None of the Above(45)

Great, I wasn’t just a freak. I was crazy, too. The thought of seeing a shrink made me want to cry: Having to tell the whole stupid story all over again. Another waiting room. Another form to fill out where there wasn’t a space for “None of the Above.” Where there wasn’t space for me.

My dad took the referral for the shrink, and I knew that he’d make the appointment.

“You’re going to need Dr. Cheng’s help if you ever want to go back to school again,” he said on the ride home.

“What if I don’t ever want to go back? Can’t I just get a GED?”

With a screech of tires, my dad pulled to the side of the road. He cut the engine and turned to me, face already getting red. “Are you joking? Krissy, what is the matter with you? You’ll lose your scholarship for sure.”

Suddenly, it was too much, the lies. Trying to be brave for him. “Dad . . . the whole school knows.”

“What?” He went pale.

“I . . . I told a couple of people, and you know how rumors spread.”

It was a good thing the car was already stopped. My father put his head in his hands for a moment. “Oh, Krissy. No wonder you don’t want to go to school. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

The helplessness on his face slayed me. So I didn’t tell him about the locker, or about Vee and me no longer being friends. Instead, I told him about my talk with Coach Auerbach. To my surprise, his face brightened.

“Well, they have no leg to stand on keeping you off the team, you know. We can take care of that right away.”

I stared at him. “Wait, what?”

At the disbelief on my face, my dad’s lips curled up, and I thought about how rare it had become for him to smile. “I finally found the right NCAA guidelines,” he said, “and people with AIS are considered women for competitive purposes. They can’t take your scholarship away.”

I stared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “I just figured it out last night. You were already sleeping. We know how easy it’s been to wake you up lately. And what a peach you are in the morning, too.” He muttered the last part under his breath.

I ignored the jab, and swallowed hard, my mind swirling in a dozen different directions. I could still compete, still go to college without my dad having to take out a second mortgage.

I still had a future.

But if I wanted it, I’d eventually have to go back to school.





CHAPTER 25


When Ms. Diaz gave me the list of places I could volunteer, I chose the Caritas Health Clinic, partly because I liked the idea of working with Dr. Johnson, and partly because it was the farthest location from our school, and only two other students had signed up to work there: Darren Kowalski and Jessica Riley.

As I drove up to the health clinic for my orientation, it became pretty obvious why so few people had chosen it for their service projects. The clinic wasn’t in the best part of town, and was in the same building as a check-cashing and bail-bond operation. The hallways had a 1970s orange-brown carpet that was matted down with wear and spotted with bits of trampled-in chewing gum.

After a bit of wandering, I finally found a door with a sign saying:



Caritas Health Clinic

Our mission: to administer quality health care regardless of age, race, gender, or ability to pay.



Just as I was about to press the buzzer to enter, another door just down the hall opened, and a familiar lanky figure came out.

“Hey, Darren,” I said. “Your notes were super helpful.”

He looked flushed, and blinked a couple of times owlishly. “Um, thanks. So, you’re the new volunteer?”

I nodded.

“Cool. I mean, we need all the help we can get here.”

“Sure. I’m excited to help. Though, are you doing . . . janitorial work?” I asked, peering at the sign on the door he’d just exited.

He laughed, and opened the door to show me a tiny closet with a computer and a bunch of other whirring equipment with lights. “We call it the Dungeon—it’s the main server for the electronic medical records. The desktop is so old you can practically hear it saying ‘I think I can, I think I can.’ Anyway, it can get pretty hot in there. So I have to come out every so often for air. And to help with orientation.” He looked at his watch. “You’re right on time. I’ll show you the break room.”

Darren used his ID badge to buzz me into a waiting room lined with plastic chairs, and brought me behind the front desk to a tiny room set up with a Mr. Coffee, a cube-shaped fridge, and a folding bridge table. Jessica Riley was there, drinking a Red Bull. After the world’s fastest double take, she jumped up out of her chair with a smile on her face.

“Kristin! So great to see you here.” The look of genuine delight on her face sent an unexpected wave of happiness through me, until I remembered that Jessica had been the female lead in our school play for two years running. If anyone could fake friendliness, she could.

I supposed I should be grateful that she tried.

Dr. Johnson came in, and shook my hand warmly. “Kristin, we’re so happy to have you here. As I’m sure you know, we operate on a razor-thin margin and are very short staffed, so every volunteer helps.

“After you get your patient confidentiality training, Darren will get you set up with our electronic medical record system. And Jessica will go over our prenatal-care algorithm. For now, though, we’ll just show you how to prepare rooms in between patients and checking people in.”