27. Olivia #3
“Makes sense,” I say, skipping over the question and moving on to the last one that requires my initials at the bottom. “I think I’m done.”
Hurray. Now I can get pricked by the damn needles and watch as my blood escapes me. It doesn’t affect me as badly as it does Simon, but I’m not exactly jumping up and down.
“This is amazing of you, man. Not many people want to donate. We’ve had this running for four years, since we came here, and had to get incentives to make the students come.
” He blows out a frustrated breath. “It was like pulling teeth to get students involved, which is crazy because the hospital benefits from this so much.” There’s a truth behind his words and passion leaking through his tone. Wade really feels for this cause.
“So a pint of blood to help the GPA?” I quip. “It’s genius.” Almost too genius. I mean, I’m doing that right now. But mine isn’t because I’m a lazy student. Mine has blackmail surrounding it.
Fucking JJ, forcing my hand.
I may not be afraid of needles like Simon, but this isn’t something I consider a good time. A good cause? Absolutely. Good time? Debatable.
Plus, my stupid advisor really wanted me here.
Scholarship students are strongly encouraged to attend.
Her words. Not mine. Every time I’ve seen her since, she’s been pushing me in this direction.
And I still haven’t figured out why. Not exactly.
I have a feeling deep in my agent gut that this all ties together.
There’s no such thing as coincidences in my book. Everything happens for a reason. But the reason isn’t exactly clear yet.
Only time will tell.
My eyes scan the faces of the students, staff, and medical personnel floating around. Everyone seems so thrilled to be here. Smiles on their faces. Friendly to everyone coming through the doors. Way too enthusiastic for my liking.
“God, this has improved my grades,” a girl somewhere behind me scoffs.
“Right. If I don’t get an A for the semester for this, I’ll scream,” her friend retorts quickly.
Seems like I’m not the only one bombing my classes. I peek over my shoulder at them, sitting about ten feet away in the recovery area. They munch on cookies and drink their juice.
I rub my temple, forcing myself to take it all in. Every person. Every sound. Every move.
There’s something odd here. Something I can’t put my finger on.
What is it about this blood drive specifically?
These happen all the time, all over the world.
So what does it mean? Like, really, at its core.
Is it simply a fun competition to fill the hospital’s blood banks and help the community? It’s a possibility.
Wade chuckles. “Yeah, Mom figured it would bring more students in. Our charities are always in need of donations. So why not offer good grades, cookies, juice, and a fancy dinner as an incentive?” He shrugs, angling his phone so only he can see the screen.
He beams at it again, popping the dimple in his cheek.
Well, she wasn’t wrong.
“Seems that it works,” I say, taking in the crowd again. Simon meanders by, looking more like himself. Red cheeks and a grin replace the paleness he had earlier.
“Yeah, each year it gets bigger. We have a great doctor on staff, too, who helps us a lot.” He peers up quickly, gesturing to a tall woman with her hair pulled back into a bun, wearing a stereotypical white jacket, coming toward us with a beaming grin. “Dr. Lohr.”
“Wade.” She nods in acknowledgment. “Is this our next participant?” She turns to me, holding out her hand. “I’m Dr. Lohr. It’s great to have you here today.”
I smile warmly, shaking her hand. “Oliver,” I make sure to lower my voice and clear my throat. “Thank you. It’s great to be here.” I think. “So you do this every year?” If I’m going to be forced to be here, I might as well dig for information while I do it.
Dr. Lohr laughs, pulling back slightly. “Oh, yes. Amber came to me about four years ago, and we came up with this entire event together. It’s a great way to give back to the community in need. So many patients benefit from our adventures.”
“It’s a great way to give back,” I agree. “So when is it my turn?” My palms turn clammy at the thought of the needles.
Flashbacks of my recovery after the fire come to the forefront of my mind, but I shake them away. I may not mind the needles, but it does dredge up a time when I was weakened, betrayed, and stuck in a private hospital to heal.
“It will be about a ten-minute wait. All our staff is busy with other students. Once someone is available, Wade will come and get you. It was good to meet you.” Her grin never slips when she nods to Wade, and he nods back as she meanders away, checking in with more patients, tending to them, and directing more people to the kiosk of tablets to check in.
“Well, that’s my cue. Thanks again for coming, man. It means a lot to see my friends here,” Wade says, shoving his phone into his pocket and hopping up. “Now, more victims to help,” he chuckles at his joke and walks away to do his job.
Finally, I’m alone with my thoughts.
“Oliver Davenport.”
Or not.