Out of Nowhere Read Online Free Page A

novel.
    My number was called a few minutes later and I made my way into triage. The nurse there recorded my basic information and vitals. Then, while examining me, she assured me that my throat was not about to close over and asphyxiate me.
    “I’ve seen worse,” she said, squinting at a particularly rashy spot on my stomach. She dropped my shirt and smiled. “You can go have a seat again.”
    Back of the line, I thought on my way back to the waiting room. I wasn’t dying or even going into shock, so that meant people with more pressing issues would get seen before me. Which meant I’d better get comfy because I’d be here for a while. I plopped into a vacant seat in front of the window and reached into my bag, digging out a book.
    Soon I was engrossed in my novel, a true crime story Mom had left lying around. I’d just finished reading the author’s account of the murder victim’s autopsy—something I found oddly fascinating—when something distracted me. A soft gasping sound. I glanced up to discover a boy around my age sitting directly across from me, covered head-to-toe in dirt, scratches, and blood.
    Jesus , I thought. I’d been to the ER many times, and I’d seen many a banged-up person, but this guy looked like he’d been mauled by a pissed-off bear. As I gawked at him, he shifted in the chair and gasped again. I noticed then that he was cradling one arm with the other. Broken, maybe? The arm in question was scraped raw from elbow to wrist and smeared with drying blood. I started to feel a little light-headed. It was one thing to read about wounds and gore, but quite another to see them right in front of you.
    Damn. How was I supposed to become a doctor someday if the sight of blood made me woozy?
    I tried to go back to reading, but the guy kept squirming and wincing and panting, clearly in a lot of pain. Surely he’d get in to see a doctor before me. My eyes slid from my book to his injured arm again. My own arms looked like a mild case of sunburn next to his mess.
    “Skateboard,” a voice said. The battered guy’s voice.
    Startled, I swung my gaze from his arm to his face. He was looking at me, a slight smile on his lips. Obviously, he’d caught me peeking at him. “Pardon?” I said, playing dumb.
    “Skateboard,” he repeated. “Lost my balance during a boardslide and hit the pavement.”
    I didn’t know what to say to this besides, “Ouch.” Then for some reason I pushed up my sleeve and showed him my hives. “Allergic reaction,” I said, as if we were exchanging names.
    “Brutal.”
    I nodded and opened my book again, assuming that was it. I wasn’t one to make small talk in waiting rooms, especially with sweaty, dirty, wild-looking boys like him. I’d seen his type around school, guys with longish hair who smoked and drove too fast and got hammered on weekends. The kind of boy Sydney liked. Dangerous. My ex-boyfriend, Adam, was a clean-cut honor student who cared about environmental issues and wore freshly-ironed shirts to school. Then again, I knew a different version of him, a much less respectable one.
    To hell with first impressions. I cleared my throat to get the guy’s attention, and he glanced up at me. His eyes were brown like mine but lighter, milk chocolate rather than dark. I jerked my chin toward his bad arm. “Does it hurt?”
    He lifted it a little, then hissed through his teeth. “It’s not as bad as the time I broke my elbow. Just another sprain, I think. I wasn’t even going to come here but my friend insisted.”
    “And where’s your friend now?”
    “Still in the bowl at Crawford Park, probably. I didn’t need him to hold my hand.”
    I believed that. While he was talking he’d adjusted his good arm and I’d noticed a long, pink scar on the underside of his forearm. He was either a daredevil or extremely clumsy. Or both. With that scar, and the way he talked about his injuries like they were routine occurrences, he was likely an ER regular