American Panda(37)

“No fucking way!” I yelled just as the saw fell silent. Crap. I could practically feel the veins in my cheeks dilating. Vasodilation, presenting as flushed cheeks, or blushing, I heard the squat boy say in my head.

Dr. Wilson glared at me, then returned to his cool-professor persona with a fake smile. “Everything okay?” he asked a little too sweetly.

“Yes. I apologize. I’m, uh, a visitor, and I was just . . . a little thrown off by how calm everyone is around the cadavers. It’s still pretty new to me.”

Dr. Wilson chuckled even though my lie was as exposed as Ruth’s neck. “This is nothing. In my day, when I was a student, we didn’t even use gloves. We ate lunch, hung out here, but now the rules are stricter. Who knows how much formaldehyde I accidentally consumed, and I’m still here.”

I retreated to a corner far from this potential psychopath.

By the end of the day, I was bathing in my own sweat. I didn’t know how I was going to do this—get through medical school, make this my life. A few hours and I was ready to immerse my entire body in a hand-sanitizer bath.

“Well?” Xing asked me, a hopeful smile on his face as he drove me home.

“I’m never eating corn chips again.”

“Oh yeah, the smell. Like I said before, it takes some getting used to.” He paused. “Wait, was it really that bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you. You use humor as a defense mechanism.” I gazed out the window, unable to look at him. “Talk to me, Mei-ball. What happened?”

At the sound of my nickname, I gave in. Fell apart. Became me. “I can’t do this. I just . . . I can’t.”

“Well, what did you enjoy about today? Let’s start there.”

A tear escaped from its pool at the corner of my eye. “Nothing. I enjoyed nothing.” My voice was a whisper, as if my words scared me. And they did. Because I knew the weight of what they meant. If I deviated from this path, it would be another behemoth secret from my parents, and it would be like shoving another biānpào into my overstuffed, overheating brain, and it was just a matter of time before one firecracker fuse ignited, leading to an epic explosion of domino proportions. Dance had been my gateway lie, an easy one that didn’t feel completely wrong since my parents had bought me my first pair of ballet shoes. But then it all just kept building and building, one secret at a time so it seemed doable, until now there was no more room.

Xing was glancing at me every few seconds, clearly unsure what to do. “What was so bad about it?”

“Do you ever struggle with thinking things are dirty? Worrying where they’ve been, what germs are on there?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Do you?”

Duh, I wanted to yell, but I stayed silent instead. How come we knew certain pieces of each other inside and out but then were oblivious to others?

Xing thought for a moment, then said, “Honestly? That stuff isn’t really an issue for me. I guess one time I carelessly shook hands with a scabies patient and it was a little gross thinking I might have gotten mites again”—Again?!—“so . . . yeah. That bothered me.”

I would have never made the mistake of touching that patient, I thought. And if I had, I would have immediately doused myself in mite poison or whatever. Burned my clothes, took a scalding shower, cut my hair, et cetera, et cetera.

“We’re different,” I said, the blue ribbon of understatements.

And I knew then what I had subconsciously known all along. I couldn’t be a doctor.

I hugged my knees to my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around them. Xing’s eyes raked over me, shifting from the tears running frightened down my cheeks, to my arms, to the fact that I made sure not to touch my shoes to any part of my body because, obviously, germs.

And I saw when he got it. Well, as much as someone like him could. His face completely sagged, those premature lines becoming so pronounced I could have stuck a penny between the folds.

“What now?” he asked me.

“You were supposed to be the one to answer that.”

I didn’t bother with the Porter Room that night. I knew it was futile.





Incoming text from Darren

Do you have trouble ordering coffee? Because of your unique name?

Me

No, they just write May.



after a minute

Duh. I should have realized that. I was trying to be smooth and segue into asking you to coffee. I was going to dare you to tell them Lady Peanut when they asked for your name.





Is that a yes? Because I like you a latte (as friends, of course, as previously stipulated).



I like how much you espresso yourself.



I’ll chai not to be late.





after an hour

I like you too, for the record. As friends, of course.





CHAPTER 16


HOT CHOCOLATE


OUTSIDE DARREN’S CHEMISTRY LECTURE, I leaned against the wall, one ankle over the other, trying to look nonchalant. Like what I imagined a friend waiting for another friend would look like.

His texts had arrived during my regular dance therapy session, but I was barely moving—just a sad middle-school dance, stepping side to side with limp arms flanking my hunched, hopeless body. It was as much as I could bear to move.