Free Bridesmaid Blitz by Sarah Webb Page A

drama queen.
    “Are we . . . nearly . . . at the hospital?” Shelly asks, her voice pinched with pain.
    “Two more minutes,” I tell her. “Hang in there — you’re doing great.”

We made it! The guard helped us get Shelly into the lobby of the Parnell Street Maternity Hospital. She’s in the examination room now, and Clover and I are sitting on red leatherette seats in the waiting area, frantic to hear what’s happening. I’ve just tried calling Mum and Dad again, but with no joy.
    Clover pats my hand. “Don’t worry, Beanie. Shelly will be fine.”
    I bite the inside of my lip. “And the baby? I should have rung an ambulance as soon as her waters broke. What if something bad happens? It’ll be all my fault.”
    “No ambulance could have got us here as quickly as that guard,” she says. “Cute, wasn’t he?”
    “Clover, you have a one-track mind. And you also have Brains, remember?” Then I pause. “You two haven’t had a fight, have you?”
    “Nah. Chance would be a fine thing. He’s always away these days — festivals, weddings, gigs. His band’s really starting to take off.” She stares down at her left hand and twists her silver butterfly ring around and around on her index finger. (Brains gave it to her for their three-month anniversary.) “We’re practically living two separate lives. And once I go to college in October, things will get even harder.”
    “Ah, Clover, it’ll work out. Brains is mad about you.”
    “It’s not just Brains. . . . Maybe I should leave college for another year, just stick with writing for the mag. I don’t feel ready for essays and exams and stuff.”
    I say nothing for a second. Clover’s not afraid of anything — spiders, greasy seaweed grabbing her legs when she’s swimming, D4s, driving down bus lanes — but the whole idea of college seems to terrify her.
    “Everyone will be a year younger than me and I won’t fit in,” she continues, in a
Borrowers
–small voice. “I should have gone last year with the rest of the gang from school.”
    “They’ll still be there.”
    “But they won’t want to hang around with a fresher, will they? They’ll have their own crews by now.”
    “Clover, you’re always telling me to be brave — ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ and all that malarkey. It’s time to take your own advice. Yes, I’m sure the first day will be scary biscuits, but within a few weeks you’ll be running the college newspaper. You’ll see.”
    She still looks glum. “Wish I had your confidence, Beanie.”
    I nudge her with my shoulder. “I didn’t lick it off the stones. Everything I know, I learned from you.”
    Her face breaks into a grin and she tosses her hair back. “I am rather fabulous, aren’t I?” Then, back to her old self again, she whistles softly and adds, “Beanie, check out that fine
féar
in the scrubs.” She points at the dark-haired doctor leaning over the admin desk. “Who needs baby elephants when the men of Ireland look like that? Check out those shoulders and those buns.” She’s clearly spoken too loudly, ’cos he turns and looks at us.
    I dig her in the ribs. “Shush, Clover. I think he heard you.”
    “Yikes, better stop drooling, then,” she says as he starts walking toward us.
    “Oh, great,” I mutter. “Now he’s probably going to throw us out for inappropriate waiting-room behavior.”
    But instead he says, “Which one of you is Clover Wildgust?”
    “All yours,” Clover says. Am I imagining it, or is she batting her eyelashes? She’s shameless. Now is so not the time for flirting with ancients.
    But the doctor just smiles, his brown eyes going all crinkly at the corners like George Clooney’s. OK, I have to admit it — Clover’s right: hubba, hubba.
    “I’m Mrs. Green’s obstetrician, Dr. McKenna,” he says.
    Clover snorts. “Seriously? You’re a baby doctor? You’re wasted on rugrats — you’re far too cute, and they can’t even see properly when they’re born,