Daily Drama (In American TV Shows)

In this chapter, the ever-present reminder at the end of each chapter is more important than ever, so I’ll say it again here: I am NOT a doctor.

Enjoy :D

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"House, this is not a good idea," Dr. Foreman quickly said.

"Oh, why not?" House asked, feigning intrigue.

"You know why. We're not going on a field trip; we're going to break into a house," Dr. Foreman responded seriously, frowning. "That's not something a teenager should be doing."

"What?!" House exclaimed. "Break in? Since when do we do that?" he asked, feigning exaggerated surprise.

"Are you done?" Dr. Foreman asked, unimpressed with House's theatrics.

"Yeah," House responded, disappointed that no one played along. "Take him with you. He's the only one who read the kid's notebook; he might see something you don't," House continued, smiling sinisterly. "No, there’s no time for you to read it," he added, interrupting Dr. Foreman, who seemed about to say something more. "Besides, I’m sure the kid does worse things like drinking alcohol, drugs or God forbid taking books out of the library without checking them out."

Exhaling in obvious irritation, Dr. Foreman, followed by Chase, left the room.

"Have fun," House said to me with an abnormally wide smile.

I caught up with Dr. Foreman and Chase in relatively little time. Obviously, both were completely ignoring me as they walked toward the hospital exit.

"Which car are we taking, yours or mine?" Dr. Foreman asked Chase as they stood outside in the parking lot.

"We could take that one," Chase said, smiling as he pointed directly at ‘Debbie.’

"Yeah, sure," Dr. Foreman replied with a scoff. "What is it anyway?" he asked, moving closer with interest.

"It's a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS," I finally responded, making both doctors acknowledge my existence.

"Of course, you know about cars," Dr. Foreman muttered, strangely jealous, as he turned his back on me again.

"It's my car," I added, once more drawing the full attention of the two doctors, who were now completely surprised, looking at me and then at ‘Debbie.’

I was quite proud of the condition in which I kept my car, and it was obviously a good feeling that someone liked it.

"We’re taking my car," Chase quickly said, apparently a bit embarrassed, avoiding looking in the direction where 'Debbie' was parked while we were walking several spaces away to his own car—a slightly dirty green vehicle, but visibly well-maintained.

Inside Chase’s car, while we drove to the family's residence, Chase and Dr. Foreman discussed the case.

"I still don’t understand why this patient fascinated House so much," Dr. Foreman asked.

"Schizophrenia," Chase immediately responded. "He might be intrigued that a thirty-eight-year-old woman has a D.V.T., but I bet anything that he decided to treat her when he heard she had schizophrenia."

"Well, whatever the reason, I just hope we can help the woman. I think she’s already suffered enough," Dr. Foreman said while rummaging through Chase's cassette tapes, which oddly made Chase snort dismissively.

"Yeah, sure, ‘she,’ the real victim here is her son. The mother is an alcoholic," Chase declared confidently.

I couldn't help but silently marvel at the slight hypocrisy of Chase. He was so upset with me for the unethical way I had treated the nun to save her life, and here he was, judging a thirty-eight-year-old woman with schizophrenia... Wait.

I didn’t have the kid’s notebook with me, but I clearly remembered that the schizophrenia diagnosis had been made just six months ago. The average age of schizophrenia diagnosis in women is about eighty percent between twenty-five and thirty-five years old; after that, the rate drops precipitously. In the patient’s age group, it was less than ten percent.

There weren’t many diseases that mimic schizophrenia, but if I added partial vision loss and possible liver damage, possibly cirrhosis, into the mix...

Wilson's.

"P.J.!" Chase exclaimed, looking at me curiously alongside Dr. Foreman. "We're here. Are you okay?" he asked monotonously.

"Yeah, sorry," I replied, deeply absorbed in my thoughts. I needed more evidence.

"Look, I know what House said, but if you don’t want to do this, it’s fine. We can say you came in with us and didn’t find anything. It’s not worth it for you to come along," Dr. Foreman said, strangely kind.

"No, I'm fine, let's go," I immediately responded, opening the car door. I had to quickly find evidence; if my theory was correct, the woman had been misdiagnosed with schizophrenia.

