Page 108 of Something Rad
Robbie’s gaze snaps to meet mine, his eyes narrowing the only response I get to my silly statement. Luckily, there’s no time for the silence to get awkward. The exam room door opens, Doris’s voice sounding. “Here you go, Doctor.”
My eyes are still on Robbie as his shift to the door, and he instantly stiffens in a way I’ve never seen before. I scrunch my brows together, looking from him to the door and seeing a much older salt and pepper haired version of Robbie making his way past Doris and into the room. In the blink of an eye, Robbie is on his feet next to me.
“Dad,” he says.
I gulp, looking between the two of them.
Dad?
The man doesn’t spare a glance in either of our directions, walking over to the small sink in the room and beginning to wash his hands. “Robert,” he grunts.
Robert?
I’m starting to quickly understand why Robbie looked so unhappy coming in here. And that makes me question all the more why he insisted that we do.
“Dad, I–”
“And who do we have here?” Dr. Summers asks, cutting Robbie off and looking directly at me, acting as if Robbie isn’t even standing there.
It takes the man raising his eyebrows at me for me to realize I actually need to respond. “Um, Sara?” I say dumbly.
Dr. Summers’ jaw flexes. “Sara Beth Cooper, is it?” he asks, his gaze finally trailing over to Robbie at a snail’s pace. I glance at Robbie, seeing his throat bob, his eyes squinting.
“Just Sara,” I correct him, an odd feeling settling in my stomach at the realization that I’ve definitely been talked about in the Summers household.
“I thought Doris said Will was free,” Robbie interjects suddenly.
“Something came up,” his father responds, not looking at him.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Robbie mutters.
Dr. Summers lets out a scoff. “Concerned about that suddenly, are you?”
My mouth falls silently open.What did I just walk into?
“Anyways, Sara Beth–”
“JustSara,” I insist, interrupting Robbie’s dad.What is it with these Summers men?
“Well,justSara,” he smiles, gritting his teeth, “I see my son has made fast work of getting you into trouble.”
“Dad–”
“What?”
Robbie and I both speak at the same time.
“What seems to be the issue?” Dr. Summers cuts us both off, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.
“It was just an accident,” I say, irritation in my voice as a response to the disdain in his.
“We were at a pep rally with the rest of the school,” Robbie speaks up. “People were setting off confetti poppers. She was busy taking photos for the school newspaper and didn’t notice one going off right in front of her. It hit her in her left eye.”
I take note of Robbie’s summarized version of the events, finding it interesting the details he chose to include and the ones he left out, but I don’t comment on either.
“I helped her flush her eye out as best I could,” he continues, “but it still seems to be really irritated. Maybe even scratched.”
Dr. Summers sits down on a rolling chair, wheeling his way over to me. I feel goosebumps prickle at the back of my neck as he draws closer. “That your professional opinion, son?” He laughs and winks at Robbie when he says it, but I don’t miss the condescending tone in his question. For a moment, I find myself questioning how I ever thoughtRobbiewas a prick. And now I wonder if I could even blame him for being one.
