Suicide Med Read Free

line to get lunch during our break from orientation, I pull out my phone to do a quick internet search. It should be easy enough to verify Rachel’s story. And then I can put my mind at ease. Or else start to panic. One or the other.
    Unfortunately, the connection is horrible in here, and my phone is complaining that it can’t access the internet. I’m debating if I should move closer to a window when I feel a horrible weight land on my foot, crushing the delicate bones that Dr. Conlon has not yet had a chance to teach me about. I gasp in pain and my phone crashes to the floor as I instinctively grab at my foot.
    What the hell was that?
    That’s when I notice a frightening bear-like creature looming over me. Actually, it turns out to be a human being, but he’s roughly the size of a bear. The foot that he used to crush mine with is practically the size of a tennis racket. This guy is big in all directions.
    “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” the bear cries. “Are you all right?”
    No, I am not all right. My goddamn foot is broken, you stupid bear. Well, maybe not broken. But definitely badly bruised.
    Still, I manage to nod, and look up at his face, which is nowhere near as scary as the rest of him. The bear has a shock of red hair that’s disheveled despite being very short, and freckles pouring over either end of the bridge of his nose.
    “I’m really sorry,” the bear says again. He rescues my phone from the floor and hands it to me gingerly. It seems to be intact, thank God. “I didn’t realize anyone was behind me.” He hesitates. “I’m Abe.”
    “Heather,” I say. I release my broken foot just long enough to grab his outstretched hand. Thankfully, he doesn’t crush my hand in his when he shakes it. I hate it when men do that, and it’s pretty clear Abe could easily demolish my hand if he got the inclination to do so.
    “You’re a first year?” he asks.
    No, I just hang out at med school orientations for kicks.
    “Yep,” I say.
    “Neat,” Abe says, then appears to have run out of things to say. He rubs his gigantic hands together, clears his throat, and awkwardly turns back to the lunch line to examine his food options. It’s going to be either arroz con pollo or fish. And the fish is scary looking. So chicken and rice it is.
    _____
     
    Somehow I end up at the worst lunch table ever. I’d prefer to be eating by myself, but apparently being in med school is like reverting to high school, and as I walk off the line with my plate of food, I suddenly grow desperately afraid of being the loser who has to eat all alone. So I grudgingly join Rachel at a circular table, along with an intense-looking boy with big protruding eyes, and an owlish Asian girl. As I sit down, I see a shadow fall over me and I discover that the bear has trailed me to my seat. Clearly, he’s smarter than the average bear.
    “Can I join you?” Abe asks, hovering over me, clearly uncertain if I’m too polite to refuse.
    I nod, and everyone has to shove over to allow a large gap of space for this giant person. Once we’re seated, the intense boy introduces himself as Glenn and the owlish girl says her name is Lauren.
    “That looks disgusting,” Rachel says , eying my plate of dried out chicken coated with a layer of yellow rice.
    It sort of does. But I don’t think it’s any worse than Rachel’s own plate of uncooked carrots, cucumber, bean sprouts, and a weird-smelling white sauce. Abe (who has chosen both the chicken and the fish for lunch) seems to agree, because he stares at her food in absolute horror.
    “Is that your whole lunch?” he says.
    Rachel juts out her chin. “Yes. I am a vegan.”
    Abe blinks. “Is that like a vegetarian?”
    Before Rachel can answer, Glenn says, “No, it’s some weird religious thing.”
    Rachel rolls her eyes. “ No . It means I don’t eat any food items that come from animals.”
    Abe still appears baffled. “You mean, like, their fur?”
    I can’t help it—I start giggling