All the Pretty Dead Girls Part 17

"Well, I've had headaches before, but nothing like this," Sue explained. "After I threw up, I felt better. Just really weak."

"It could be an allergic reaction. You've never had a problem with the foods you ate before?"

"No, in fact, I've eaten the exact same meal at the same place the last two Sat.u.r.days before."

"Well, maybe the meat was bad this time out." Nurse Cochrane nodded her head. She opened the file in front of her, and a frown crossed her round face. "This is odd."

"What?" Sue frowned. "What are you looking at?"

"Your medical history."

"You have my whole medical history there?"

Nurse Cochrane eyed her. "Of course. We have it for all our girls. It's a requirement. Your grandparents had it sent up before you even arrived."

Sue made a face. "How would you know it was my grandparents? Wouldn't you have a.s.sumed it was my parents who sent it?"

The nurse smiled. "It says it right here. Grandparents are guardians."

"Oh. Okay." Sue sat up, removing the cloth from her head. She was feeling better. "So what's so odd?"

"You've never been sick." Nurse Cochrane looked over the top of the folder at her. "Nothing."

Sue shrugged. "I've had colds."

"No chicken pox, no measles, no mumps, no flus, no hospitalizations, no broken bones except for that little trouble with your nose." Nurse Cochrane closed the file. "You're a medical miracle, Miss Barlow."

Sue s.h.i.+fted in her seat. "So, I'm healthy. Is that a problem?"

"Well, no, of course not, that's not what I meant." The nurse gave her a beaming smile. "It just means you're a phenomenally lucky young lady. Children, as you may know, are incredibly susceptible to diseases-and most children run fevers, catch colds, get the chicken pox-I don't think I've ever seen a file like yours once in my entire career. And other than regular checkups and flu shots, you've never really had to see a doctor in your life. That's really amazing."

"Is that all?" Sue started to stand up.

"Well, I think I'd like to make an appointment for you with Dr. Bauer when he's in tomorrow-see what he thinks. He might want you to go up for a CAT scan in Senandaga, just to be on the safe side."

"CAT scan?" Sue suddenly felt defensive. "It was just food poisoning."

Earlier, with Malika, she'd been opposed to that idea, certain the headache had brought on the sickness, not the other way around. But now...

"There's nothing wrong with me," she told the nurse.

She didn't quite believe it. But some strange sensation inside her didn't want to know what might exactly have gone on in her head earlier this morning.

It had felt as if her brain was being torn in half.

"It was just a bad headache from eating bad meat, you said so yourself," said Sue. "And now it's gone and I puked out all the poison and I'm fine. Having to go to the hospital and have all kinds of tests would just upset my grandparents. No need to get everyone all upset. They'd worry-and would make me go to every specialist under the sun, and I'd rather not get everyone all worked up over a headache."

"It's your decision, but still-" The nurse removed an appointment book from the drawer of her desk and opened it. "Do you have cla.s.s tomorrow at three?"

Sue shook her head. "No," she admitted.

"I'd like you to see Dr. Bauer then." She wrote Sue's name in the book. "Until then, stay away from that restaurant. And if you get another headache, get over to the emergency room. Lebanon General is a very good hospital."

"An appointment with the doctor is not necessary," Sue told her.

"I'd be remiss if I didn't make it." She narrowed her eyes at Sue. "What are you afraid of finding out, Miss Barlow?"

Sue quickly stood and thanked the nurse. More than anything, she just wanted out of there. She felt absolutely fine now. She hurried through the rain, her untied sneakers slos.h.i.+ng through the mud.

What are you afraid of finding out?

"Nothing," she said out loud to herself in the elevator. "I'm just afraid of failing Dr. Marshall's test."

Back in her room, she called Billy's cell. He was in school, of course, so she knew she'd get his voice mail. "Hey, it's Sue," she said. "Listen, were you sick last night? I had a wicked headache and then hurled all over the place. Maybe it was the food? Hope you're okay. Talk to you later."

She flopped down onto her bed. In a way, she hoped Billy had gotten sick, too. They'd had the same lasagna. If he got sick, it would confirm the idea that it was food poisoning. Sue felt awfully mean thinking it, but she hoped right now Billy was puking his guts out.

