Page 3 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

I always have double appointments because my case is so complex.

I’m eighteen and I’ve already exhausted most of my options, but we’re going to try increasing my current doses.

Hopefully, that’ll help, even if only a little bit.

When I go back through to the waiting room, he’s still there.

The boy I ran over earlier. His head’s in his hands, so I’m assuming he’s had his appointment already. And that it didn’t go well.

I know I should leave him alone – I’m probably the last person he wants to see right now. But I also know how bad an appointment can make you feel. I tap my wheelchair into the slowest setting – I’m not looking to repeat our first encounter – and make my way over.

The backs of his hands are wet and I swear there’s an eyelash stuck on one of them. I know he knows I’m here. My wheelchair is quiet, but not silent. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t say anything. And now I’m here, I don’t know what to say either, but it would be awkward to just wheel off at this point.

I smile. ‘Hi, again.’

His hands continue to rake through his curly hair. It’s brown, a bit lighter than mine and looks slightly longer than before thanks to all the hand raking. Less tousled and slightly puffy now. I don’t want to bother him, but maybe he could use some distraction.

‘I was just going to ask—’

He purses his lips. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

For a second, I’m taken aback. I know he’s upset, but from the interaction we had before, he didn’t seem like the sort to be so abrupt; his feet were probably tingling from the impact of my new wheels, and he still encouraged me to ramble on about how great they are.

Now his arms are crossed and there’s no apology for cutting me off.

He’s a completely different person to the polite guy I met earlier. It gives me an idea.

‘You don’t have to tell me about it. I was going to ask you to tell me my story.’

That catches his attention. He raises his head, still cupping his jaw, and I can see his eyes properly now that he’s taken his glasses off.

In this light, they’re more green than brown and I’m relieved to see they’re not full of tears.

Not that it would make a difference to me, but I imagine it would to him.

‘Your story?’

‘Yeah. Did you ever play that game where you make up a story about strangers?’

He shrugs. It’s not what I was hoping for, but it’s better than a flat-out no, so I press on. ‘I’ve always wondered what someone might say about me. So, what’s my story?’

His brows furrow. He’s not in the mood for this. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea. I press my ever-cold fingertips to my face for a second as heat floods my cheeks.

‘Do I say who you are, or just what brought you here?’

I suppress a small smile. ‘Both, I guess.’

‘Okay.’ He pauses, but not for long. ‘I’ve already forgotten what the doctor called you, so I’m just going to say your name’s Poppy.’

I forgot about that. ‘Could’ve had an easy point there,’ I say, shaking my head mockingly.

He shrugs. ‘Okay, so your name may or may not be Poppy. You’re seventeen. And ...’ He stops.

‘And?’

He smirks at me. ‘Do you not think this is a bit weird?’

It’s my turn to shrug. ‘A bit, but everything’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘I’d like to hear more.’

He nods. ‘I can do more.’ He starts tapping his foot lightly.

‘I think your mum’s English and your dad’s Italian.

And you’ve got twin brothers.’ The tapping gets faster.

‘You’re studying Biology, Geography and Maths, but you’ve only just realised Maths sucks and that’s why you’re here right now,’ he says. ‘You’re getting out of double Maths.’

I nod and he finally looks up at me. A hint of something tugs at his lips.

‘Smart move, Poppy.’

I smile. ‘Is that the only reason I’m here?’

He stops. Weighing up the imaginary options. ‘It’s the main reason, but not the only one. You’ve also got an ingrown toenail. You knew you needed to get it checked out at some point, so you thought now was as good a time as any.’

I look down at my wheelchair. ‘It’s one hell of an ingrown toenail.’

He laughs. ‘I guess it is.’

I either forgot what he looked like with a smile, or he’s looking at me differently now.

‘Your turn,’ he says.

And unlike him, I’m not slow to warm up.

I never am. So, in true Penny style, I dive right in.

‘Okay, so your name’s Jackson and you’re eighteen.

You don’t know where you’re going to be studying yet, but you’re excited to start university.

’ I lean back and look at him properly. ‘You’re going to study physical education because you want to teach sports in some way. ’

He raises an eyebrow.

I continue. ‘You’re thinking of working in a school .

.. or possibly as a personal trainer—’ He full-on snorts at that, but I don’t think it’s a bad guess.

I mean, he’s not overly muscular, but I saw the way his calves pulsed as he tapped his foot, and the way the sleeves of his t-shirt seemed a little more snug whenever he stroked his jaw, deep in thought.

So I nod, sticking by it, but as I divert my attention back, I realise I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

‘Is there anything, in particular, you want to know about your story?’ I ask.

He narrows his eyes. ‘What’s my favourite food?’

I don’t even have to think. ‘Chocolate. You’re only human, after all.’

I expect a smile, but he’s starting to look vacant again.

‘You can ask me a harder one if you want, Jackson,’ I nudge.

He looks straight ahead. Pauses. And then right at me. ‘What makes me the most happy?’

It takes me by surprise. ‘That’s a really good question.

’ My eyes drift towards the door, where a couple of boys are lingering outside.

Jackson turns towards them, and I sense something inside him shift.

I try to bring my mind back to the question, but I’m distracted by his hair.

With his head turned to the right like this, I can see a single streak of white by his ear.

My aunty has one too, like Anna from Frozen , but I’ve never seen it on short hair before. Or on a boy.

‘What makes you the most happy,’ I repeat, allowing myself time to think. ‘Is probably—’

But they’re walking towards us now. Jackson mutters something and quickly ducks around the other side of a poster board.

My heart sinks. I know exactly what’s going on here.

His jeans are visible behind the board, but he could be anyone reading the flyers now.

Not necessarily Jackson. And definitely not someone associated with me.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened. And I get it. But it still hurts.

I wait a few moments to see if he’ll come out from his hiding spot.

He doesn’t.