"Of course," I overheard Chase murmur sarcastically.

Inside an apartment building, in front of the door of the small family's apartment, Chase tried for a couple of seconds to open the locked door with a credit card before Foreman, saying he took it from the kid’s backpack, opened the door with the key.

"Looks like Luke sleeps in the living room," Chase said inside the surprisingly well-organized and clean small apartment, before we separated to search the place.

The kid’s name was Luke. I had no idea.

The apartment basically consisted of four areas: the living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, and the bedroom.

While Dr. Foreman searched the bathroom and Chase the only bedroom, I decided to thoroughly search the living room, or as it seemed to be organized, Luke’s bedroom.

"Nothing in there," Dr. Foreman said, leaving the bathroom and walking to the bedroom where Chase was searching.

From the moment I saw the kid, I knew he was obviously not eighteen. The type of books on a small desk now confirmed he was just in middle school.

Underneath a small coffee table in the center of the living room, there was a metal box filled with various medications.

"Pick that up on your psych rotation?" Dr. Foreman asked Chase as he left the bedroom. "What do you have there?" he asked, approaching with interest to check the contents of the box.

"Medications," I replied, taking out pill bottles and arranging them on the coffee table.

"Trifluoperazine, Thorazine, Clozaril," Dr. Foreman read aloud as he picked up each bottle. "They tried everything," he added, disheartened.

"Ampicillin," I said, finding one of the bottles. "It’s full," I added, shaking the small bottle.

"There goes Cameron's theory," Dr. Foreman remarked.

"Oh, God, I hope it’s not a vitamin K deficiency," Chase added, walking to the kitchen, defeated.

Now disinterested in the medications, Dr. Foreman put the bottles he had taken back into the box before following Chase. But these medications interested me.

The Trifluoperazine, Thorazine, and Clozaril, combined with an excess of copper in the blood caused by Wilson’s, could have severe side effects on the liver, even potentially causing solid masses, cancer.

"Damn," I heard Chase say a moment later, prompting me to put the remaining bottles back in the box before placing it in its original spot.

"House was right," Dr. Foreman said in the kitchen, standing by the open freezer. Inside, there were half a dozen packages of frozen hamburgers.

"Well, let’s take one of these to House," Chase said, obviously disappointed, as he grabbed a box.

On the way back to the hospital, apart from the music that Dr. Foreman had put on the radio, there was nothing but silence, which allowed me to focus on building my theory.

At the hospital, in the diagnostics lounge, Cameron told Dr. Foreman and Chase where House was, prompting the two doctors to leave in search of him.

Meanwhile, I gathered everything we had on the patient again; I wanted to read it one more time.

"Did you know today is House’s birthday?" Cameron suddenly asked, breaking the silence, strangely sad.

"Really?" I asked, surprised, without taking my eyes off the blood test results.

"Yes..." Cameron said, drawing out the word. "Do you think it’s a good idea to buy him a gift?" she asked.

It was such a sudden question that I couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of someone trying to give House a gift. Knowing him, he’d take anything that wasn’t extremely expensive as an insult.

"Were you serious?" I asked incredulously after a few seconds of silence from Cameron. "It's House," I reminded her. "I assure you, if you congratulate him, instead of thanking you sincerely, he’ll ask how you know," I said, noticing recognition in Cameron’s expression. She’d already tried it.

"But maybe we could buy him a gift together," she added, slightly hopeful, making me pause.

"Look, if you really want to do it, I can chip in for whatever," I said. "But I'm telling you, it’s a bad idea, he will just use your good intentions to make fun of you in some way." I continued seriously.

"Yeah, you may be right," Cameron said, nodding in disappointment a moment later as she stood up and left the room.

Definitely, congratulating House or giving him a gift for any occasion is a bad move.

Having read through the kid's notebook along with my notes, as well as the medical history we had on his mother, I was much more confident, hopeful, in my diagnosis.

A few minutes after I finished reading everything again, House arrived at the lounge with Luke.

