3
3
FINGER PRICKERS
S hock froze Ranger’s chiseled features into a statue . . . until he unclenched his jaw enough that “How sure are you?” slipped out.
I shook my head, minutes ahead of where he was in the processing department. “I dunno, Ranger? You know better than I. What are my stats now?”
He nodded his head very concisely a few times, processing my data on top of this mind-boggling information. “Above eighty-five percent.”
Our blue eyes met in horror.
“Are we—” He didn’t finish his question.
I shook my head, almost too sick to speak. “I-I don’t know.” I’d been busy doing some swift mental math but came up blank. Too many digits left unfilled to form a solution.
“We’ll need some blood tests,” he asserted.
“Dr. D” was my solution to that.
Ranger looked mutinous until I pointed out she was the only doctor I trusted who had lab access. A curt nod was his answer. I suspected he wanted to keep this as down low as me.
“What are you two girlfriends whispering about over there?” Slater was standing around in his navy shorts looking alternately annoyed and bored.
Next thing I knew, Ranger slung our backpacks over his back and hauled me up in his arms. “Connelly’s sick,” he announced, then headed back down the trail in the opposite direction of the bridge. “Grab Mikey!” he called over his shoulder as he began taking off at a faster clip.
I craned around to witness Slater’s smooth brown forehead crease. “With what?” He threw basketball-long arms up. “Super-aggressive terminal cancer?” He shook his head and muttered something before slinging Mikey onto his back.
“Yay! A piggyback ride,” enthused Mikey. “Giddy up.”
Mikey had the audacity to kick at Slater’s sides, and Slater had enough good humor to begin trotting after us. I know this because I was peering over Ranger’s shoulder as he sprinted back down the trail with me in his arms, like a bride. At the midway tunnel mark, I could tell he was getting tired, and I was getting tired of feeling ridiculous, so I persuaded him to put me down. Slater also dropped Mikey, who appeared to be accidentally choking his favorite horsey. I couldn’t help but think that was some kind of weird karma.
Mikey looked up at me plaintively. “Katie, what’s goin’ on?”
“Yeah, Katie, what’s goin’ on?” Slater asked, because his buddy Ranger was as tight-lipped as he was tight-faced.
“I-my ribs were botherin’ me, but I feel well enough to walk now.” I proceeded to do this with Slater grumbling, Mikey grabbing a hold of his hand, and Ranger not talking or looking at anyone.
As soon as we hit parking lot, we wordlessly climbed and clicked in. We wound ourselves back along the busy roads and freeways, with our moods in reverse and the sun drooping behind us, and made it back to The Academy by the early dinner hour. We dumped Slater with a brusque thank-you and goodbye before Ranger stomped on the petal of a golf cart. We whizzed down the path to Mess Hall, where we dumped Mikey off with a brisk “Eat dinner and go to bed.” Mikey looked mutinous until Ranger said he’d make it up to him with a day at the beach.
Mikey latched onto Ranger’s leg. “You pwomise?”.
“I promise,” Ranger said, taking a precious moment to curl his pinky into Mikey’s.
After they shook on it, Ranger re-stomped the petal, and we whizzed past oncoming CITs who, once again, had to dodge out of my way. Screeching to a stop in front of Bass Science Hall, we didn’t even glance at each other before launching ourselves through the parting doors. The freaky beehive lady manning the front desk didn’t bother to ask Ranger any questions, and we sallied on to Dr. D’s office and banged on the door. One, two, three, Ranger rattled the knob. Still no answer. I glanced at my handy phone. It was 6:23. What did we expect? That she’d be there in her lab coat with some syringes and microscopes handy? Yes, that’s exactly what we expected. That she wasn’t there seemed to also throw Ranger for a loop. It’s likely he’d never seen Dr. Elena Davenport outside the confines of this building.
Ranger dug in his backpack for his PAC. After crunching some codes, he punched some numbers on his cell. He made short work of pleasantries before making a curt request, all while pacing up and down the hallway. His voice rose slightly and then he paused to peer over at me, hovering in Dr. D’s doorway. He sucked his bottom lip in as though trying for patience, then squeaked his way back to hand me his cell. “Explain it.”
I put the phone to my ear. “H-hello?”
“Katie dear, what’s going on?” Dr. D was on the line.
