Page 48 of It’s Me, but Different

“Where's your babysitter?” I ask, following Ana Sofia inside.

“In the kitchen, crying. She doesn't know what to do and says it's all her fault,” the girl responds, leading me to where her brother is.

I find him lying on the couch like a broken doll. His face has lost all color and he's drenched in sweat. He hugs the right side of his abdomen with both hands, knees bent toward his chest in a fetal position. Every few seconds, he lets out a moan that pierces me like a dagger.

“Hey, champ,” I whisper, kneeling next to him.

He opens his eyes with effort. They're glassy, unfocused from pain.

“Sloane… it hurts so much,” he gasps. “So, so much.”

I put my hand on his forehead. He's burning with fever.

“I know, sweetheart. But we're going to take you to the hospital to get you better right now, okay? Now you need to stay as calm as possible. You're going to get better before you know it,” I assure him, brushing away a strand of hair stuck to his forehead from sweat.

“Ana Sofia, did you call Mom again?”

“Yes, but the phone is still off,” she sobs. “Why won't she answer? This is important.”

“She probably can't have her phone on,” I explain. “But it's okay. I'll take care of everything.”

The babysitter comes out of the kitchen crying, her body trembling from head to toe. At sixteen, she's overwhelmed by the situation.

“What's your name?”

“Jessica,” she responds through sobs.

“Okay, Jessica, look at me. Breathe. It's not your fault, okay? The ambulance will arrive any moment, and they'll take him to the hospital. I'll handle everything; go home.”

Outside we hear the sound of a siren.

Two emergency technicians enter with a stretcher. One of them, an older man with an enormous gray mustache, quickly evaluates Theo.

“Acute abdominal pain in the lower right quadrant, high fever, muscle guarding,” he tells his partner. “Probable appendicitis starting to complicate.”

“To General Hospital?” the woman asks.

“No,” I interrupt. “They're expecting him at Watson Memorial.”

“I hope they have good medical insurance, then,” she mutters under her breath while rolling her eyes.

“What if Mom comes and doesn't find us here?” Ana Sofia asks when we're about to leave the apartment to follow the ambulance.

“We're going to leave her a note,” I respond, quickly scribbling on paper. “But let's go now. Anyway, as soon asshe gets out of the meeting, she'll see a bunch of missed calls and know something happened.”

“What if something goes wrong?” she asks as her eyes fill with tears.

“Nothing's going to go wrong,” I assure her, stroking her hair. “Your brother is going to be perfect.”

We arrive at the hospital with our hearts in our throats and, while they're taking Theo down from the ambulance, a tall man with very black hair wearing a green coat approaches us.

“Miss Merriweather? I'm Dr. Harrison, pediatric surgeon. I received a call from Dr. Arya Kumari from New York. She briefed me on the situation and asked me to personally take charge of the case.”

I simply nod and thank him while he leads us to a room where they've taken Theo.

“102.5 fever, accelerated pulse, marked abdominal guarding in right iliac fossa,” he announces to his team while evaluating the boy's condition. “Positive Blumberg sign. Elevated white blood cells in rapid analysis.”

He turns to us with a very serious expression.