"Hey kid, did you find anything?" House asked when he saw me with all the papers spread out on the lounge table.

Seeing the kid next to House, I shook my head. It wasn’t a good idea to give a child hope without being completely sure.

"I get it," House said, looking at Luke beside him, surprisingly not pressing me for the truth.

"Can I have my notebook?" the boy asked me nervously, still avoiding eye contact with me.

"Sure."

House and Luke talked—or argued, to be more precise—for a couple of minutes inside House’s office.

"Thanks, see you," the boy said to me, still avoiding my gaze as he walked out of the lounge, clearly upset.

"What did you do to him? Why can’t he look you in the eye?" House asked me, amused, as he came out of his office.

"I have an idea," I replied, watching the kid quickly walk out of our sight.

"Don't be smug," House said sarcastically. "So, can you tell me what you found?" he asked, leaning on his cane.

"Yeah," I said, pulling my notes closer, but before I could continue, House raised his hand.

"They found something in her liver," he said, pointing to the door.

Cameron, Chase, and Dr. Foreman, followed by Dr. Wilson carrying ultrasound images, walked through the door.

"She has a mass," Chase said, making me feel slightly relieved, though also dismayed, as it added to my theory.

"The vitamin K caused the D.V.T. and aggravated the liver, but the tumor’s the real reason for the bleed," Dr. Wilson said. "The tumor’s the problem."

"Go tell the woman," House said after a few seconds of silence, making Dr. Wilson nod in acknowledgment before leaving.

"It’s big—five point eight centimeters," Dr. Foreman said, disappointed.

"We do nothing, she dies from liver failure within sixty days," Chase added.

"She needs a transplant," Cameron said.

"That's not gonna happen," House immediately disagreed.

"She’s thirty-eight, she’s a mother—" Cameron was adding to the woman’s case.

"She's a schizophrenic mother with no money, on public assistance, in fact, who knocks back vodka every time a breeze blows her way," House interrupted.

"Mickey Mantle had a whole bar named after him," Dr. Foreman said. "He got a transplant."

"Yeah, well, Lucy can't switch-hit," House responded sarcastically. "Plan B, surgery to resect the tumor."

"Joe Bergin does the gamma knife thing," Chase said. "Laser cauterizes while it cuts, saves more liver."

"The tumor's way too big, he won't even consider it," Cameron immediately disagreed.

"Not a big risk-taker, Bergin, won't even drink milk on its expiration date," Dr. Foreman said sarcastically.

"He has no discretion; five-point-eight centimeters is past the surgical guidelines," Cameron explained disappointedly.

"Would he do it at four-point-six?" House asked.

"Why don't we just say it's zero?" Chase asked. "Tumors grow, they don't shrink."

"This one does," House said seriously, intriguing the other doctors.

"Ethanol," I explained, causing House to point at me, smiling.

"He said it, not me," he exclaimed. "Speaking of which, does the tumor change anything about what you were about to say?" House asked.

"No," I said immediately, standing up. "Besides the mass, was there liver damage?" I asked Cameron and Chase, moving my notes again.

"Cirrhosis," Chase said, while Cameron simply nodded seriously.

"I understand. So, Lucy's first diagnosis of schizophrenia was approximately seven months ago," I said, handing my notes to Cameron, who then passed them to the others.

"We know," Dr. Foreman said monotonously.

"Let him do his monologue; it's fun, and I want to hear it," House said, amused, silencing the other doctor as he dragged a chair over to sit down before receiving the papers.

"Thank you," I said. "After that, the doctor referred them to another, and then another, for a couple of months, so much so that the boy stopped noting what those doctors were saying, simply writing down their names and a phone number. They never had more than one appointment per doctor," I added, passing my notes again.

"All shrinks," House murmured while reading my notes, exaggeratedly moving his body as if the idea gave him chills.

"Yes, until two months after her first diagnosis, the visits to different doctors ceased. The last one was Dr. Karn. His notes didn’t specify anything, like a few others. I could have confused him with another psychologist, but fortunately, I took the trouble to call those doctors to build a more extensive history," I said, once again handing out notes.

