Page 33 of The Broken Note

He paces like an expectant father in the nurse’s office and doesn’t stop even when the medic tells him she needs room.

“He was like this after that time too,” the nurse mumbles, sending him an angry glare. “He brought you in from the pool and he was breathing over my shoulder. Delirious with worry. Making it difficult to work.”

My heart slams against my ribs.He was?

It’s hard to imagine Dutch being worried about me. The day when Christa pushed me in the pool, we were deep in a war against each other.

The nurse throws another scolding glance over her shoulder. “Your girlfriend is fine, young man.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I say.

Both the nurse and Dutch ignore me.

“Hello?” I wave a hand.

“Did you use antiseptic on the cuts? She can’t get infected,” Dutch says.

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“I said I’m not his girlfriend,” I repeat myself.

“If you did your job right, you wouldn’t be so defensive right now,” Dutch says.

The nurse narrows her eyes.

Since getting either of them to listen is a lost cause, I stand.

Dutch springs over to me. “Cadey, take it easy.”

“I told you she’s fine,” the nurse insists.

Dutch opens his mouth.

I speak up before he can say something stupid. “I’m going back to class. I don’t want to miss the quiz.”

The nurse gives me instructions on keeping the scratches clean. After, Dutch escorts me to Lit. He’s too busy brooding to bother me during class and I take my quiz in peace.

The bells chime and Miss Jamieson gestures for me to meet her at the front.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Dutch says.

“You don’t have to—”

His answering glare is so dark that I just shut my mouth.

Miss Jamieson gives me an amused look when I draw closer to her table. She doesn’t look as tired as she did a few days ago, but there’s still something heavy about her. Something that wasn’t there before.

I wonder if everything’s okay.

“You and Dutch are dating?” She folds her arms over her chest and leans against the desk, her dark lips rising at the corners.

“No, we’re not,” I say vehemently. “I’m not his girlfriend. We’re not together. That’s not happening.”

Her lips tremble but she doesn’t outright laugh at me. “I see.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” I shift from one leg to the other. My scrapes are starting to burn because of the antiseptic and it’s hard not to scratch.

“It’s about Serena.”