Arclight. Josin L McQuein
I’ve seen maybe a dozen people wearing patches that denote medical service, and none are here consistently. They only come when called to assist.
I close my eyes again, straining for sounds to give the moment depth. Pinging machines, or the whoosh of air from the overhead vent, even my own heartbeat. Often, finding that faint layer beneath the usual clamor or quiet is the only way I can function. Absolute silence terrifies me.
I’m counting the ticks of a wall clock when I hear footsteps approach from the door on the opposite side of the hospital, stopping behind the curtain next to my bed.
“I’m sorry, man.” It’s Tobin, talking to Jove. “I know you can’t hear me, but I’m sorry.”
I should tell him I’m here, but I already know I won’t. I can be very still when I want, and right now, I’m grateful for it. He’d never talk like this if he knew I could hear him.
“And don’t think I’m only apologizing because Annie threatened unspecified yet terrifying retribution if I didn’t.”
He pauses every few words, but no matter how hard I listen, there’s never a response. He must be filling in Jove’s half of the conversation with his own imagined answers.
I do that—imagine conversations with Tobin. I apologize for his father’s death and he accepts, or I apologize and he curses me; it depends on my mood. I don’t have to pretend with Jove or the others, because I know where I stand with them, but Tobin won’t even acknowledge that his dad’s dead. Somehow my offense seems greater with him, like it’s worse because his father was the one who made the call to save me over the rest.
“And Mr. Pace didn’t make me come, either. I just wanted to apologize. I’ll do it again when you’re awake, okay?”
Tobin’s words may be friendly and familiar, but his voice comes thin and hurried, punctuated by bouts of swallowing.
“I’m probably rambling you into a deeper coma, but I haven’t slept, so it’s not my fault. I doubt anyone slept after last night. Well, maybe Annie.”
He laughs; I put my hand over my mouth so I can’t. Anne-Marie can sleep anywhere. I’ve even seen her do it standing up when we were in formation too long. She dropped her forehead onto Jonah’s back and started snoring.
“And, when you wake up, we’re going to talk about Marina. You have to step off. You can’t keep—”
The door on the other side of the room slides open again. This time someone enters with the sound of heavy boots rather than student shoes.
Can’t keep what? I want to shout.
“I’ll go,” Tobin says. “I just wanted to check on him.”
“Why were you at the perimeter?” Mr. Pace’s voice comes through the curtain. “How’d you get out there?”
“Doors are usually the easiest way.”
“And I’ve got yours monitored.”
“You can’t do that. You’re not my father.”
“I keep tabs on all my kids, Tobin. And I’m trying to help you.”
Adults’ alarms can be set to track their children, so they know if anyone goes across the Arc. I didn’t know teachers could do the same for their students.
“I don’t need help,” Tobin snaps.
“Tell that to Jove.”
“I’ve already told him everything I came to say.”
My stomach flips again. I search for something to hide behind in case Tobin comes my way rather than passing Mr. Pace, but everything large enough is bolted to the floor and walls.
“You cannot keep walking away from your problems like that’s the solution to them, Tobin,” Mr. Pace says. “If you keep running away, I’ll just keep following until you talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about my dad.”
“Fine, then you can tell me what’s happening with you and Marina.”
I lean forward to make sure Dr. Wolff isn’t on his way back yet. The way my luck runs, he’ll show up before Tobin can answer.
“Marina?” Tobin asks.
“Normally you two won’t even look at each other. I saw you pick her up during the run.”
“She couldn’t make it on her own, so I helped. End of story.”
“Middle of story,” Mr. Pace corrects with the infernal, maddening calm that always marks his temper. “Jove’s got two broken ribs, a busted nose, and bruises that say it’s nowhere near the end. I’ve got Annie telling me you plastered him because he insulted your father, and I’ve got Marina’s version telling me you did it to protect her. Which is it?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I want to know why she’s covering for you,” Mr. Pace says. “The truth. No threats of punishment. No teacher. No student. Just the guy who’s known you since you were born and needs to know why you were outside with Marina, at sunset, by the Arc.”
“I didn’t know she was there,” Tobin says.
“Fair enough,” Mr. Pace says. “But she knew you were, and she didn’t tell anyone, not even when Honoria cornered her.”
“You can’t expect me to understand what goes on inside her head.”
“Do you even understand what’s going on inside yours?”
Silent defiance is his only answer.
“You’re not your father, Tobin. You don’t have to be, and you don’t have to bear his burdens.” He pauses. “I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but are you sure you want to stay in the apartment by yourself? Dominique’s offered—”
“You’re not taking my house away from me!’
“It’s not good for you to be wandering around a space that big with nothing to do but sit and wallow.”
“When my dad gets back—”
“Tobin . . .”
“Mr. Pace, please—”
“What’s all this noise?” Dr. Wolff rushes past me.
My luck’s worse than I thought. It’s when Tobin is at his lowest, begging, that Dr. Wolff returns and yanks the curtain open. On the other side, Tobin stands with his back to Mr. Pace, which means he was facing the curtain. With it gone, he’s facing me.
A rush of heat floods my cheeks. Tobin’s face goes the other way, losing his tan to bleached-out ash.
“Sorry, Doc,” Mr. Pace says.
“This is a hospital, Elias. You can’t bang around like you’re on maneuvers.”
“Let’s go, Tobin. We’ll finish this later.”
But Tobin doesn’t move. Neither he nor I have blinked since the curtain was pulled away. He stands; I sit. We stare without a word—one accusing, one apologizing—until that same, stubborn piece of hair falls forward. I tuck it behind my ear, but with the connection between us severed, he wastes no time leaving.
“Tobin, wait,” I call after him. “I’m—”
He pushes past Dr. Wolff, close enough to my bed to bump it sideways.
“—sorry,” I finish, too late.
“That could have gone better,” Mr. Pace says.
I nod, scooting off the hospital bed as Dr. Wolff hands me my inhaler. The ring feels heavy and cold against my skin when I tuck it in, not comforting at all.
“If I’d known you were