"An ophthalmologist," Cameron said, surprised.

"I remember you told me about that," House said, strangely smiling.

"Yes, it didn’t seem odd to me at the time because what seemed stranger was the alcohol in her blood, despite not having drunk in days, when in reality, the important thing was considering both factors," I quickly said.

"She has cirrhosis; it’s obvious she’s an alcoholic," Chase said, exasperated.

"No, it’s not obvious," I said, ignoring the doctor's frown at my words. "Schizophrenia," I added, looking at House. "Sorry, are you sleepy? Need a clue?" I asked.

"Her age?" House asked ironically. "I would have seen it just by looking at all these shrinks," he added arrogantly.

"What?" Dr. Foreman asked.

"It’s unlikely that she would be diagnosed with schizophrenia at her age. To be precise, less than ten percent," I explained, ignoring House's arrogance.

"So what, all this to tell us how lucky this woman was?" Chase asked, obviously annoyed. "Great, now we can go and tell her son that his mother is basically a mathematical miracle. I don’t have time for this," he continued sarcastically as he stood up, apparently ready to leave the room.

"No," I said, stopping the doctor from trying to leave the room. "I think she doesn’t have schizophrenia," I admitted. "I just need one test to be sure," I added, looking at House, who was smiling broadly.

"Not this again!" Chase exclaimed, obviously angry. "This isn’t your playground or your personal lab to come and play with patients," he added, approaching me.

"Chase—" Cameron nervously began to say.

"You’re not going to do any test on that woman to give her son false hope. He doesn’t deserve that," Chase exclaimed, interrupting Cameron.

"I’m not playing with anyone," I declared, annoyed by his accusations. "And the test isn’t invasive; they can do it while saying it’s a procedural test."

"Sure! Abusing the trust of patients again; obviously, that doesn’t bother you," Chase added, obviously blinded by his anger, not reasoning with what I was saying, much less with what he was saying.

"I can’t believe you’re still not over what I did with Sister Augustine," I said, impressed, snorting.

"Over it? You attacked her!" Chase exclaimed, more upset.

"What I did, even if you don’t approve, was always with the sister's well-being in mind. What I got from Sister Augustine, I used to give a diagnosis that saved her life," I declared proudly. "I never judged her for it," I added, implying that he was doing the opposite.

"If you’ve got something to say, say it," Chase said, approaching me again, trying to intimidate me.

"It’s obvious that someone you know was an alcoholic, possibly your mother, and now you can’t stop judging your patient as such, even refusing to listen to reasons that could save her life," I said, also starting to get annoyed, "you’re just a hypocrite," I said quietly, now close to Chase.

"Who do you think you are? You’re not a doctor," Chase said, obviously after I had hit a nerve, "you’re just a ki—" he was saying as he tried, like so many days ago, to push my chest. "Agh!"

Grabbing his wrist, I quickly twisted it, managing to slightly contort his arm and, with it, the upper part of his body. "I’ve had enough of you trying to push me; that was the first and last warning," I said, a moment later releasing his wrist, pushing his arm away.

"Bravo," House said, clapping, cutting the tension and interrupting Chase, who was still pressing his wrist, now with slight pain. "If you two girls are done with your show, we still have work to do. After school, you can finish your business. Are you going to finish your presentation?" he asked sarcastically.

"I just need a slit-lamp exam. If she has Kayser-Fleischer rings, then I’m right, and the real diagnosis is Wilson’s," I said, ignoring Chase, who was still moving his hand.

"Wilson’s?" Cameron asked, looking worriedly between Chase and me.

"It’s a rare genetic disorder that causes excessive accumulation of copper in the body, particularly in the brain, the eyes and the liver," I responded, glancing sideways at Chase, who snorted incredulously. "We just need to check her eyes."

"I like it," House said.

"Oh, you can’t be taking this seriously. A rare genetic disorder, really?" Dr. Foreman asked House, completely incredulous.

"The kid is right; we can say it’s just a quick procedural test. Besides, the only one who stands to lose anything is the kid; it would be quite embarrassing to be wrong after all this show," House said sarcastically as he walked toward the door of the lounge. "Now, if the kid is right, it would be much more embarrassing to be you," he added as he passed by Chase. "Come on."

