Chapter 31: Commencement

The first-aid certification exam I had missed on the day of the storeroom was held in the Northmere field house.

It had a gym floor with taped lines and a folding table.

I had expected six examiners and a clipboard.

I walked in at five to nine and found the bleachers full.

They were not Northmere students.

They were Blackridge people in church coats and work boots.

They had driven a day north in the dark to watch a nineteen-year-old sit a test.

The old woman with the fox bite sat in the front row, in her wheelchair, with a thermos.

"I told you I'd come," she said.

"You're supposed to be resting."

"I am resting. I'm resting in the front row."

Cora waved from the third row, in a Northmere sweatshirt that was too big.

She had a laboratory badge clipped to the front that read GLASSWARE.

My roommate sat beside her holding a handmade sign that said IVY IS BETTER THAN YOUR TEST.

Under the words she had drawn a clipboard with a sad face.

Rafe leaned on the back wall in his navy jacket, off duty and failing to look calm.

Dr. Lowry waited at the center table with a stopwatch and her reading glasses on their cord.

"Garrick," she said. "You are the only candidate.

"This is a field scenario. You will be assessed on triage, treatment and judgment.

"The patients are volunteers. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Begin."

She clicked the watch.

Two volunteers lay on the floor thirty feet apart, under bright lights.

One was a big man with a bleeding scalp, shouting.

He had a great deal of fake blood on his face and a great deal to say about it.

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