She needed to study if she was going to pa.s.s this test. Sue found her notebooks on the floor and picked them up so she could flip through her notes. She liked Dr. Marshall's cla.s.s. Her lectures were interesting, and the subject matter Sue found fascinating. She'd never really given much thought to the things Dr. Marshall brought up about the history of the Church. She'd learned at Stowe about the Reformation and the religious wars that had torn Europe asunder in previous centuries, but it had never occurred to her to question the actual books of the Bible, and to wonder if they actually said today what they originally said two thousand years ago.

Some of the other girls in the cla.s.s didn't like the things Dr. Marshall had to say, and there had been some heated discussion. Wilbourne had a lot of fundamentalist Christian girls, and most of them took what Dr. Marshall was saying very personally. "Jesus was the ultimate questioner of authority," Dr. Marshall would say. "He'd welcome a challenge to orthodox teaching. You might still end up believing exactly what you believe today, but until you actually examine your faith, you can never know for sure."

Sue didn't partic.i.p.ate in these discussions in cla.s.s. She just listened, but took it all in. She knew that her grandfather wouldn't approve of the cla.s.s-or Dr. Marshall. "Anyone who attacks Christianity attacks the basic foundation of this country," he'd said once at the dinner table, "and is therefore anti-American."

But Dr. Marshall wasn't attacking Christianity. That she'd made clear once after cla.s.s, when Sue sometimes stopped at her desk to talk about the day's discussion.

"Challenge-even dissent-should not be construed as an attack," she told Sue, who'd nodded.

"I think," Sue had told her teacher, "that those who cry that they are being attacked by such discussions are the ones least secure in their own faith.'

Dr. Marshall had smiled. "Very astute, Sue. I wish you'd share such thoughts in cla.s.s. You'd add quite a bit to the discussion."

But Sue preferred not to speak in public. She'd probably stumble over her words or mangle her point. She preferred just to listen to Dr. Marshall-so eloquent, so articulate, so pa.s.sionate.

It's odd, Sue thought, Sue thought, that I can admire both Dr. Marshall and Joyce Davenport that I can admire both Dr. Marshall and Joyce Davenport. Both so different-but in their pa.s.sion and conviction, the same.

Her cell rang, startling her out of her reverie.

She glanced at the Caller ID, hoping it would be Billy. But it wasn't. She flipped open the phone. "h.e.l.lo, Gran."

"Sue? We just had a call from the school nurse. Are you all right?"

"Oh, man, I can't believe she called you," Sue groaned. "Yes, I'm fine. I had a minor case of food poisoning. I think it was bad meat lasagna."

"Was it served in the cafeteria?"

Sue couldn't tell her grandmother about Billy. "No. A friend and I-we went off campus to see a movie and ate at an Italian restaurant."

"Well, is she sick, too?"

"I don't know. I called-her. And left a message."

Gran sighed. "Well, I know what a healthy girl you are, Sue. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Hey, Gran, is it true I was never sick? Like I never had the flu or anything like that when I was really young and now I can't remember?"

"Yes, it's true, Sue. As I said, you're a very healthy girl."

"Come on. I've had colds..."

"Mere sniffles. Your grandfather and I took very good care of you. We made sure you never got sick. And your healthy const.i.tution meant that you could fight off things that more average girls could not. Don't you remember Brenda Upton's birthday party?"

Brenda Upton's birthday party.

Sue hadn't thought about that in years.

"Right," Sue said vaguely as recollection flooded her mind.

"Well, don't eat at that restaurant again," Gran was saying. "We want you to stay well. Don't eat off campus anymore. Who knows what those backwoods restaurants are like?"

Sue made a grunt in response, then thanked her grandmother for calling.

She wished she hadn't made her remember Brenda Upton's birthday party.

Sue had been nine years old when Brenda invited her. Brenda's father was one of Granpa's junior partners at the firm. She didn't like Brenda-a stuck-up little girl who was always throwing fits when she didn't get her way. Sue stayed as far away from Brenda as she possibly could. She certainly didn't want to go to her party.

But Granpa had insisted. "How would it look if the senior partner's granddaughter didn't go? Jim Upton would think I don't appreciate his work, that's how it would look, and we can't have that now, can we?"

So Gran had taken Sue shopping and bought her a beautiful party dress of white satin and red velvet, with new stockings to match. "Your grandfather is senior partner," Gran told her as she combed Sue's hair. "You have to make a very good impression on them all, to show them how important your grandfather is."

