The Accomplice(2)

Luna made a choking sound. Her eyes rolled back, her body went stiff, and she began to vibrate and tilt to the side. She fell off her chair onto the hard linoleum floor. Owen winced as he watched her head hit the ground and bounce up again.

Owen called for help, but the entire floor was empty. He crouched next to Luna, balled up his jacket, and put it under the base of her neck. She made a gurgling sound, which Owen misinterpreted as choking. He stuck his fingers in her mouth, trying to press down on her tongue, remembering something he’d read or heard or seen on TV about people swallowing their tongue in the midst of a seizure.

He called for help again, but Luna’s convulsions had begun to fade. He removed his fingers from her mouth and wiped them on his sweatshirt. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed 911. He told the operator what had happened. The operator asked if Luna was breathing. Owen turned his head and let his ear hover above her mouth. He could hear her soft, wispy breath.

He told the operator that she was breathing but unconscious and provided their location. Then he sat on the floor next to Luna for several minutes, watching her inhale and exhale. It seemed to Owen as if she were in a deep, luxurious slumber.

Luna opened her eyes. She first saw that flickering light again, and then she saw the boy staring down at her. He looked familiar, but that concerned gaze was even more familiar. A trail of drool slid down her cheek.

Owen covered his hand with his sleeve and wiped it off.

“What are you doing?” Luna asked.

“Wiping drool off your face,” Owen said.

“Do I know you?” Luna said.

“Not well.”

“What happened?”

“I think you had a seizure,” Owen said.

“I know that,” Luna snapped.

“I called 911.”

“Where am I?” Luna said. Then she noticed books. From the angle on the floor, it looked like she was trapped in a library maze. “Oh yeah, right.”

When she sat up, her brain felt like an eight ball in a glass of water. She reached up and touched a small lump on the side of her head.

“The ambulance should be here any second.”

Luna stumbled to her feet. “I need to get out of here before they come.”

“You should see a doctor,” said Owen.

“Why? I’m fine.”

“Has this happened before?”

“I’m epileptic. Of course it’s happened before.” Luna picked up her notebook and shoved it in her bag. She turned to Owen. “Thanks for…whatever you did.”

“I just put my jacket under your head.”

“That’s it?” Luna said, with a note of skepticism.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder and checked her close perimeter for any lost or forgotten items.

“I made sure you didn’t swallow your tongue,” Owen said, as casually as one can say that.

Luna froze and then slowly looked up at Owen. Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t stick your fingers in my mouth,” she said.

She could tell from his expression that he had. Her profound disappointment was hard to miss.

“I—” Owen started.

“It’s a myth,” said Luna. “You can’t swallow your own tongue. Think about it, dude.”

Owen curled his tongue back and thought how obvious that seemed right then. But he figured all tongues were different.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Owen said.

“If you want to help, you turn someone on their side.”

“Good to know.”

The ambulance pulled up in front of the library, sirens blaring and lights reminding Luna of the one that had set off her fit.

“I’ll see you around,” Luna said as she took the back stairs, like a robber making a getaway.

Owen promptly gathered his belongings and followed her.

“Wait up,” he said.

Luna didn’t. She knew he could catch her if he wanted to.

Outside, Luna was revived by the fresh air and a rush of adrenaline as she breezed past the incoming paramedics.

Owen caught up with Luna and walked in stride with her through the quad. “You hit your head pretty hard. You might have a concussion.”

“I don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve hit my head before.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay with you to make sure you don’t develop any symptoms.”

Luna wanted him to stay. She’d wanted him to follow her out of the library. But she was good at not saying what she wanted.

“It’s a free country,” she said.

As they walked in stride, Owen was greeted by a gauntlet of students, cheerily acknowledging his presence. Owen would raise his hand in a half wave or nod as a response.

“You running for class president?” Luna asked.

“Never. Why?”

“You have a lot of friends,” she said.

“Acquaintances,” he clarified. “People like me. Don’t know why.”

Luna thought he probably did know and didn’t want to say. He was handsome but not manly or rugged. Attractive without being threatening. And, judging by his egalitarian greetings, he was friendly. Luna didn’t mention any of that. She did, however, ask a question no one had ever asked him before.