Hidden (Book 3 of the Immune Series)

Eavesdropping

Mya

I hear Mom sweep into the room before I see her, given away by the telltale sound of her medical bag rustling. She kneels down beside me, lifting my head off the floor with one hand and shining a light into my eyes with the other.

Finn stands off to the side, covering his eyes with both hands.

"Tell me your name," Mom says, moving the light from side to side. My eyes run away from it, darting from side to side.

"You know her name, Mom!" Finn groans, dry heaving as he glances between his fingers at me. "Stop asking dumb questions."

Mom points at him with the pen-like flashlight, raising her eyebrows in warning.

"Pull yourself together, or leave the room."

He takes a deep breath, mumbling something before he flops down on the floor beside me, reaching for my hand. His eyes don't meet mine, though, instead straying down to the floor.

"Thanks," I whisper, squeezing his hand. He grimaced, still not looking at me.

"No sap," he mumbles. "You're my sister. I would be a terrible person to leave now."

"Focus on me first," Mom says, pushing my cheek so that I'm looking up at her. "What's your name, and how old are you?"

"Mya Julien, and I'm fifteen."

"What were you doing right before you hit your head?"

"Playing a game of basketball."

"Correction, losing a game of basketball," Finn says, and Mom clicks her tongue at him.

"Do you feel like you might throw up?"

I shake my head, blinking several times. The pain is subsiding, turning instead into a dull ache.

"Good. Let's go upstairs so I can check how deep that head wound is."

Finn helps me to my feet, wrapping one of my arms around his waist and holding my waist with a gentle hand. He follows Mom towards the staircase door, taking much smaller steps than he normally would as I shuffle behind.

Once we reach the heavy, metal door, he hands me over to Mom, and she leads me in, pushing him back with a firm hand.

"What-?"

"You can't come up here. You know that."

Finn glares at her, eyes darting between the two of us. I give him a small smile, squeezing his arm.

"I'll be fine, Finny, and when I get back, I'm going to stomp you in the second half of our game."

A smile spreads over his face, lifting the corners of his eyes. With a snort, he replies.

"I'll hold you to that, Yaya."

I cringe at the use of my nickname, turning away from him and pushing the door shut. At least his nickname is cute. Mine sounds like someone stubbed their pinky toe on the way to the bathroom and couldn't form words in their late night stupor.

With Mom's help, I walk up the stairs to her lap, taking a seat on one of the two examination chairs which look like stiff plastic couches. The backs elevate up and down depending on what procedure Mom's performing. They smell like lemons and alcohol and are cold to the touch.

Mom rolls a stool over to sit behind me, ruffling through my hair with careful fingers, pressing on the tender spot near the crown of my head. She dabs at it with a disinfectant wipe, making me shiver even more.