I took a shower and pulled on a T-shirt and jeans. I was dreading Monday morning. New school, new kids, new life. I loved where I lived in Texas, but I'm in Minnesota now. And so far, I'm not that keen.
I went downstairs to the kitchen, where Mom and Dad were already having breakfast. My Dad's a really successful doctor. We moved to Minnesota because of a promotion. "Logan. You're awake," he smiled. "I have something to tell you. Yesterday, one of the other surgeons mentioned that some of them were bringing in their kids today, the ones who want to do work experience in medicine. Do you want to come along?"
"Yeah, that'd be great!" I replied enthusiastically. I meant it too; I've wanted to be a doctor since I was really little. This was the perfect opportunity. I grabbed a piece of toast from the table. "Should I get my jacket?"
%%%
I looked around the long hallways. I was happy. I was finally going to get some work experience. I was one step closer to my dream job!
"Hey, Mr. Mitchell. We need you down in room 5, now. A new patient just got in."
Dad beckoned me to follow him, and I did. Of course, nothing prepared me for what I was going to see. I followed him into the room, and stopped short.
The boy lying on the gurney looked about my age. He had dark blond hair and green eyes. Those eyes were wide and full of tears. There were bright red scratches all around his eyes, and he was really pale. He was breathing hard, and talking to himself. "I'm not crazy . . ."
There was a redheaded woman standing next to him, stroking his hair and trying to reassure him. "It's ok, Baby, the doctor's gonna help you . . ."
"I'm not crazy . . . I'm not . . ."
I heard one of the other doctors talking to Dad, but there was a ringing in my ears, and I only caught fragments of the conversation.
"Kendall Knight . . . fifteen . . . schizophrenic . . . paranoia . . . tried clawing his eyes out . . ."
I felt sick. I watched him as he cried and kept repeating the same words, over and over. He tried to claw his eyes out . . . why would he do that . . .
"We need you to run some tests . . ."
The redheaded woman walked up to dad. Her eyes were also full of tears. "Look, I don't want any more tests done. He was diagnosed as schizophrenic over a year ago. My uncle was the same." She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I'm had him on all kinds of medication, and he won't eat, or sleep . . . and I just don't know what to do. I only took my eyes off him for one second and he just . . ." she broke down in tears.
I watched the boy named Kendall. I saw his wide eyes wander towards the table next to him. I knew what was going to happen.
"Dad!"
Kendall grabbed a long, sharp syringe off the table, and was now holding it above his heart, shaking uncontrollably. "I'll do it . . . I swear to God I'll do it . . ."
"Kendall, please!" Mrs. Knight sobbed.
"If I stab myself right here it'll kill me, right?"
I hesitated before stepping forward. "Logan, what are you doing?" I heard Dad ask skeptically, then asking me to come back. I ignored him.
I stepped closer to Kendall, who just clutched the syringe more tightly, still shaking and breathing hard. "Kendall, I'm Logan." I hesitated for another second. "I need you to put that down."
He was avoiding my gaze, looking down. "Why shouldn't I just stab myself? Won't that be easier for everyone?"
"Kendall, my Dad's a doctor. He's gonna help you."
"I'm not crazy . . ."
"I know you're not." Somehow, as I said it, I believed it. I really didn't think he was crazy. "The others might think you are, but I don't. And they're gonna help figure out what's wrong with you. I promise."
I saw his grip on the syringe loosen a fraction. "But they can't help, unless you give me that. Now." I held out my hand. For a second I was terrified that he was gonna stab my hand with it, but he just handed it to me. He looked up at me, and the scratches around his eyes seemed redder and loner than before. Somehow, it killed me inside to watch the doctors push him back down and restrain him, like he was some kind of animal.
"I'm not crazy . . ."