Chapter 3- Hospital
The white walls of the hospital almost glowed with cleanliness, the sickly scent of lemon air freshner was enough to strip paint with. A great effort had been made to make the waiting room cheery; paintings of puppies and landscapes hung on the walls, bright lilies stood proudly in a glass vase. Unfortunately, the snooty, skinny, frowning woman at the counter spoiled the effect a bit. Not even making an effort to look happy, her mean little eyes glared sharply at us, counting the seconds till her lunch break.
"What do you want?" she asked bluntly, pulling an expression like she had a bad smell up her nose after one look at the two children in front of her. If the bogey green clothes weren't a crime against fashion, she didn't know what was. Both of them deserved to be hanged outside Gucci by their shoelaces.
One of the brats, a fat boy with hair that needed cutting, started to speak to her. Great. She went to drama school for this?
"Please could you tell us if you perchance have a patient with the surname 'Pasteur'?" The stuck-up woman's manicured fingers bashed the keyboard as though it had offended her.
"We do" she said, not bothering to give them a second glance. "Are you relatives?"
"Well, no but-"
"You can't see him, then,"
"Is he alright, Miss?" the girl piped up, pleading at the realisation that Christy was right for once.
"If he was alright, he wouldn't be here!" Beatrice's eyes started to glisten with worry.
"What's wrong with him? Is he badly hurt? Will he be ok soon?"
"I can't tell you if you aren't family members. Sorry." she added in a tone that was less than apologetic.A gentle hand gripped Beatrice's shoulder.
"Maybe if we come back tomorrow, someone will help us," Melvin punctuated this with a dirty look at the receptionist, noting that her name tag happened to read 'Lucy Wiles'.
Sure enough, the nerds were back the next day as soon as the school bell rang, bringing the entire group. Thanks to Christy and her big mouth, they already knew and were just as worried as I was. Thankfully, a red-cheeked girl sat at the reception in Mrs. Wiles' place.
"Can I help you, kids?" she smiled, a sweet, toothy grin like a child's. The sparkle in her eyes comforted the group, giving Earnest enough bravery to talk.
"Could we see a patient, please? A Bucky Pasteur?"
"Sure," she replied, oblivious to the boy's approving glance where her top button should have been done. "Brought in the other night, right? Still, I bet he feels lucky having so many visitors." She stood up and led them to the room, stopping just outside. "If anyone asks, you're family, ok? I know it's dumb, but regulations and all that." Immediately, seven heads nodded and the door swung open like Aladin's cave.
Looking at their friend's dove white skin and the strawberry scratches criss-crossing along his body, the term 'lucky' seemed nothing but palpably wrong, unless the girl had meant "lucky to be alive".
He looked better than expected, but not much; violet bruises covered his pale skin; a papery bandage snaked around his arm; his eyelid were closed, dark blue from violence, a few tiny cuts above his eyebrows. Once the initial shock dissipated, questions rumbled through the room.
"Who did this?"
"Where did they find him?"
"Just past the bridge, doctor said he's got a cracked rib as well as the other stuff."
"Should we wake him up?" Earnest asked.
"I think the doctor said he was unconscious." "It's a shame he can't tell us who did it."
"Would you help me find out?" Six heads turned in the direction of the high, quiet question. "They can't just get away with this. Please." After a moment of silence, the boys nodded in agreement. When a single gear is faulty, the machine stops working unless someone sorts the problem. This was no different.
"We'll list who it could have been and find out tomorrow." Earnest announced, the final word drowning below the theories sprouting up like weeds between the paving stones.
"I bet it was the jocks," Cornelius piped up.
"Of course it was those rapscallions,"
"Are you thure? Could've been the greatheballs,"
"Thad, is there a reason behind that theory?"
"They're dickth?"
"Well, since we're brainstorming. Who else?" Within an hour, nearly every person the nerds had ever met had been collected up onto a list in the back of a notebook, each one tied up with thoughts and theories. Ideas swam about the room, numerous as tadpoles in a pond before a voice interrupted.
"Sorry, visiting time's over," The nerds turned to the girl reluctantly before shuffling from the room. With any luck, Bucky would wake soon. In the mean time, they had to find their own answers.