The smell of rubbing alcohol wafted through the school nurse’s office. Too bad it wasn’t the other kind after the day I’d had. Not that I’d ever drink after my father tried to drown me in rum and Cokes last year—on pain meds no less. I moved my fingers across the crisp white sheets of the cot that the strange nurse had put me on. Not that she was weird or anything, just that I’d never seen her at Roosevelt High.
The nurse leaned over my swollen head. Her nasty cigarette breath made me turn my face away. “How you feeling, Dylan?”
I shrugged. Dylan. I was having the hardest time getting used to my new name. I wished I could go back to being Ben Smith. At least Dylan Jones was better than Bompsy Carleffa. What a freaking nightmare—even if it was my real name. Whatever it took to stay alive.
The nurse opened a refrigerator, pulled out a pointy needle, and gave it a finger thump.
I pushed myself up on my elbows. “What’s the needle for?”
The nurse leaned over my swollen head. Her nasty cigarette breath made me turn my face away. “How you feeling, Dylan?”
I shrugged. Dylan. I was having the hardest time getting used to my new name. I wished I could go back to being Ben Smith. At least Dylan Jones was better than Bompsy Carleffa. What a freaking nightmare—even if it was my real name. Whatever it took to stay alive.
The nurse opened a refrigerator, pulled out a pointy needle, and gave it a finger thump.
I pushed myself up on my elbows. “What’s the needle for?”
She gave a crooked smile. “This won’t hurt a bit—Mr. Carleffa.”
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