The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

“My hero,” Shiloh muttered. “That shithead had it coming.”

I nodded. “He was giving Miller a hard time. Again.”

Shiloh scowled and tossed a cluster of small braids over her shoulder. “Frankie’s psychotic. Gets it from his dad, I’m sure.”

“The police officer?”

“Yep. You’re not the only one with gossip. Bibi’s friends with one of the detectives at the precinct near our house.”

I smiled. “Bibi is friends with everyone.”

Shiloh’s grandmother was pushing eighty, almost totally blind, and active in nearly every rotary, city, and social club in town.

“Bibi said her detective friend warned her about Officer Dowd. He’s had a few disciplinary issues lately.”

“Evelyn said this Ronan guy looked like a criminal himself. Not that she was there…”

“He’d better watch his ass then,” Shiloh said, facing forward. “If he broke Frankie’s nose, his dad is going to be out for blood.”

I was quiet for a minute and then leaned back at Shiloh. “Did Miller mention to you about his mom having a new boyfriend?”

“No. He’s been pretty quiet lately. Why?”

“I think he’s not a good guy. Miller won’t tell me much and I don’t think he’s coming over anymore. I think…”

“What?”

But I couldn’t say it. Just thinking that something was wrong between Miller and me made me sick to my stomach. Too much felt on the verge of collapsing all around me.

I smiled. “Nothing.”

After school, I drove my white Rav-4 to the UCSC Medical Center. I parked and made my way through the ground floor, waving at receptionists and nurses I’d become friendly with over the course of my three-week Patient Care Volunteer training this summer.

The director waved me in to her office. Dr. Alice Johnson was in her mid-fifties, though she looked younger. Her sleek black hair was style in a side-cut bob, and her red lipstick set off the warm tones in her brown skin as she smiled at me.

“Violet. How are you? Ready?”

“I think so. I hope so. I’d also hoped to be paired with Miller Stratton.”

“I know you did, but I assigned you to Nancy Whitmore because of all our PCVs, I think you’re the most qualified. And the most compassionate. But if it’s too much realness, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

I inhaled. “Is she dying?”

Dr. Johnson nodded. “I’m afraid so. Her oncologist estimates six months at best. Nancy’s a lovely lady. Positive, like you. And positivity can make things easier.” She studied me from across her desk. “Have you chosen what area of medicine you’d like to specialize in? General surgery, wasn’t it?”

A note of doubt touched her words.

“You don’t think I’m cut out for it?”

“I think you’d make a fine surgeon. You have one of the brightest minds I’ve seen come through the program. But is surgery truly where your greatest strengths lie? Doctors are, at their most basic essence, people trained to care for other people. How you choose to care for them speaks to who you are as a person. So it’s not a matter of being cut out for it but more a matter of what specialty allows you to utilize all of your gifts. Does that make sense?”

I smiled faintly. “You’re saying I’m too soft to be wielding a scalpel?”

“I’m saying that studying as hard as you do and mastering the science of being a doctor is only one half of the equation. Which is why I picked you for Nancy Whitmore. I want you to experience the human side of our profession before you decide your specialty. Your ‘softness’ is the reason you’re the only student here I’d trust with this assignment.”

“Okay,” I said, bolstered by her faith in me. “Thank you.”

Dr. Johnson gave me a final rundown of my duties and handed me a list of things Mrs. Whitmore enjoyed: Earl Grey tea, knitting, classic literature, Hot Pockets…