As soon as she arrived at the party, Sue knew she was overdressed. None of the other girls were wearing dresses; most of them were in jeans and T-s.h.i.+rts. Most of the girls at Brenda's party were other little girls Sue didn't like, so she spent most of the party sitting in a corner, just watching and hoping it would be over soon. She ate cake, drank punch, clapped politely as Brenda opened her presents, and wished fervently for the day to be over. Finally, it was, and when Gran asked her, Sue had lied and made it seem like she'd had a great time.

But unbeknownst to them all, one of the guests at Brenda's party had been coming down with the chicken pox. Sue couldn't remember which girl it was now, but there had been a frantic phone call, and Gran had come into Sue's bedroom with a terribly pale look on her face. She seemed horribly distraught, as if she had failed Sue in some deep and profound way.

"If we had known, we wouldn't have let you go," she said. She stroked Sue's hair, a rare gesture of affection, one of the few Sue remembered from her childhood. "Your grandfather thinks you're so strong that you'll be able to fight it off. But you might get sick, dear. And if so, we will nurse you through it. We'll see that you get better." She kept stroking Sue's hair. She seemed to be rea.s.suring herself as much as Sue. "I told all of them that you'd be fine, that we'd get you through it, that no one needed to worry."

Remembering that now, Sue wondered whom Gran had meant-who the people were that her grandmother was so desperate to rea.s.sure. At the time, however, she had been too frightened to wonder-too scared that her face would soon be covered with the dreaded pox.

Only, she never got sick.

"I told you," her grandfather had crowed. "I told you she was strong enough."

Every other girl who'd been at the party got the chicken pox. Every one of them missed school the entire next week.

Except for Sue-the only one who didn't come down with it.

That doesn't prove anything is weird about me. Sue s.h.i.+vered, rolling over onto her back to look up at the ceiling. Sue s.h.i.+vered, rolling over onto her back to look up at the ceiling. It just means I'm immune somehow to that, and to all the other stuff kids get. It's not a big deal. It just means I'm immune somehow to that, and to all the other stuff kids get. It's not a big deal.

But it's not normal. normal.

She'd never missed a day of school. At the end of the year, she always got a prize for perfect attendance. The only other times she'd ever thrown up, in fact, were a couple of episodes of motion sickness on Granpa's boat out on Long Island Sound.

She felt like a freak.

"Hey!"

Sue looked up. Malika had come back. She came through the door with a large paper cup sealed tight with a lid.

"I brought you some chamomile tea," she said. "How you feeling, girl?"

"Much better, thanks," Sue told her, accepting the tea. She took a sip. It was too hot to drink, so she set it on her bedside table.

"I thought I'd pop back between cla.s.ses to check on you," her roommate said. "What did the nurse say?"

"She agreed it was food poisoning." Sue decided not to tell her about the appointment with Dr. Bauer. "But I'm fine now."

"Will you be able to make it to Marshall's cla.s.s for the test?"

"Oh, sure. I was just doing some last-minute cramming for it now."

"We should probably call that restaurant-"

Malika was interrupted by a rap at the door. "Miss Barlow?" said a voice from the other side. A male voice.

Sue and Malika exchanged a curious glance. Sue nodded to her roommate that she should open the door. Malika peered out through the peephole and then quickly pulled the door open.

It was Dean Gregory.

"May I see Miss Barlow?" he was asking Malika.

"Here I am," Sue said, standing.

The dean rushed into the room, followed by Mrs. Oosterhouse. He was a tall man with a small, pinched face. He seemed to have been in a hurry to get to Bentley Hall, as he wore no jacket and his white s.h.i.+rt and blue tie were speckled with raindrops. Mud covered his Ba.s.s Weejuns and had splashed up on his wool pants. Oostie waddled close behind him, a little out of breath. Had no one answered the door, Sue a.s.sumed Oostie would have used her master key to let the dean inside.

"What's wrong?" Sue asked.

"Nothing, we hope," Gregory said, smiling at her. "I heard you weren't feeling well today, Miss Barlow."

Sue and Malika exchanged quizzical looks. "I had a headache," Sue said.

"Bad enough that you went to the infirmary."

Sue was astounded. "Do you check up on every girl who goes to see the nurse?"

Gregory's smile stretched across his small, weasely face. "Your grandfather called me," he explained. "I was just making sure you were all right."

"My grandfather? You know my grandfather?"

"Well, of course," Gregory told her. "He's one of Wilbourne's best supporters."