I looked to Whennerholm as the door shut. He let out a huge sigh and flopped back on my bed, the twenty-seven or so year old man resting his head on his hands. "Man, sorry about that kiddo. Almost spilled the beans there," he said.

I chuckled flatly. "And then you went on and on about confidentiality, wow."

"I honestly thought that you'd finally grown up and made some friends," he said, pretending to wipe a crocodile tear from his eye. He sat up, looking at me. "Was a little harsh? I held back from saying that I'd call security on them," he said and grinned as I couldn't help but crack a smile. He stood, his posture more relaxed now that the others were gone.

"You're always a little harsh, but I think that's just you, Whennerholm," I said and he chuckled, shrugging.

"Okay, kid, now we can talk business." he nodded at the clipboard that he'd been holding and marking up earlier. "I'd like to do your next blood transfusion next Monday at the latest. How have you been feeling?" he asked, lifting the clipboard and making some more notes.

I shrugged. "A little light-headed, lately. I've been getting bruised easier," I said, pulling up my sleeve and showing the man where I'd bumped my elbow into a door on my way to school a few days ago. The mark was maybe the size of a quarter, not as round, though, and a deep purple-green shade. "Three days ago."

Whennerholm grimaced. "What about being light-headed? I signed you out of that awful PE they wanted you to take since you missed it freshman year."

"I've been making it to all of my classes alright. Driving has been fine," I said, rolling my sleeve down. I noticed that it was a three-quarter sleeve. There were a few bruises on my hands and such from everyday life, and I wondered if any of the group, including Max, had seen them?

Whennerholm nodded. "Have you considered doing the independent study like I suggested?" He asked, making a note.

I let out a sigh, leaning back into the headrest of the bed. "I think that I would get lonely? No human interaction except when I come to the hospital. I wouldn't be around friends at all."

Whennerholm let out a chuckle. "What friends?" he grinned deviously.

"Ouch. That's rude." I said, punching him in the shoulder.

He smiled. "No. I called the school because I was curious about when Lana gets to high school," he said. Lana was his daughter.

"Isn't Lana four years old?" I laughed.

He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at me. "That doesn't mean I can't be prepared and be the best single dad ever," he said. Whennerholms wife left him after Lana had turned one. Whennerholm had told me it was because she felt she wasn't ready to be a mother, him still in med school but almost fished while she was getting her law degree. He hadn't heard from her since, except when she'd sent divorce papers through the mail, saying he could have custody and she wanted nothing. He had told me he was fine with the whole situation, especially after discovering he much preferred the more masculine sex to women.

"In all seriousness," he continued, "I called and asked. You can dual enroll in two classes at the high school and then everything else at home." he continued to mark little things on his clipboard. "Amber does it so she can keep up with school while she does sports." He said. "She's going to Junior Olympics this year. Again," he said, smiling.

"And all that and she still has time to give me her precious O- blood." I let out a sigh, a slight feeling of guilt in my chest. She said she did it because I was her friend, but sometimes I questioned if she really meant it. The most I could do in return was show up to all her meets when I could and help her when she was struggling with her classes. I kept her GPA at a solid 3.9 through all her sports. I honestly was surprised sometimes at myself. I suppose I was good at school.

"You're a senior. Have you been applying to colleges?" Whennerholm asked as he set the clipboard down. I nodded. "Accepted into any?"

I nodded again, looking out the window that overlooked the gardens outside. "UC Berkeley accepted me. That was my top choice, so it seems that if I can make it through the last of this semester I'll be home free."

"Congratulations." Whennerholm smiled. He'd gone to UC Berkeley. "That's pretty far away. Almost across the country." We lived in New York.

I let out a sigh. "That's why I think I might not be able to go," I said.

There was silence for a moment that drew my eyes up to Whennerholm. "There are more doctors than me. I went to UC Berkeley. I did work with people getting their degrees and I'll refer you if I need to. Don't let your condition stop you from living. Anemia, no matter how severe, like in your case, can't let you " I smiled, his pep talk needed. My parents tended to not be around enough to give me any.

"So," he said, setting down the clipboard. "I have a nurse coming to draw some blood. We're going to do some more tests. Just routine, like usual. It'll take about four weeks to do the whole scan because we're a little backed up right now with all the research going on at the labs." He said. He took out a few tools and did the usual temperature, pulse, and blood pressure check. My temperature was low, as normal, my pulse sketchy and inconsistent as usual, and my blood pressure was alarmingly low as always.

Whennerholm set his tools down. "Well, everything looks like it should be." he joked, and I laughed. I had poor health, to say the least. It was something I did a good job of concealing by keeping my hospital visits for checkups and blood transfusions on the down-low and taking incredible amounts of vitamins to supplement my lack of... well, everything in my body. It was something I was used to at this point.

Severe anemia had raised its ugly little head when I had been eleven. My parents had just come home from a trip and we were all just taking a few days during my winter break to be a family when my heart had failed. I'd woken up in the hospital for the first time and had been terrified.

I had always been a pale kid, and I'd never been good at sports because I'd had weak lungs and was always tired. We always thought that the reason I always seemed fatigued was that I was "a growing boy that needed rest". It had turned out to be very serious anemia. Nowadays I spent great amounts of time missing school and other activities to be in the hospital when things got rough or I needed blood transfusions. My blood donor, Amber Shoran, was an athlete that had seen me in the hospital when she was visiting her grandfather and had taken it upon herself to be my personal donor after finding out that our rare blood types, O-, matched.

