Page 3 of Love Sick

He dropped my hand and handed me a beer. “Too bad.”

We’ve been chatting on and off ever since.

Asher, the man of the house, breaks into laughter. “You’re kidding, right? Come on, Liam. You’ve seen their names. Of the three girls on that list, who is the most likely to fuck her way to the top? Raven Washington, the married woman with a toddler; Alesha Lipton, who had higher scores than any of us; or Sapphire Rose, the girl whose name could be plastered on a Las Vegas cabaret marquee.”

An inward wince follows that description. The same thought ran through my mind when the names of my co-interns made it to my inbox. I shoved it into the far reaches of my brain where the things I’m ashamed of live, like the time I ripped up my sister’s fancy art project because she told me my new haircut looked like thirteen-year-old Justin Bieber.

But really, what type of parents name their daughter Sapphire Rose and expect her to be taken seriously?

If this stripper-intern truly screwed someone for her spot, I might lose my goddamn mind.

Except…what if it isn’t true?

What if it wasn’t even her?

There’s always more to the story.

“You’re serious?” I glance at Dr. Levine. “She slept with someone to get in?”

Levine shrugs. “Told to us by a credible source.”

Howcredible?

A few days ago, Alesha Lipton invited me to a group chat with the other interns, and we’ve talked for days. The Sapphire in that group barely contributes, so I have no frame of reference, nothing that tells me to believe one way or another.

Despite the injustice boiling in my blood, I tell myself to hold out judgment. Wait for facts. Even though my attending basically confirmed it.

Ugh.

Does it matter in the end? No. This doesn’t concern me. It’s not my business.

Head down. Stay the course. Four years and you’re done.

Grace

JUNE, YEAR 1

My hands shake as I reach for the steering wheel. The GPS waits patiently for me to start my route, but the spiraling butterflies in my stomach have me pawing at the door handle. I’m going to throw up.

The door opens, and I lean into the humid night air. A deep breath clears the nausea. Another calms the flutters.

It’s just a party.

The residency mixer is supposed to be fun, a way to mingle and party with my soon-to-be work family. I’ll spend more time with these strangers in the next few years than my real family in California.

This is how you achieve the goal, Grace. This is what you’ve always wanted.

The dream of myself in that white coat—smart and successful and respected—has fueled my type A little heart since before I could remember. Being a doctor is all I’ve ever wanted. It’s the ultimate symbol that I’ve done something worthwhile, that no matter what anyone says, I’m someone to be taken seriously.

The thoughts don’t ease the crushing social anxiety that wraps around my chest like a corset.

What if they don’t like me?

I pull out my phone.

Me:I’m nervous

Mama:You’ll be fine, honey. Deep breaths.

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