Walking in were two boys wearing the signature crimson and gold varsity jackets of the Obsidian football team. The one who had spoken was tall, with dark, messy hair and a jawline that could cut glass. Vesper. The Quarterback.

Beside him was Julian, his shadow on and off the field, looking bored and scrolling on his phone.

Vesper didn't even look at me. He walked straight to the counter, leaning over it with the casual arrogance of someone who owned the building.

"Practice was brutal," Vesper said, flashing a charming grin at the nurse that didn't reach his cold eyes. "Need the usual. And maybe an ice pack."

Mrs. Halloway sighed, her demeanor softening instantly. "Language, Vesper. And wait your turn."

"I’m the only one here," he countered, finally glancing sideways. His eyes landed on me. He blinked, as if surprised to find a person standing there. "Oh. Didn't see you down there."

I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated loathing. It wasn't just because he was my target. It was because of last week, and today.

I didn't move. I didn't step aside. I just stared at him.

"You wouldn't," I said, my voice low and venomous.

Vesper’s grin faded. He turned fully toward me, towering over my frame. "Excuse me?"

"You wouldn't see me," I clarified, holding his gaze. "You don't see anyone besides your sickening self."

The room went quiet. Julian stopped scrolling and looked up, an amused smirk playing on his lips. Mrs. Halloway looked scandalized.

Vesper took a step closer, invading my personal space. He smelled of sweat, grass, and expensive cologne. "You’ve got guts, scholarship girl. A very stupid one."

"My name is Sylvania, not scholarship girl," I spat. "Or is your head too full of concussions to remember names too?"

Vesper’s eyes narrowed. The cold mask was gone, replaced by a flicker of genuine irritation. "Look at you trying to make yourself feel like a somebody when you’re fucking not."

"You’re… disgusting, to say the least," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "You think you’re a god because you can throw a ball, but you’re just a bully in a varsity jacket."

"And you," Vesper said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "are irrelevant. Move. Before I make you."

"Is there a problem here?" Mrs. Halloway’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

"No problem, Mrs. H," Julian chimed in, stepping forward and placing a hand on Vesper’s shoulder. "Just clearing the trash."

Vesper held my gaze for one more second—a challenge, a threat—before brushing past me, his shoulder checking mine hard enough to make me stumble. He leaned onto the counter, back to me. "My meds, Halloway. Now."

I stood there, shaking with rage, humiliated. I had blown it. I had antagonized the target and alienated the gatekeeper.

"Get out, Miss Rodgers," Mrs. Halloway snapped. "Now."

I stormed back into the dorm room, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled. I threw everything in my hands onto the floor and paced the small rug, my hands tangled in my hair.