1. Isaac
Chapter 1
Isaac
First Year of Medical School
12 Years Ago, September
“ H urry up man, we’re going to be late!” Startled out of my thoughts, I glance towards the person attached to the voice. I swear he introduced himself this morning, but I have no idea what his name is.
I wave quickly at him as he rushes toward this morning’s lecture classroom. “Thanks, brother, I’ll be there in a minute,” I mumble. Yesterday morning’s orientation was nothing short of overwhelming and stress-inducing, but at least I had survived the first day of medical school. I glance down at my watch and take a deep breath, pushing open the door to the lecture hall.
The tiered classroom is massive. I assume, based on the surgical whiteness of the walls and floors, it must have undergone recent renovations. Projector screens light up the front of the room with first-day syllabus information, including a seating chart.
“As you enter the classroom, please take note of the instructions on the board,” our Professor’s voice booms through the loudspeakers situated throughout the room. “You should find your assigned seat now. If you are not in your assigned seat, you will be marked absent and receive no points for today’s class whether or not you complete the in-class learning activity.”
Well damn, he’s a hardass. Lock that information away for later.
Why am I sweating?
It’s not even hot in here.
God dammit, I’m going to be the sweaty guy. I’m never going to recover from this.
I realize that, for the first time in my life, the beginning of the alphabet has been assigned to the back of the classroom. I make my way up the steps to the last row and count down seven seats.
“Back row it is.” I whisper under my breath and hear a small chuckle in response.
Her eyes meet mine and I smile without a second thought. Out of all the women I had noticed this morning during orientation, this one is by far the most beautiful. Her long, straight hair is pushed back from her forehead by a pair of purple-framed glasses. The long strands are the most perfect caramel color, with lighter blonde at the top of her head, like the sun decided she needed highlights. And her eyes—green eyes with the hint of a sparkle.
“I was surprised too,” she smiles, shifting her stack of notebooks away from the seat assigned to me. “I’m so used to the front of the classroom,” she continues. “This is dangerously close to triggering my fear of heights!” She laughs to herself as I take my seat.
Setting my backpack down on the floor in the small space next to me, I reach inside and pull out my laptop computer. My first ever laptop computer.
I know Dad worked overtime to be able to afford this computer, and I’m eternally grateful. It’s been so hard to be away from him, Sam, and Liam, but medical school has always been my dream. If not now, when?
I turn back to face the front of the classroom where the professor has pulled up the first week’s slide deck. The microphone squeaks as he approaches the podium and begins lecturing.
“You will be responsible for all in-class material and notes posted to the online learning modules. You are expected to keep up with learning objectives on your own time and come prepared to participate in class discussions.”
I peer to my left where she sits. She’s writing down every single word in purple glitter gel pen. A small butterfly hangs from the end of a gold chain around her neck. A small tattoo peeks out from the sleeve of her black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, but I can’t quite make out what it is. Her iPhone sits propped against her stack of notebooks, just taunting me. Focus is written all over her side profile, and though she’s not smiling, the hint of a dimple appears on her right cheek.
My gut is screaming at me.
I need to know this girl.
“I’m Isaac,” I whisper, leaning just a few inches closer to her.
Without glancing up or halting her cursive writing, she whispers,
“Jo.”
The professor continues, but I can’t seem to care. I lean back in my chair and study the way her hair falls along the curve of her back.
“A patient’s history can provide nearly 80% of the information you need to make a proper diagnosis. This semester we will spend a large majority of our time learning to communicate effectively and gather important information about a patient’s story.”
Okay, shithead, pay attention.
Before I fully tear my gaze away from Jo, her phone lights up with a text message from someone named Andrew.
Don’t be crazy, you’re gonna be fine. Love you.
Fuck.