Goodhouse by Peyton Marshall Page A

embroidered on the pocket in blue thread. Underneath the name was the image of a swan. She followed my gaze.
    â€œThis belongs to my dad,” she said. “You know, they used to paint everything white in hospitals so patients thought the surfaces were clean, which, of course, was a fallacy. Lots of people died of infections.” Her hair was loose and curly at the ends. She smelled vaguely of coconut. “Did you know,” she continued, “neckties are the most dangerous part of a doctor’s outfit? Nobody washes them. They’re Petri dishes.”
    â€œHow is it that you’re here?” I said. “How long have I been out?”
    â€œAlmost a whole day. But don’t worry. It’s shift change and Dad’s downstairs. He thinks I’m in the labs. I work here now,” she said. “Sort of. I just started and I’m not technically supposed to interact with students. I’m more of an information custodian. Dad says he needs somebody he trusts, but I suspect he just wants to keep an eye on me.” And then she stopped and pursed her lips. “I think I’m upset,” she said. “I talk a lot when I get upset. You look really bad.”
    â€œAm I in the infirmary?” I looked around at the whitewashed walls, the little tubes and cords that were attached to my arm. “Where’s Tuck?” I asked.
    â€œWho?” she said.
    â€œHe was right here,” I said. “I saw him.”
    She shook her head. “It’s just us.”
    There was a snapping sound in the hallway and Bethany looked over her shoulder, freezing like a nervous rabbit. She was quite beautiful, I realized—her features were very delicate, and she wore some kind of pink lip gloss that sparkled.
    â€œYou need to leave,” I said.
    â€œI want to apologize,” she said. “I’m usually a good liar, and I definitely would lie to keep you out of trouble, but I was wearing the matching barrette when they questioned me. I’m so sorry, but I had to warn you. It would be worse if you said you found it on the bus or got it from some boy.”
    â€œI would never say that.”
    â€œReally?” she said. “Why not? The penalty would be less.”
    â€œThis is crazy,” I said. “I can’t be found with you.”
    â€œWe’ll need to be more careful”—she nodded—“in the future.”
    I searched for a button to summon a nurse. It was better to turn her in than be discovered. “What are you looking for?” she asked. “Don’t move around.” I tried to sit up. Pain shot through my left elbow and shoulder. I recoiled.
    â€œI’m going to make it up to you,” Bethany said. “I feel like it’s all my fault.” She lifted a handheld out of one of the voluminous pockets on her lab coat. She showed it to me and quickly put it away. Several of the components were different colors, as if they had been spliced together. “I’m not supposed to have one of my own,” she said. “But I did have a very dull childhood. I think when you keep children indoors it makes them sneaky. If I ever have kids, which I definitely won’t, I’ll send them out in the yard as much as possible.” She nodded as if to confirm this resolution.
    â€œI don’t want to scare you,” she said, “or sound too crazy, but I need you to know—I have planned the most amazing field trip for us. Only we should meet first. Get to know each other.”
    â€œWe can’t meet,” I said. “And I don’t go on—what did you call them?— field trips .”
    â€œThe real obstacle is your roommate,” she said. “But I know you’ll find a way to deal with him.”
    â€œThat’s insane,” I said. “Where do you think we are?”
    â€œTell me you don’t like me,” she said. “And you never want to see me