11. Brenna
11
brENNA
Here’s the thing about the North American Pharmacist Licensure Examination, or NAPLEX for short. It’s big, it’s scary, and the worst part of it—twenty percent of it is fake.
Yes, fake.
Of the two hundred plus questions on this exam, up to fifty of them are “experimental,” meaning that they are being evaluated as potential questions for future use and do not count toward your score. They’re scattered throughout the exam and not identified as experimental. Meaning, as one sitting for such a test, you have no idea what is real and what isn’t and what is going to affect your score. So you have to assume it all is.
All two hundred plus questions.
All that said, concentrating on studying is not an easy task when the only thing your brain wants to do is relive the best kiss of your life. Because that certainly wasn’t experimental.
I’m not entirely sure what I expected when Milo asked me out on a date. Dinner, I guess. Certainly not anything as magical as a murder mystery dinner. And yes, I do mean magical. The character envelope I was handed at the beginning of the night might as well have been my Hogwarts acceptance letter for as much joy as it brought me.
And I was absolutely not expecting the date to end with a kiss. A real kiss. Not a brush-off kiss to the cheek, but one that made my toes wiggle and my insides tingle.
It also means that I’ve thought of little else since. And that topics such as how to dose vancomycin to ensure CNS penetration can’t compete. So, it’s time for a change of scenery. One that doesn’t make me think of Milo every time I look up because his coffee mug is sitting on the counter or his shoes are sitting in the middle of the living room. And certainly one that doesn’t hold the temptation to head to my bed, bust out Sherlock, and lose myself in thoughts of Milo doing more than kissing me.
So the Hickory Hills town library it is.
Walking into the white, antebellum style building, a cold blast of air hits me. It’s a nice change from the thick, humid air outside, but still a little shocking to the system. A shiver runs through me as I adjust, looking around to see if anyone is here. The front desk is unoccupied, but that’s not surprising, since most of the time the only person here is the town librarian, Kenzie Noble—no, she’s Kenzie Wilder now—and maybe one volunteer. Although this late in the day, I bet it’s just Kenzie.
Nothing but silence greets me, which is a good sign. Means I shouldn't have any interruptions and can focus on all the information I need to make sure I know before next month. That is, if my brain will let me.
“We did not agree to that!” Willa Hayes’s voice slices through the air. Much like it did the other night at family dinner.
Oh boy …
“Hey Brenna!” Kenzie greets, appearing from the back section of the library where the study tables are.
The look on her face tells me that she’s doing her best to hold it together and keep her composure. Not that I’ve ever seen Kenzie lose her composure, but I’m sure it’s possible.
“Absolutely not!” Willa screams.
Willa Hayes on the other hand…
“Weekly Rhythm and Brews meeting,” Kenzie says, as if that explains everything. Which, it does. “Only nine more weeks.”
I nod, understanding everything that is being left unsaid. Rhythm and Brews, the massive beer and bluegrass festival that Hickory Hills hosts over Labor Day weekend, is the pride of this small town. Despite all the other events we put on, Rhythm and Brews is the crown jewel in our cap. Thousands of people descend on our community every year, helping us raise money for the local high school. It’s a major undertaking—to say the least—and the committee that heads it all up meets year-round in order to pull it off.
“Here to study?”
I nod, opening my mouth to respond, but am cut off by a sudden cacophony. Voices carry from the back corner again, although this time none of them are as clear as Willa’s. Nonetheless, it’s clear that there’s a disagreement.
“I should get back,” Kenzie tells me, polite smile still in place. My heart goes out to her, because that’s not something I would ever want to deal with. Not with the personalities we have in this town. “May I suggest the children’s section? It’s deserted, and there’s a table in there where you can spread out.”
“Thanks,” I say, nodding again. “And err…good luck.”
Kenzie gives me a silent thanks with her eyes and turns to go, while I take a right into the children’s section. Sure enough, there’s a large table by the back window that is perfect for studying. A little low to the ground, since it’s built for smaller legs than mine, but nothing I can’t adapt to. Especially if it means that I can start to get all this set in my memory.
Getting all settled in, I open up my practice test and start reading about Rebekah, a twenty-nine-year-old female who is about to undergo a medical procedure that requires sedation and analgesia, and has a history of allergic reaction to lidocaine. The question continues, talking about how because of the previous lidocaine reactions, her doctors are considering using ketamine, and what her medication history and other vital stats are.
