Free The Ivy: Secrets by Lauren Kunze, Rina Onur Page B

the corner of the reference desk. The metal stool made a thunderous clatter when it fell next to her, reverberating through the halls of the library, but she didn’t hear it. She was out cold before she hit the ground.
    There was blackness everywhere, punctuated by the sound of voices. They faded in and out, like bad reception on a shitty radio. She wished they would just shut up and let her sleep.
    “Do you think she hit her head?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “Should we call UHS?”
    “Yeah . . . probably . . .”
    “Wait a minute—did you see that? I think her eyelids just fluttered.”
    A dark green blob hovered over her, and she could feel something—a pair of hands?—cradling her head from behind.
    “Yeah, they’re moving. Callie . . . Callie, can you hear us?”
    “Cut it out. . . . Go away. . . .” she heard herself mutter. A hand—it was definitely a hand—gently slapped her cheek.
    “What’s going on here?” It was a new voice speaking now, coming from a fuzzy-looking giant wearing Bob the security guard’s uniform.
    “She fainted—”
    “Fell right off the stool—”
    “Then I hopped the counter—” the green blob continued, and she could feel pressure on her hand, like someone was holding it—
    “And we ran over from the café.”
    There was silence for a moment.
    “Did anyone call an ambulance?” the person in Bob’s uniform—or maybe it was Bob?—asked.
    An ambulance? That would be even louder than all of the annoying voices. NO THANK YOU.
    “No. I’m fine. . . .” she muttered, forcing her lids to open. The first thing she noticed was a face: flawless except for the tiny crescent moon-shaped scar on the corner of the chin. It was awfully close to her and upside down. She blinked several times, feeling light-headed all over again.
    “Don’t try to sit up,” Gregory ordered, peering down at her.
    “What happened?” she asked, ignoring him and trying to sit up anyway. Bad idea. The dizziness overwhelmed her.
    “You fainted,” said the green sweater. Clint. “But you’re going to be okay,” he added, squeezing her hand. His sweater looked so soft and warm up close. She wanted him to take her home and wrap it around her like he used to: cashmere and good-smelling and sleepy. . . .
    “For crying out loud, Clint, give her some room to breathe,” a girl’s voice, musical like wind chimes, floated in. Clint let go of Callie’s hand.
    French-manicured nails raised a Dixie cup of cool water to Callie’s lips. “Here,” the voice said sweetly, placing a gentle yet firm hand behind Callie’s head. “Drink up.”
    “Thank—” Callie choked, spitting the water back into the cup.
    Lexi smiled and dabbed at the droplets that had sprayed her Hermes scarf. “Now there’s the Callie I know,” she said. “You gave us all such a scare!” Concern oozed out of every tiny porcelain pore.
    “I’ve got UHS on the phone—what should I tell them?” a fourth voice—definitely Bob, the security guard—asked Lexi, who had clearly taken charge. Clint was hovering next to Bob over by the phone. Gregory was still crouched by Callie’s head, brow furrowed. His hands twitched almost imperceptibly toward her. He jammed them in his pockets.
    “I’m fine!” Callie cried, eyes wide, waving away Lexi’s arm and pulling herself into a sitting position. “No ambulance! I just need . . . some food . . .” she muttered.
    “You are not fine,” Gregory spat. “You have a huge bump on your head.”
    “You have a huge bump on your head,” she muttered.
    Lexi’s tinkling laugh pealed like bells. “It can’t be that bad when her sense of humor’s still intact.” Clint walked back behind the reference desk and grabbed Callie’s hands before she could protest, helping her to her feet. Lexi’s smile wavered.
    Bob set down the phone. “I told them we don’t need an ambulance, but you’re taking the rest of the day off, okay?” he said, eyeing Callie in earnest. “Straight home,