The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(29)

I’m overcome with a powerful wave of nausea and get sick onto the bed.

After all the pudding and my morning smoothie are gone from my system, I feel a tiny bit better. Well enough to unhook myself from the monitor, get up off the bed, and get away from the mess.

“You might want to help them,” I tell Jane and quickly exit the room, heading back to where my bed was standing previously.

The whole gang—Mira, my moms, and Bert—are standing there. Their chat is interrupted by Sara, the first of them to see me. She begins waving.

I inhale deeply, smile, and wave back at them as I approach.

“Hello,” I say, trying my best to ignore another wave of nausea. My intent is to make it seem like I’m feeling much better, or in other words, to lie.

“What are you doing up?” Sara says instead of a greeting. I guess, unlike me, she doesn’t feel like it’s been days since we saw each other.

“I needed to use the bathroom,” I lie. “I’m feeling much better, having walked a bit.”

“That’s good. Movement is life,” Sara says. She likes to dish out such pearls of wisdom from time to time. I’d normally tease her about it, but I’m in no mood right now.

“Where is your bed?” Mira says, her eyes narrowing.

She’s sharp, this one. I should’ve probably talked to her in the Quiet first. She’s not the one I’m trying to fool right now.

“I think they’re changing the sheets,” I say, having no idea of the plausibility of this statement.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that we spoke to the doctor,” Sara says. “The bullet just grazed your head. The X-ray shows no fragments of the bullet and no skull fractures. Those couple of stitches are all the damage done. You hurt yourself worse that time you fell off the monkey bars.”

“Or that time you fell off the shopping cart in Key Food,” Lucy adds.

“Great,” I say, interrupting the torrent of embarrassing incidents. “That means I can check out when I want, right?”

“The doctor promised he really would come by to see you after lunch. He said that if you want to check out at that point, he’ll let you,” Lucy says. “I’d make sure you’re feeling one hundred percent before doing that.”

Bert clears his throat. “Well, dude, I was just waiting to say good-bye. I have to go. Work, you know.”

“Sure, thanks for stopping by.” I pat him on the shoulder.

“We actually have to go also,” Sara says, looking at Lucy. “Now that we know you’re going to be okay. But you should eat something. According to your friend—” she nods her head toward Mira, “—all you’ve had is pudding and some Jell-O.”

I can’t believe my luck. I was just about to invent a way to get rid of them, but they’re doing it for me.

“Sure, Mom, I’m actually going to head into the cafeteria right after you leave,” I say. “Mira, do you want to go with me?”

“Of course,” Mira says. “But there’s a better option. My brother is almost here, so we can take you to a restaurant, get you some real food. Afterwards, we can have you back for that conversation with the doctor.”

“Great,” I say. “That works even better.”

In reality, food is the last thing I want right now. I’m still feeling sick. What I do want is to be far away from this hellhole.

“Okay then,” Sara says, giving me a hug. “Albert, let’s walk out together. Let Mira and Darren decide where they’re going to eat.”

I think I catch her winking at Bert as she says that.

“Oh, Lucy, Kyle had to leave, so you don’t have a ride,” I say, remembering Kyle’s quick departure.

“Right. He texted me. That’s why I’m leaving now. I’m sharing a cab with your mother.” She smiles and kisses my cheek.

“It was great to meet you, Lucy . . . Sara . . . Bert . . .” Mira gives each of my moms a hug, and Bert a kiss on the cheek. Must be a Russian thing.

“So where do you want to go to eat?” Mira says when they get out of earshot.

“I’m not actually hungry. I want us to get out of here quickly, though,” I say, and start walking toward the exit.

“What’s wrong?” Mira says, catching up with me.

“I’m feeling pretty sick—I just didn’t want to worry my moms,” I say. “I need fresh air.”

“If you’re sick, you should stay at the hospital,” she counters, but I keep increasing my pace.

“There’s something more going on,” she says when I avoid the elevator. “You’re taking the stairs on purpose. You don’t want to run into your family and friend on the way out.”

“You’re right. Can I please explain when we get out of here? Otherwise, we might get delayed by hospital security or something worse,” I say. “I got into a bit of trouble. I want to tell both you and Eugene about what happened. He would want to know.”

“Okay,” she says. “Let me check on him.”

We walk the rest of the stairs in silence, Mira messing with her phone.

“Okay, he’s parked near the south-side exit,” she says. “It’s this way.”

I follow her.