It’s a lot to process, registering what each of these items really represents and how they are related to each other, but I follow along, fairly confident I know the answer to the ultimate part of this question—Which of the following statements regarding the use of ketamine for short-term procedural sedation and analgesia are correct?
“Isn’t ketamine a horse tranquilizer?”
Mell’s voice cuts through my thoughts, breaking all my concentration. I spin in my chair to see her leaning over my shoulder, reading my practice test.
“It’s often used that way, yes. But it’s a dissociative anesthetic that’s used medically for a lot of things, including anesthesia, depression, and pain management.”
“So what’s the answer to your question there?”
I look back at the test, scanning the answers.
“E, The use of ketamine requires continuous monitoring of vital signs, including blood pressure and heart rate.”
Mell nods, taking my word for it. She was a communications major in college, focusing more on things like nonverbal communication and public relations than on the chemical makeup of anything .
“You’re, like, smart. Like, actual real, scary smart. You know that?”
I laugh, dismissing the comment. I’m far from that. Chemistry makes sense in my head. At least this kind of chemistry. The chemistry between a man and a woman—like the chemistry between Milo and me—that stuff still baffles me.
“Whatcha doin’ here?” I ask as she parks herself in the chair next to me. “I’m sure you didn’t magically show up to help quiz me on”—I look over at the next question—“penicillin allergies.”
“Mom dragged me to a Rhythm and Brews meeting. Apparently since I’m here, I should contribute to the community.”
Yikes…
“Sounds like that meeting is going well.”
“If by well, you mean that Miss Belle had to stop Willa from lunging across the table and strangling Mrs. Chamberlain for volunteering that Hayes cover the extra cost for more tables and chairs under the new food tent, then yes, it’s going very well.”
“I think I'll stick with the killer cillins.”
“Good choice.”
We both laugh, but despite the levity of the moment, guilt starts to gnaw at me. I haven’t spent as much time with Mell this summer as I had promised. She’s been understanding, encouraging me to study as much as I can so I can kick ass on the boards. Her belief in me is undeserved, but I’m forever thankful for it.
But that’s not the only reason.
I haven’t told Mell about Milo. At least not the date part. Or the part where I word vomited at him about my lack of second dates. When she asked how dinner went with the Hayeses that night, I kept the answer simple, telling her what Miss Belle served, that Willa and Gus bickered the whole time, and that they all loved the slutty brownies. All of which is the truth.
There was just also the ride home.
And the date that followed. And the kiss.
That kiss…
I need to catch her up on everything. I just don’t know where to start.
“We’re still on for the Fourth of July, right?” Mell asks. “Please don’t make me partner with my mother for the three-legged race. That’s not going to end well. For anyone.”
Well, I guess this is where I start…
I suck in a breath, working on finding the words. They are hovering right at the surface, but need a little coaxing over the line. Or a great big push.
“About that…”
Mell’s eyebrows fly up, eyes going wide. She’s on high alert now, ready for whatever I’m about to spill.
“Don’t tell me you have to work! It’s the Fourth of July, Bren!”
“No, no. The drugstore is closed for the holiday. But, I kinda told Milo that I would go with him.”
There we go. It’s out in the open. May the interrogation commence.
Quirking her head to the side, Mell furrows her brow, sheer confusion taking over.
“Why?”
“Because he asked?”
I don’t intend for it to come out like a question. Because it’s not. It’s my legit answer.
I came home from the drugstore last night, exhausted after another very long day of dealing with Mr. Hovland and his less than subtle tactics, to find a just as exhausted roommate. Although his had less to do with townies and more to do with a broken valve of some sort. We both agreed the only remedy was pizza and a movie. I called the Slice while Milo pulled up Jurassic Park —our own little inside joke now—and we curled up on the couch and let the day melt away.
And yes, we curled up together. Which is another thing I’m trying not to think about. Because his arm around me and my head against his chest felt so easy and natural that it should be illegal.
Before we headed to bed—our own beds—he stopped me, taking my hands and telling me how much fun he had at dinner and that we should do it again.
“What would you say to joining me for the Fourth of July Picnic?” he asked. “Hayes tradition dictates the first tug-o-war, and Hux will probably have our heads if we skip out on Dolly’s pancake breakfast, but the rest of the day would be ours.”
Then he smirked and winked. A lethal combination if there ever was one.