I looked up at the nurse, her name Julianne, as she smiled down at me after saying my name for what had to be the third or fourth time. Whennerholm was writing a report on the chair next to my bed, his fingers typing like lightning. "I'm amazed your jaw didn't break and only needed to be set back and your ankle was only slightly twisted. Not to mention the concussion! It could've killed you." Whennerholm looked up at me as Julianne gently pressed the needle into my arm and my blood began to fill the little tube. She filled three of them. My precious blood.

"Don't be so morbid, Dan." Julianne said, speaking to Dr. Whennerholm. Whennerholm held up his hands, the sound of his typing ceasing for a moment before returning in full. Julianne turned back to me, removing the needle and placing a bandaid over the small puncture. "Don't listen to him, love." The young woman said, sitting on the bed next to me and taking out medicated arnica gel. I knew it well, the stuff working like a medical to heal my bruises faster. She took some and rubbed it into my hands where there was multiple bruises. Then on my brow, my elbow, and my shoulder where I'd fallen on the asphalt after being beaten up.

"I want to take on that damn school about this. They know full well about Jackson's condition and that if bullying got out of hand--which it has--he could get severely injured, like he now is." Whennerholm fumed, closing the laptop for a moment, and then opening it again and clocked furiously. "I'm sending them an email saying that I want an official hearing. I want that kid expelled."

"Please don't." I said, and Whennerholm looked up, Julianne pausing putting the arnica on for moment. "It's just... I feel like it could get worse."

Whennerholm raised an eyebrow at me and Julianne spoke. "You're telling us it could get worse? You're in the hospital, Jackson." She had a point.

"Fine. First Amendment. You have the right to say whatever you want to the school." I said, and Whennerholm rubbed his hands together like he was planning out his words very carefully, whispering "oh, trust me, I will..." I had instant regret. 

"As soon as Whennerholm signs you off, you can go home." Julianne said, rolling her eyes at the doctor. "I'll drop off the medications he prescribed for you--just some painkillers and more of the usual--so you can start taking those." She stood, washing her hands at the small sink in the room and placing the files of blood in a sealed bag to bring to the lab, her nice handwriting having scrolled a few words on the labels. She brushed her hand through my hair in a way that was affectionate like a sister. "You should get a haircut soon. Maybe next week when the bruises on your cheeks go down." she said. There was a soft white band-aid covering the place of my jaw where the football player had punched me. 

"Okay." I said, laying back. I was tired, and even though I knew you weren't really supposed to sleep when you got a concussion, I figured I'd already broken that rule once. 

"I'll send you some photos of what would look good." She said, and waved as she left the room. 

I closed my eyes, letting the sound of Whennerholm typing the reports lull me off for a few minutes. I woke up when he stood up, the click of his laptop bringing me back to consciousness. "I get off in an hour," he said, adjusting his pens in his pocket. "I'll give you a ride home and we can stop and get something to eat so you don't have to eat the nasty patient food they give out." he said. I nodded, laying back and looking up at the ceiling. "How does your ankle feel?" He asked, pausing at the doorway. 

I could feel the tight gauze wrapped about my left ankle. "It's fine." I didn't really hurt. "My jaw, too. it's just a little sore. That's all."

"Okay," Whennerholm said. "See you in an hour or so. I'll give your parents a call soon." He shut the door. 

I watched the ceiling for a few minutes, and then I heard a buzz come from my school bag resting on the floor. I leaned down, admittedly almost falling out of my bed, before grabbing my phone from the leather bag. I looked at the screen and saw that six different new numbers had texted me all in a group chat, all sending multiple things and names. My heart spun as I went through and read everything, more and more text popping up as I went. I slowly managed to input their names, my fingers a little slow at typing. I could play piano, the one things other than science that I took pride in, but that didn't seem to effect my texting abilities. I was like an old man trying to make a post to Facebook. 

'hello' I managed to get in in a pause in the conversation. There was a moment of hesitation, and I wondered if the text had even delivered, before all the people started sending texts. They asked if I was okay, if I was out of the hospital yet, everything possible. I set my phone down, my head spinning. I didn't know that teenagers were so fast at chatting over text. I couldn't keep up. 

My phone buzzed again, but when I looked down, next to all the other texts from the group chat, there was one from Max. 

'you okay?' it read, and I typed back that I was. 'the guy who beat you up is an asshole. I'm gonna get coach to kick him off the team.'  I winced at that. I didn't understand why they were all going out of their way to do things for me. 'why would you do that? you don't even really know me.' I typed back, warming up to the idea of texting and not talking on the phone. A little bubble that told me he was typing popped up for a second. 'because it was wrong, what he did. And I did it cause we're friends.' 

I read the words once, and then again. Some hot guy just stated that we were friends? "Hot"? Where had that come from? I typed back a 'thank you' and then sent a text to the group chat saying I needed to sleep. I turned my phone on "do not disturb" and set it back in my bag. I laid back, staring up at the ceiling again. "Friends"? Were they all that to me now? People I barely knew the names of were interested in becoming friends with me. 

My eyes fluttered shut and I let out a sign, my breaths becoming even as I counted my off-rhythm heartbeats. Okay. I could cope with the idea of friends. 

I slipped off.