I almost burst into tears I was so relieved to talk to her. “Dr. D, I—” I cleared my throat. “We need your help. Can you meet us in the lab?”
Twenty minutes of Ranger deep-breathing and me lip-plucking, and the door unlocked from the inside. The matter was explained in as much detail as we dared. Mostly by me. Dr. D nodded and sent Ranger out to fetch some finger-prickers from the other Dr. Davenport, a task not given to me for obvious reasons. Twenty more minutes of me blowing on hot tea I didn’t sip and Ranger returned with a droplet of Mikey’s blood and two unused finger-prickers.
“Follow me,” dictated Dr. D.
Without question we followed her whirring wheelchair around her neatly overstuffed lab, through an exit door, down a long blank hallway with glass windows set in steel doors, then right to a set of metal doors at the dead end. They were marked with a sticker depicting a red skull with a black X. I paused.
Nice omen, right?
Dr. D stretched her arm and pressed her thumbpad onto the scanner imbedded into the door. It blinked red, clicked, and we entered. Florescent lights, metal tables, lab rats screeching in cages, and a mortuary-like coldness greeted us. The awkward silence was filled by a lot of clanging and banging around by Dr. D as she set up the lab. I stared suspiciously at a humongous computer in the corner that looked like it could double as a sci-fi monster.
My stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, and I felt the sudden urge to throw up. Instead, I relegated myself to hyperventilating. Ranger was right there with me. His jaw remained so tightly clamped, I thought we might need the jaws-of-life to pry them apart.
Dr. D snapped on some rubber gloves. “Who’s first?”
I looked at Ranger. Ranger looked at me. I didn’t move, so he said the requisite: “Ladies first.”
I huffed out a humorless snort and offered the tip of my finger for a prick. I jumped for no good reason because it didn’t hurt a bit, and I had to do this twice a month (everyone else had to do it once).
Ranger was next. It seemed odd that he flatly refused to look Dr. D in the eye, preferring to stare over his shoulder at the wall the whole time like a hemophobiac. Then we stood around watching as Dr. D got to work. After a couple of minutes of us shuffling our feet and peering over her shoulder, she pushed the button and one-eightied on us.
“You two may wait in my office,” she offered kindly, although it was clearly a command. “I think you’ll be more comfortable there, and there’s some tea to tide you over.” She widened her smile. “I’ll text you the bypass code.”
Ranger and I slunk back out to her L-shaped, no-nonsense office, where Ranger slumped down in a lime-green chair to wait, looking as if he couldn’t stand up much longer. I made myself useful by preparing us some tea we wouldn’t drink— Earl Grey for him and green for me. Each seemed a fitting selection to suit our individual pallor.
I flitted about, trying very hard not to pick up that picture frame in the presence of my mentor/commanding officer/important-person-in-my-life, and . . . brother? No, I didn’t feel it. Like I did with him and Mikey. Surely, I would’ve by now. Right?
“Ranger.” I couldn’t take it anymore. “How much longer?” I realized I sounded like a whiny kid on a long car trip.
He just sort of snorted and didn’t dignify the stupid question with an answer. He ran his hands over his hair, which had recently been recut. I recalled how, when Pete did that, his hair actually moved around.
Finally, a couple of hours later, we heard the whirring of Dr. D’s wheelchair. I was behind her desk furtively staring at my not-so-secret obsession, when she made her appearance. She flicked reproving eyes at me, and I sheepishly came around to sit next to Ranger in a matching chair. She faced us both now with an unreadable expression. It felt like we were a young couple waiting to hear the news regarding the gender of our baby. Or news about whether or not our baby would live or die. Either way, I felt the urge to take his hand. My hand fluttered, but I commandeered it back to my side.
She addressed Ranger first. “I’m pleased to inform you that you are, indeed, a big brother. A half-brother to be exact. You and Michael share the same father, but have different mothers.” She paused to let that sink in.
I peeked at Ranger, who still hadn’t taken a breath and looked a little shell-shocked. Suddenly, he let out a long gust of air. Was he glad or mad or sad? It was hard to tell. He simply nodded, tight-lipped.
Dr. Davenport focused her eyes on me. “I’m equally pleased to inform you . . .” I drew in a sharp breath. Surely not. Right?! “That you and Ranger have different mothers and different fathers, so therefore, are quite unrelated.”