“Milo asked you to the Fourth of July picnic?” Mell repeats, as if saying it out loud will make it make sense.
I nod, giving her the moment she needs to catch up.
“Like…on a date?”
I nod again, sucking my lips into my mouth. I can feel my cheeks go pink, and I try to look away. But I can’t. The excitement in me over this is too much, and I’m dying to tell her.
“Actually, a second date.”
“A second date? That implies there was a first date.”
“There was.”
Mell squeals, kicking her feet up and down, her eyes as big as plates. The sound is so loud I’m worried that they’ll hear her in the next room. I try and shush her, but it’s no use. My best friend has lost her mind with excitement. For me.
“Brenna Heidi Rawlins…” Triple named, damn. “Spill! ”
“They’re pity dates, promise,” I tell her. More importantly, reminding myself.
“How so?”
I sigh, pushing my practice test away and settling into the chair. Might as well get comfortable.
Launching into the whole story, from my awkward admission in the pickup truck confessional to Milo surprising me with the best date ever. I tell her all about how much fun we had, how the night played out with the plot of the mystery, and how good the food was. I don’t leave anything out. Mell hangs on my every word, like a little kid during story hour, ready to find out if the handsome prince swoops in at just the right time to save the princess.
I even come clean about the kiss, not bothering to hold back the parts about my knees going weak and how when I close my eyes, I can still feel his scruff against my lips.
“What about that scruff on the inside of your thighs,” Mell quips.
“MaryEllen!”
She laughs hysterically, clapping as if she’s giving herself a high five. “Brenna, I don’t know why you think these are pity dates, because they aren’t. Pity dates do not include kissing. Nor do they include cuddles. I knew there was something to that boob squeeze at the bar.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I dismiss. “These were not those kinds of cuddles. They were…brotherly cuddles.”
I think. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want them to be brotherly cuddles. I would have more than welcomed Milo trying to cop a feel while we watched dinosaurs chase down Sam Neill. But I know better. And need to stop myself before I let my heart get too entangled.
“Brotherly cuddles?” Mell repeats, her voice incredulous. “There is no such thing. Because you would not cuddle on the couch like that with Brandt. And before you lie to me and say sure you would, I’m gonna stop you. Because no, you would not. You two don’t have that same kind of weird, touchy-feely thing going on like Ross and Monica.”
“You are the only person I know who watched Friends and thinks that Ross and Monica were too touchy-feely with each other,” I say with a laugh.
“They are. They’re supposed to be siblings, and no one touches their sibling like that. It’s creepy. Which is how I know that Milo cuddling you is not out of pity.”
She loops back to her point swiftly and succinctly, giving me a look that tells me she knows it too. I want her to be right. I do. So, so bad. But I need to be careful. He agreed to give me what I’ve never had—a second date. Nothing more, nothing less. And my focus needs to be on this test. On knowing things like using Ertapenem for an intra-abdominal abscess with a culture producing E. coli.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Maybe? Brenna, Milo Hayes kissed you!” she screeches.
“Shhhh! Keep your voice down. Both his mother and sister are here. I don’t need either of them hearing any of this.”
Because that’s exactly how this gets out of hand.
“Because you don’t want to admit that you liked it.”
“Of course I liked it. Milo Hayes kissed me. Milo Hayes!”
Mell snickers. “Guess the fireworks won’t be the only thing to bang this year.”
“Mell!”
I shove her, but she’s already lost in a fit of giggles. It’s infectious, my own laughter right behind it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were thirteen again, sneaking into the romance section to look for the spicy parts.
We laugh for I don’t know how long, and it feels good. My soul needed this. Needed the deep belly laugh that only comes from a best friend.
When we finally collect ourselves, wiping away the tears and sucking in deep breaths, I feel better than I did walking in here. I haven’t studied a lick, but maybe now my head is clear enough to make room for some knowledge.
“I need to get back, and you need to learn things,” Mell says, pushing up and giving me a hug. “But we should hang at Pour Decisions this weekend.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to watch the two of you in action. It was very entertaining the last time. And that was before he asked you out. Who knows what will go down this time. And maybe I can help you make some poor decisions.”
I roll my eyes, pushing her away. Mell cackles, wiggling her fingers as she backs out of the room. Turning back to my practice test, I shake out my arms, getting my mind back in the game. Mell was right; I need to learn things. However, she was wrong too.
Because no matter what happens, Milo Hayes is not a poor decision.