Following House on the way to the woman’s room, we ran into Dr. Wilson.

"What’s going on?" the man asked, seeing the four of us.

"The kid has a theory," House explained, "and by the way, we’re going to shrink the tumor so Bergin can resect it."

"Got it," Dr. Wilson responded immediately, walking with us.

Before reaching the patient’s room, Dr. Foreman, along with Chase, split off to get the machine, while Cameron, under House's orders, went to get the ethanol dose.

When we entered the woman’s room, her son, Luke, was sitting next to his mother with swollen eyes, obviously from crying.

"You know the drill," House said, ignoring the boy's appearance without a trace of shame, pulling out a bill from his jacket.

"What?" Luke asked hoarsely, frowning incredulously.

"We need to talk to your mother, so you’ll give us a little space. I'll page you," House added, taking out his pager and waving it in front of the boy’s face. "This time, I want a bag of chips."

"Really?" the boy asked incredulously, looking at Dr. Wilson and then at me. Seeing that he wasn’t getting a response, he shook his head in disappointment, taking the bill from House’s hand as well as the pager, leaving the room.

"Lucy!" House exclaimed the moment Luke left the room, waking the woman who was deeply asleep. "See this kid here? He thinks you’re not crazy," House said, managing to wake the woman.

"Wait, what?" Dr. Wilson asked, surprised.

"Neither do I," the woman said, ignoring Dr. Wilson like everyone else, looking at me. "But I'm crazy," she added.

"I thought we’d say it was a routine test," I said nervously, looking at House.

"To her son," House exclaimed, "but I’ve already solved that. Didn’t you see?" House asked sarcastically. "She’s crazy; who’s she going to tell? Better yet, who’s going to believe her?" he asked with exaggerated skepticism.

"This is a huge waste of time," Chase said as he and Dr. Foreman pushed in the machine for the test.

"I know, right? We should all forget about this and go watch TV," House said ironically as Dr. Foreman prepared the machine. At that moment, Cameron arrived, pushing another machine, a portable ultrasound.

"Okay, Lucy, lean over here," Dr. Foreman said when the machine was ready. "Come on, that's it," he added, helping the woman along with Chase to move around the bed. "Put your hands on the bar here and your chin in here."

As I watched Dr. Foreman prepare the woman, I could feel my nerves starting to rise. The whole theory pointed to my diagnosis being correct, but if it wasn’t, I would feel like I was taking away the opportunity for a mother and son to live their lives.

"You're gonna see a bright light, okay?" Dr. Foreman calmly warned the woman as he positioned himself to inspect her eyes. "Your body might be accumulating too much copper," he explained calmly, proving once again that he was a good doctor while calibrating the machine.

As Dr. Foreman did his job, I could feel Chase watching me intently from the side.

"If it is, this should help us see something called Kayser-Fleischer rings," Dr. Foreman continued explaining, suddenly stopping completely still and silent. "I'll be damned," he murmured a few moments later, causing the tension I didn’t know I had in my shoulders to completely dissipate. "Copper-colored circles around your corneas," he said slowly, pulling his face away from the machine's visor, turning to look at me incredulously.

Like Dr. Foreman, Cameron and Chase shared a look of disbelief, staring at me fixedly, this time without

"Can someone explain to me what's happening here?" Dr. Wilson, completely lost, asked.

"What's happening is that Chase owes a big apology," House said, smiling arrogantly.

"Lucy doesn’t have schizophrenia, just excess copper in the brain," I explained to Dr. Wilson, who obviously didn’t get the answer he was looking for.

"What?" Dr. Wilson asked incredulously, looking at the woman who was still behaving erratically. Only after a few days of treatment she will behave normally again.

"Earth to Wilson, I thought you were present," House said sarcastically.

"I don't get it. How did you know?" Dr. Wilson asked me, ignoring House.

"It's a long story," I admitted, noticing how the patient was watching me calmly.