She seemed unduly happy about this bit for a third-party person. “In fact,” she continued on, “the genetic test indicates that you two are actually a very good biological match . . . in case you were interested for future reference.” She handed over the paperwork to Ranger.
I frowned upon that bit of unnecessariness. A bit above the call of duty really.
Her eyes found my betrayed ones. “It automatically comes up in the testing—that’s what we use this program for: to access biological compatibility amongst cadets. This inhibits inbreeding.”
I swallowed and nodded.
“I was simply being thorough in relaying the results,” she explained. “To an unpracticed eye, the graphs and data can be a little confusing.”
I was still speechless, but Ranger seemed to have finally found his voice: “I’d appreciate your discretion for the time being, Dr. Davenport.”
“Officer Nealson, you have my discretion for as long as you need. What you choose to do with this information is between you and Katie.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Ranger suddenly rose to his feet. He looked like he was going in for a hug but settled for an awkward handshake followed by a head nod. “We appreciate both your time and your discretion.”
Dr. Davenport gave a serene incline of her head. “You are quite welcome . . . and welcome to stay as long as you need. The doors will automatically lock behind you.” She pushed her lever and began to whir away.
I ran around and blocked her. I went in for the hug. “Thanks, Dr. D . . . you’re a total lifesaver!”
She gave me a sad smile. “I think that might be an overstatement of my performance, but I do appreciate the sentiment. I’ll see you in GAP tomorrow, dear. Please excuse me; it’s getting late,” she finished briskly before whirring away.
Ranger and I sat in stunned silence a moment before peeking at each other. We laughed like one does after a close call or a near miss. He blew out a long stream of air. “Whew! I know I’m a fucked-up individual, but at least I can say I’ve never . . .” He let that one hang in the air while a sudden dark stain appeared above his cheekbones.
I clamped a hand over my mouth a moment before “Mikey’s gonna go ballistic” slipped out.
“No, he’s not.”
I shot Ranger my best side-eye. “Uh . . . yeah he is. Like, coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs crazy, when we tell him.”
“We’re not going to tell him.”
I threw out my own basketball arms, in the same manner Slater had done earlier. “Whadoyamean we’re not gonna tell him? Why ever not?”
“Because I said we’re not,” said the guy used to not having to give a reason.
So he was mad about this. My throat felt tight. I struggled to keep my emotions in check. Failed. “Well, you could do a lot worse for a brother than Mikey!” I spat. I wondered how much this had to do with him hating my mother.
Ranger let out another stream of air, wiped his hands over his face like he was world-weary. “Look. It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it ?”
He narrowed his eyes at my tone, then gestured to indicate we should go. We remained tight-lipped all the way to our waiting golf cart. He even went a step further by parking off to the side, next to a clump of brushy trees shadowing the dusky sky. We removed ourselves a little way away from the cart as thought it, too, could be bugged. A gusty wind clattered the leaves around and dredged goosebumps up and down my bare legs. But I could bear it until I got some answers. I peered up at Ranger expectantly.
“It’s The Academy,” he said, then stalled out, like, ‘nuff said. I gave my own impatient hand gesture, and he reluctantly continued. “I don’t want them to think I’m showing preferential treatment. They disapprove of nepotism here. Everything is supposed to be merit based.”
I shook my head. “They already give Mikey preferential treatment.”
He sighed with the realization I didn’t buy his first excuse. “Plus, they could use your brother as a pawn to . . .” His eyes met mine, indicating he didn’t have to finish this one.
“To?” I prompted.
“It’s in everyone’s best interests. Let’s just leave it at that,” he finished in a curt tone before striding back and sliding behind the wheel.
“But I don’t wanna leave it at that!” I cried, sliding in next to him. “I don’t like the word pawn and brother smashed together in the same sentence.”
Ranger didn’t reply, stomping on the petal and careening us back toward Mess Hall, where he screeched to another halt. I stared at his face while he looked out over the wheel at the comings and goings of cadets winding down their evening. He let out some pent-up air and faced me. “We’re all pawns here, Connelly. Or knights or bishops . . . you get the picture.” He leaned over and whispered in my ear: “If you play your cards right, one day . . . you could be queen.”
After that one, he dumped me off to head down the cart path, with spry cadets jumping out of his way left and right.
I didn’t see him again until the northern California winds blew in the next mild season.