Page 5 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

When I’m done, I dial the hospital. I don’t know if I’m crying from relief or stress as I take my mother’s hand, and she weakly squeezes my fingers back.

Chapter Two

Hell Is a Hospital Waiting Room

Several hours and a lifetime later, I’m in the waiting room at the hospital, sitting scrunched up in one of the chairs, trying to answer emails on my phone. But my brain is having a heyday, ricocheting from worst-case scenario to worst-case scenario. If I’d stopped to talk to another teacher after class or taken too long at the grocery store, I wouldn’t have made it in time. This was a close call. Too close.

And how are we going to foot the bill for the ambulance and this hospital visit? What if my mom had suffered a concussion or something worse than a mild case of smoke inhalation? Would I need to take time off work? Could I even get a sub in?

When I nearly send an email to a student’s parent instead of my co-teacher, I slide the phone back into my pocket. I can’t afford to make more mistakes, not now.

I slump back in my chair, my gaze snagging on a stack of fashion and sports magazines on the side table. I pick upGlam Gossipfrom the top of the pile and start thumbing past the paparazzi shots of celebrities in sweats, balancing bags of Dunkin’ Donuts, and glossy images of other celebrities strutting on the red carpet. There’s a short interview of a TV-star-turned-influencer debuting a new skincare line, followed by a two-page spread of a glamorous-looking blond actress. The bold headline shouts: “Dawn Taylor ‘Makes It Work’ After Devastating Setback!” I skim the article to see if any of Dawn’s strategies would workfor me. Turns out, I can easily make a comeback with the right spiritual guide, truckloads of acai-infused water, and a million-dollar PR team.

“There’s the hero of the hour!” It’s Chase, striding down the hallway with my fleece and a latte in hand. He looks sheepish. “Sorry I’m late. I left my phone in the bathroom, and I didn’t see your calls until after work. But I brought fuel!”

“I’m really glad you’re here,” I say. I stand, dropping the magazine next to me, and sink into his arms. He wraps the fleece around my shoulders, and for the first time all day, I feel almost warm.

“Don’t lie. I know you’re just happy to see the coffee,” he teases, handing me the cup. I smile at him, even though the idea of spending six dollars on a cup of coffee hurts my head. I resist the urge to remind him that there’s free coffee in the hospital. The gesture is very sweet, but I’ve seen Chase’s credit card bills, and I know how much is left before they max out. He may not have student loans to pay, or family to support, or really any responsibilities whatsoever, but he does need to start being more fiscally smart. For someone in finance, he’s shockingly bad with money. My best friend swears he was a personality hire.

But today was a terrible, no good, very bad day, and my life planner app is always sending me notifications about gratitude. I focus on the warmth of the latte as I take a sip.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

“Of course,” he says, grinning. Then he sobers. “How’s your mom doing?”

“I haven’t gotten the full report, but I think she’s going to be okay. So far it seems like it’s only smoke inhalation. We got lucky,” I explain, using the doctor’s exact platitude to get the words out. “They want to monitor her for twenty-four hours, and since they’re putting her in an overnight room, they said I should hang out here.”

“That’s great, babe,” he says, running his hands up and down my arms. “What about you? Are you okay?”

I’m not, and I haven’t been since I opened my mom’s door, but I nod anyway. “Don’t worry, an EMT already checked me out.”

“I bet he did. Have youseenyou?” Chase says, winking at me. He fans himself.

I can’t help but laugh because Chase is the looker of the two of us. I often catch baristas trying to get his number at our coffee shops, or heads turning on the sidewalk just to catch a second glimpse of Chase with his sandy-blond hair, vivid green eyes, and “I’m made of boyfriend material” demeanor. Mrs. Tabitha, the social studies teacher in the classroom next to mine, once called him my “trophy boyfriend.”

“Seriously?” I say with a smile. “I look like garbage right now.” I’ve been stress-sweating, and I smell like a Korean BBQ gone wrong. I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last few hours.

“Well, you’re the sexiest garbage I’ve ever seen.”

“Gross,” I say, grimacing. Chase leans in to kiss me, but I don’t feel like kissing him in front of everyone in the waiting room, so I pull back and deflect. “Hey, tell me something good. What was your big news?”

“Oh, yeah!” His face lights up. “I know you’ve been worried about your student loans and your mom’s bills and stuff, but I’ve got it all figured out.”

“Uh-huh?”

“We’re going to become millionaires!” he crows. His arms drop from my shoulders to gesture widely. He’s probably imagining he’s holding one of those huge novelty checks.

“And how do we do that?” I’m praying he hasn’t used his credit card to buy a million lottery tickets.

“We’re gonna go on…reality TV!”

Right. I almost wish he’d bought lottery tickets. I take another sip of my latte, but it’s lukewarm and all the foam’s gone.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy,” he says. “But hear me out. FlixCast is putting out this new show where they ‘put couples to the test.’ It’s likeThe Amazing Race, but for relationships. And it’s on a tropical island.”

“So it’s nothing likeThe Amazing Race.”

“You got me there.” He laughs. “I know I’m not doing a very goodjob explaining, but it’s a fantastic opportunity. Just check this out.” He searches “dawn taylor dating show what is it” on his phone and opens the first result.

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