"We should start the treatment for the excess copper," Dr. Foreman, still stupefied, said slowly, dragging the machine he had brought along, glancing at me occasionally.

"Shrink the tumor first, I want my chips," House said as he walked towards the exit of the room. "Come on, kid, your work here is done," he added.

Without wanting to see the faces of those still present in the room, I followed House out, trailing him to his office. "I see Don did his 'magic,'" House said, smiling cynically as he settled into his chair. "Can I expect you to do whatever it takes to save a patient from now on?" he asked, folding his hands in front of his face, probably pretending to be the villain in some bad movie.

"No," I replied immediately, surprising House for a split second. "But if I’ve made the decision, breaking one or two rules doesn’t bother me."

"Works for me," House said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as if it didn’t interest him much. "See you later," he added as he stood up, grabbing his backpack and heading out of the office. "I hope the kid didn’t pick the worst chips," House murmured as he reached the doorway.

Puzzled by House's sudden departure, I checked my watch and noticed that my regular 'shift' had already ended a few minutes ago.

"By the way, well done," House said, catching me off guard before immediately walking out of sight, heading towards the hospital cafeteria.

Quickly gathering my things, I left in the opposite direction, feeling surprisingly good despite being late.

Even though I drove right at the speed limit, I still arrived several minutes late to my training with Case.

After quickly changing behind my car, I walked over under Case's intensely furrowed gaze and Tim's amused look. "Is my watch fast?" Case asked seriously raising his hand.

Deciding that the best course of action was to look guilty and avoid mentioning that Case didn’t have a watch, I walked over to the paved section of the lot.

"Normally, the punishment for being late would be to clean the dojo," Case said sternly, crossing his arms. "But..." opening his arms again, he gestured around, indicating the empty lot completely exposed to the elements. "So, you do the next best thing."

‘The next best thing’ turned out to be an extensive course of different exercises: pull-ups, squats while carrying the old handmade sack, full sparring on the ground against Case and Tim, and even flipping a tire that probably came from a tractor I'd never seen before. By the end, I couldn’t feel my arms or legs.

"I remember the first time I was late," Tim said with a laugh while I kept my head under the stream of water from the spigot near Case’s trailer.

"Did you lose all feeling in your limbs?" I asked Tim as I shut off the water and dried my face with my shirt, which I honestly didn’t remember taking off.

"You have no idea," Tim said sarcastically. "Remember, there was a time when I was the only one training with Case," he added, patting my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry for that, man," I said sincerely, feeling bad for my muscular friend.

Even though my muscles were incredibly sore, I decided to stay for my now-regular chess games with Case. Besides, with the lack of sensation in my legs and arms, the best option was not to drive.

Several games later, finally feeling at least the tips of my toes again, I went home.

"You took a shower early," Bob said in surprise during dinner that night.

"I was late for my training with Case," I explained.

"Ah, so you got a special workout," Bob declared with a grin.

"You say special, I say infernal, but yeah, same thing," I replied sarcastically.

"What happened? I don’t understand," Mom asked, worried.

"Nothing, the workout was just a bit harder than usual," I explained.

"It’s good for teaching respect, punctuality, and responsibility," Bob quickly explained, seeing Mom frown.

"Yeah," I murmured. "Don’t worry about it, Mom, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I'll just be sore for a couple of days," I added.

"That means it was a good workout," Bob declared with a laugh. "No pain, no gain."

I sure hope I get a lot of gains. "Teddy, by any chance, do you know someone named Lucas Palmero?" I asked my sister, suddenly remembering Luke.

"Palmero?" Teddy repeated, surprised by the sudden question, pausing for a moment to think. "Oh yeah, he’s my lab partner. He hasn’t been to class in a few days. Is he in the hospital?" she asked, clearly understanding the reason for my question, now worried.

I knew it.

"He’s fine, don’t worry about it," I quickly assured her. "And when he gets back to school, don’t bother him, okay?" I added seriously.

"Yes, don’t pressure him. If he wants to say why he hasn’t been to school, he’ll do it on his own," Mom also quickly warned.

"All right," Teddy said, raising her hands. "I don’t even talk to him that much, just in class."

