Heartsick by Caitlin Sinead Read Free Book Online Page A

ointment and crisscrosses a few bandages. We get some instructions for at-home care. We’re set.
    Luke said he would wait for us but I didn’t really expect him to, so I’m surprised to see him leaning forward in one of the lime green chairs, reading his phone. He springs up when he sees us.
    “Everything okay?” he asks. “How many stitches did you need?”
    “None.” Mandy says it sharp and proud, like she is somehow to credit for not needing stitches.
    Luke squints and rubs the back of his head. “Really? None?” He looks past us to the nurse. “Bill, what about the glass?”
    Luke knows the nurse’s name? Do all townies just know each other? Bill responds, “She must have got lucky. The cuts are shallow and clean.”
    Luke paces from one row of waiting room chairs to the next. “Well, you might still want to file a complaint against that guy.”
    “No,” Mandy says. “I told you it was an accident. Anyway, what’s it to you?”
    “Mandy,” I say, “he’s just trying to help.” I shoot a sideways glance at Luke with the most apologetic drippiness I can muster.
    “Whatever,” Mandy says, giving Luke a good glare before she jerks her head to the door. “Let’s just go home.” Her footsteps pound against the tiles as she leaves.
    My influence has runneth dry.
    “I’ll be right there,” I say.
    Once she’s out the door, I look back at Luke. “Thanks for your help.”
    Luke’s mouth is twisted, and he’s looking past me as he scratches his neck below the ear. “I really thought she would need stitches.”
    I shrug. “Well, it’s not like you’re a doctor or anything.”
    He doesn’t respond. Maybe he is a doctor? No, he’s too raw, too working-class and rusty.
    I
head
to the door.
    “Quinn,” he says, his eyes finally focused on me. “I’d like to see you again.”
    “I’ll be around.”
    “I don’t like to rely on chance.” He holds up his phone. “Can I get your number? Maybe I could come back sometime to have a few more lagers.”
    “You’re greedy, aren’t you?”
    “Very.” He grins.
    I don’t want to commit to anything. But I also don’t want to be rude. Whatever is going on with Mandy, he was helping. And I want to kiss that grin. Later. So I give him my number, but don’t ask for his.
    He touches my shoulder before I can turn away from him. His voice is low, serious. “Be careful around that guy, Quinn. I know Mandy said it wasn’t what it looked like. But in my experience, things are usually exactly what they look like.”

Chapter Six
    Mandy is a morning person, and I like to sleep until the last possible second. And then make some Pop-Tarts, eat them in bed and close my eyes for eight more minutes.
    So I’m not surprised when she isn’t around the next morning as I shuffle between my bedroom and the kitchen in my fuzzy socks. I stare blankly at a half-covered-in-plastic piece of provolone next to a twelve-pack in the fridge, until I remember I don’t have to refrigerate Pop-Tarts.
    Whenever I make silly mistakes like that, it means I need to create something. My mind needs to craft something in order to work. Especially when the world is confusing. And right now, the world has purple eyes and curious encounters and bloody wounds that sort of disappear.
    I head to the art studio. As I slither the brush along the canvas, it’s like everything around me dissolves into a foreground. Then I head to the dance studio and practice my senior solo for a few hours.
    I don’t turn my phone on until the sun gets crisp and dark orange. A text from Conrad is waiting for me: Mandy’s arm is fine. She is cured!
    And then there are multiple texts and missed calls from some reporter at the local paper. She insinuates she has talked to a nurse who confirmed that Mandy’s minor injuries should still be evident today. But, according to the reporter, they’re not. However, no one at the hospital will go on the record, so the reporter wants to talk to me about Miracle