Consider Read Free Page B

visible through the front of the hood are a pair of cold blue eyes.
    “Name?” a female voice asks. She clicks a pen with a gloved thumb.
    Stay strong. I clear my throat. “Alexandra Lucas.”
    “Age?”
    “Seventeen. Almost eighteen,” I add.
    “Address? Phone number?”
    Her bedside manner needs work. Maybe she is a scientist after all. Or a really bad doctor.
    “Why are we here?” I ask.
    The woman ignores me. “Address? Phone number?”
    “I’m not going to answer your question until you answer mine.” My voice cracks. My dad taught me to know my rights. Respect leaders, but don’t be afraid to ask them tough questions. That’s how the world stays strong.
    “She’s right,” another female passenger from the bus pipes in. A young boy, maybe three years old, clings to her leg. “Why are we here?”
    The blue eyes behind the hooded plastic stare through me. I stare back. I am my father’s daughter. I can be a real pain in the ass when it’s necessary, even if my heartbeat dulls my hearing the whole time, even if I need a pill to help calm down later.
    “This is for national security. The protection of the country.” She points the tip of the pen at the clipboard and addresses everyone in earshot. “You were all exposed to something that we don’t understand yet. For all we know, those things reek of radiation or something worse. We need to run some tests before allowing you to mingle back in with the public. Don’t want to end up with an epidemic on our hands. Do you understand?”
    We nod. I tell her my address and phone number. The female passenger who spoke earlier hugs her child and then holds the back of her wrist to his forehead to check his temperature. I look down and examine the exposed skin on my arms and legs. The wound on my elbow glows redder and angrier under the hospital lights. The rest of my skin still looks the same: golden, freckled in some spots. Could be skin cancer. Especially if I’ve been exposed to some cosmic radiation. Has to be worse than the sun’s radiation, right? Wonder how fast you die.
    “All standard protocol,” she adds. “There’s no need for alarm.”
    “Yet,” I say.
    The breathing mask blocks her mouth, but the corners of her blue eyes wrinkle as if she smirked. Makes me wonder if she’d be happier finding nothing wrong with us or finding something dreadful. It doesn’t reassure me.
    She explains the next procedure: we must remove all clothing and shoes. Even bras and underwear.
    With all these people watching? What if someone takes a picture and texts it to everyone?
    “I’m under age. You need my parent or guardian’s permission before subjecting me to medical treatment, never mind asking me to remove my clothes in public. I could sue you.”
    I hope I sounded like I meant it. Bravery doesn’t always strike at the right time. Sometimes it’s an afterthought. Sometimes it’s medically induced once my pill works.
    “We will be calling any parents or guardians momentarily. However, due to the nature of radiation, the longer you are exposed, the more you and those around you are at risk. Decontamination cannot wait for consent. We have provided curtained areas for privacy. As for suing us, young lady, go right ahead. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
    The hard way. Police holding me down. Taser. Needles. Straitjacket. I beg my cheeks and ears not to turn red.
    “Good choice. Let’s move.”
    I watch the process ahead of me. Clothes are being bagged and tagged, personal items confiscated. My phone and purse will be taken and locked up somewhere. I feel withdrawals from my pills already, but that can’t be right. My medication usually lasts in my system for eight hours. Well, on a good day.
    As much as I hate to admit it, I wish Dad were here already. He’d never let this happen to me.
    For the concert with Dominick today, I wore my favorite summer dress, a brown sundress with a tiny yellow, white, and red floral