Taji's Syndrome Read Free Page B

bad,” said Gail blithely.
    “That’s for the stringers on drugs and the weirdos with the tattoos and the tech-ers who won’t let anyone touch them. I’ve got an odd disease is all.” He coughed once, more to keep his voice from breaking than because he needed to.
    “Whatever,” said Gail, holding up an imperious hand to the approaching cars. They had four more long blocks to go before they were home. As they crossed the six-lane street, Gail watched her brother covertly, looking for signs of illness.
    “Stop it,” he said as they got to the curb.
    “I didn’t mean anything,” said Gail, knowing it was useless to deny what she had done.
    “Stop it anyway. I’m not going to drop dead in the middle of Victory Boulevard, for Chrissake.” He studied her and then smiled. “I don’t blame you for wondering.”
    “Well, you got to admit that it makes more sense for you to be wondering about college than a puke-o disease.”
    “It makes more sense,” he said, knowing that if his doctors would allow it, he would start at Cal Irvine next fall. If.If. If. The word had put all of his life in suspension while a bunch of doctors looked over the printouts and pictures from their machines and tried to decide what was wrong with him. What puzzled him most was that the machines— for which he had more respect than he had for physicians—had not been able to pinpoint his disease and offer a solution to it.
    “You ought to volunteer for some of those experimental groups, you know, the ones that try out all the new medical things. I bet they’d find out what was wrong in a couple of weeks.” Gail favored him with an encouraging grin. “Those guys love to experiment, and they’re into everything.”
    “Sure,” he said, with a complete lack of confidence. He began to feel sick, and he touched Gail on the arm. “Can we just wait a minute?”
    “You okay?” she asked, suddenly anxious for him.
    “I think so. I’m just . . . a little short of breath.” He stared toward the next cross street and glared at the traffic. “I guess the smog is getting to me. They issued a warning for this afternoon. I should have paid more attention.”
    “Yeah.” Gail was more uncertain than ever. “Look, if you want to wait on the bus bench, I can run home and tell—”
    “Tell who?” demanded Eric. “Mom and Dad are at work and they won’t be home, either of them, for more than two hours.” He hated the thought that his younger sister was in better shape than he was, though he knew it was true.
    “Then we can wait a little while,” Gail conceded at once. “You’re right. Mom and Dad are still out. If I had my license, I’d drive you.”
    “You won’t have your license for almost four years,” said Eric, who had acquired his learner’s permit only a month ago.
    “I’d still drive for you if I could get away with it.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “You could drive home, but I’d bring the car here.”
    They had reached one of the infrequent bus benches, and Eric gratefully sank down on it, chagrined at how much he needed the respite. “You’re not supposed to know how to drive at all.”
    “That’s silly,” she declared. “And you know it as well as I do.” She shaded her eyes and looked down the street. “We could try hitchhiking.”
    “Mom would have a fit.”
    “There’s two of us. I wouldn’t do it alone. I’m not that dumb. But you and me ought to be safe.” She started to stick out her thumb, but Eric stopped her.
    “All I need is a couple more minutes and that ought to be enough. HI didn’t have this crap, whatever it is, I’d be fine.”
    “I know that,” said Gail with more sympathy than before. “You can’t help it that you’ve got something no one can figure out yet.”
    “That’s so,” said Eric, taking several deep breaths of the gasoline-tainted air. “But I got to tell you, Gail, I’m damned sick of being sick.”
    “I can imagine. It must be ghoully to feel bad