Page 27 of Not Fooling Anyone

“They’re an energy source for the body. And yours are exceptionally high. I’ve never seen this level before.”

“Okay, so is that good?” Energy is good, right?

“No. They’re usually only present when you’re on a restricted carbohydrate diet or your insulin levels are low. Even then, they shouldn’t be this high.”

I wipe the palm of my free hand on my jeans, suddenly sweaty. I’m not a science major, but none of what he’s saying sounds good.

“Are you on an extremely low-carb diet? Or have a disease related to insulin resistance? I’m sorry to be invasive, but I felt I had a duty to report this to you if you weren’t aware. You checked on your intake form that you’d never been diagnosed with anything.”

“I—” I take a gulp from the extra water bottle I bought earlier to ease the dryness in my throat. “No. I don’t eat low-carb or have any diseases.” What’s he getting at?

“If you don’t mind me asking, have you had any unusual symptoms lately? Increased thirst or hunger? Blurred vision? Unexplained weight loss? Irritability? Fatigue?”

“Um…” I rub at my temple, trying to process his words. My gaze lands on the nearly empty water bottle in the cup holder, and I glance behind me to the backseat at all the fast food wrappers. “I’ve been thirsty and hungry more than normal, I guess. And I’ve been losing some weight.” Even though I’m eating all the time. “But not the other things.” Not any more than usual, at least.

“Okay.” There’s the sound of shuffling papers over the line, and he says, “Well, I’m not a medical doctor, but I think you should get tested for diabetes.”

A scoffing noise escapes me involuntarily. “I don’t have that. I’m in great shape.” Seriously, what is he thinking?

“Type one diabetes,” he clarifies. “It has nothing to do with lifestyle factors. Your body just doesn’t produce the insulin it needs to. There’s a student health clinic on campus if you don’t have a primary care doctor you see regularly…”

He continues speaking but there’s a momentary disconnect between his words and my ability to process them. Diabetes? There’s no way. I’ve never had anything worse than a cold. I’ve been healthy my whole life.

I tune back in to what he’s saying—something about taking a glucose tolerance test, whatever that is. “What’ll happen if I don’t go to the doctor? With these ketones?”

“If your body doesn’t have the necessary insulin to process them, there are a number of things that can go wrong. Dehydration being a big one that you may already be experiencing. Worst-case scenario, the excess ketones basically poison your blood, which can be fatal.”

I swallow, my throat parched. Is it really dry or only because he suggested I could be dehydrated? I guzzle down the last of the water anyway and thank him for calling, promising to make an appointment at the clinic as soon as I can.

I drop my phone in my lap and rest my head on the steering wheel. Getting tested is only a precaution. It doesn’t mean I’m giving credence to his theory. He’s probably just being overcautious.

But what does it mean if he’s right? How will this change my life? Five minutes ago, my biggest concern was figuring out a way to get closer to Lexie. Now this?

You know what? I’m freaking out over nothing. I’ll go to the doctor and they’ll do whatever test they’re going to do and confirm it was a freak occurrence of these ketone levels.

A shiver runs over the back of my neck and up to prickle my scalp, the sense that something’s not right stealing over me.

No, no. Everything is fine.

It has to be.

CHAPTERSIX

LEXIE

Ethan:One last study session before the test tomorrow? Just you and me—no Savannah.

I stare at Ethan’s text, drumming my fingers on my desk. I did promise to tutor him in Psych, and as much as the review on Thursday night helped, I could use a refresher.

Me:I can meet any time after five and before eight.

Ethan:Library at five-thirty?

Me:See you then.

That should giveme enough time after class to go to the computer lab to type up a paper, then stop home after studying for a bite before work. You know, for my one assigned shift. Thank God someone gave me one of their shifts Saturday night. I’d made bank. Sarah wasn’t happy, but I don’t care.

My Cost Accounting professor clears her throat, and I glance up, finding her gaze narrowed on me. Shit.

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