Page 89 of This Time It's Real
I think of Caz and the pale scar running down his forearm and those cursed, worn-down wires that should’ve been replaced months ago. It already happened to him once. It could always happen again.
“I’ll call him,” I croak, because that small, hopeful, foolish part of me is still praying this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe he wasn’t even shooting today. Maybe he wrapped up his scene early and left before the accident.
Maybe.
Please.
The entire class stays silent as I scroll through my contacts, find Caz’s number on my first try. It’s so familiar I almost have it memorized by now. Then I click the call button and put it on loudspeaker and it rings—
And rings.
My heart lurches to my throat in beat with every new, unanswered sound of the dial. I feel nauseated. Faint. If I close my eyes I can imagine Caz’s voice on the phone now, smooth and low and slightly confused as to why I’m calling him in the first place, and for a brief moment when the ringing stops, I swear it’s him.
But all that comes through is his voicemail.
I stuff my phone away and look up, will myself not to see the pity swimming in Savannah’s eyes, the open concern laid out on Nadia’s face. “If a teacher asks, just tell them I had to leave.”
“Wait. Where are you going?”
It’s such an absurd question that I almost burst into hysterical laughter. Where else could I go? Where else, but to him? It doesn’t matter that he’s more or less rejected me already, that this could very well end badly. I just need toseehim, to be there for him, confirm for myself that he’s okay. No matter how much it hurts.
“The hospital,” I call over my shoulder, already twisting away, punching Li Shushu’s number into my phone with trembling fingers.
Then I run—
But this time, I’m not running away.
The drive to Lijia Hospital takes an eternity, every passing minute dragging like a knife across my skin.
But somehow, before I can lose my mind or my heart can explode, the sign for Lijia Hospital comes into view. It looks brand-new, the blue paint gleaming.
I don’t wait for Li Shushu to park the car properly before I run out, yelling back over my shoulder for him to drive home without me, because if Caz is safe, then we can talk and figure out a way back to the compound ourselves, and if he’s not, well—
I smother the thought to death and run faster.
The air smells different the second I burst into the hospital. Like antiseptics and lemon pine to cover up something nasty and the sharp, metallic tang of stainless steel or maybe just old blood. Like desperation and sickness.
And now comes the tricky part—
I have no idea where Caz’s room is.
If I simply walk up to a receptionist and ask for Caz Song’s room number, they’ll most likely dismiss me as a fan, or maybe a stalker. They might even kick me out.
Which means I have to figure out where he is myself. It’s manageable—there are only four levels in the hospital. That’s what the signs beside the main staircase say. And since the first floor is mainly for administrative purposes and the second floor is the labor ward, I can start on the third floor, search around from there . . .
No sooner than the vague plan forms in my head, I’m already moving, taking the stairs two at a time.
The third floor opens up into a vast, white-walled room lined with uncomfortable-looking plastic seats. Colorless afternoon light drifts in through the windows. There are more doctors up here, and patients too: a sniffling child hooked to an IV, a too-big military coat resting around his skinny shoulders; a weary mother fumbling through her purse for receipts, medical details.
I check every face I pass, every curtained room on both ends of the hall. I don’t know what exactly I’m looking for. Maybe Caz himself, alive and well, or a cast member, or—
Someone.
Anyone.
Even just one tiny sign that he’s all right.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I move deeper in, searching and finding nothing. My skin buzzes, a new tide of panic rushing to shore.