That day, only Gabe and Bob came in while I slept soundly after dinner.

The next day, obviously after spending most of my workout the previous night doing pull-ups, I woke up with a few blisters on my hands.

"What happened to your hands?" Bob asked while we had breakfast after my morning run with Gabe.

"From yesterday's workout, I got a few blisters on my hands. It’s just antibiotic cream and some bandages," I immediately explained, noticing how Bob was judging me slightly with his eyes.

I’m going to be a doctor, possibly a surgeon. Whenever I can, I’ll keep my most important tools of the trade in pristine condition.

"Well, I’m sure if anyone knows how to treat them, it’s you," Bob said with a laugh, patting my shoulder. "Are we ready?" he asked Teddy and Gabe, who were also finishing their breakfasts.

"Yeah," Teddy and Gabe replied at the same time, with Gabe speeding up his breakfast.

At school, after the second period, this time with my friends—except for Brock and David, who had gone to the bathroom—we finished organizing our things in our lockers.

From the main hallway of the school, just like the day before, the two seniors I had seen messing around with Brock walked by, pushing each other and laughing loudly.

"Alan," I said to my always calm friend who was standing next to me as I watched the two guys walk away.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know anything about those two?" I asked, nodding in their direction.

"Michael Johnson and David Smith," Alan immediately replied. "It’s Smith’s second year as a senior. Johnson was almost expelled a few months ago; they caught him smoking in the bathroom. They hang out after school under the bleachers, almost always when there’s cheerleading or girls' soccer practice."

"Great," I murmured, surprised by how easily Alan provided a profile of the two guys. I really hoped Brock wouldn’t get into trouble.

"Also, Smith trains in boxing three days a week at the gym on Commercial Street. He’s not that good, but his dad is—an ex-semiprofessional with a good record," my calm friend added seriously.

I stared at my friend incredulously for a few seconds.

"What?" Alan asked, confused. "Someone uninformed is like a blind man walking in dangerous terrain," he declared, as if reciting a motto he says repeatedly.

"I didn’t say anything," I said innocently, raising my hands. "So, do you think they’re bad news?" I asked.

"Yeah, not the worst news in school, but definitely bad news," Alan calmly explained. "So, what are you going to do?"

"About what?" I asked, confused.

"Brock," Alan replied indifferently.

Of course, he knew too. He was like an encyclopedia of the school—quite scary, to be honest.

"I don’t think a direct approach is the best option right now; it would only make Brock feel attacked," I admitted, slightly disappointed. "So I’m just going to wait for now."

"Whatever you do, it’s probably better than what I would do," Alan admitted sinisterly, crossing his arms.

Okay... definitely scary.

"What about him?" I asked, discreetly pointing to a guy who was passing by, just to see how deep Alan’s knowledge went.

"I don’t know everyone at the school," Alan said, raising one eyebrow. "But that’s Mark Bishop, junior year, captain of the school’s chess team," he added a moment later, with a hint of a smile on his face.

"The school has a chess team?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah, Bishop and two others. Mr. Givens is the teacher in charge," my friend explained.

"What are you talking about?" Georgie innocently asked. For the past few days, every chance he got, he’d been leaning against his locker, smiling at everyone who passed by, obviously focusing entirely on the girls.

"Are you done with your lost puppy act?" I asked sarcastically, teasing my friend.

"Yeah, laugh all you want, but when it works, don’t come asking for my secrets. I got two smiles today," Georgie declared proudly.

"I doubt it was the kind of smile you think it was," I said with amusement, patting my friend on the shoulder.

"Well, I don’t care, but one day it’ll work," Georgie declared proudly with a smile.

"I'm sure it will," I said with a grin, seeing the arrogant smile on my friend’s face.

"What will?" Brock asked, arriving with David, interested.

"Georgie’s special strategy," I explained.

"Oh, the puppy eyes," Brock immediately said with a laugh.

"Like I said, laugh all you want," Georgie declared arrogantly.

"We will, thanks," I said, immediately mocking along with Brock and David.

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Author Thoughts:

As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.

With that said,

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading! :D

PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.