Free Noology by Alanna Markey

Why don’t you go upstairs and get changed for dinner?”
    I take off up the spiral staircase,
caressing the wooden banister with my left hand as I go. Tate follows, nipping
at my heels. We reach the open landing at the top of the stairs and turn right,
heading towards the end of the hall. As we reach the far wall, we pivot and
thrust open the final door on the left with a resounding creak. My eyes survey
the familiar room, sweeping over the sagging bureau and humble bunk beds
adorned with bare cotton sheets. I remember the bed as an avant-garde
architectural feat, towering over my prepubescent body. Now it appears as a
rickety frame bearing modest linens draped over lumpy mattresses. Tate and I
spent so many sleepless nights discussing our hopes and dreams on this shabby
scaffolding after he ran away from his troubled home, seeking refuge with a
friend. My parents never turned him away, and his mother never worried about
his whereabouts since she was plagued by more taxing problems and she knew he
was safe with us.
    “Dibs on top bunk,” he insists, bounding
across the matted carpet and leaping onto the upper mattress.
    “Hey, no fair. You always got it when we
were little. When’s my turn?” I stick out my bottom lip in a melancholy pout.
    “Really I am just being a gentleman. I
mean, we wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself scrambling up and down the
ladder. Besides, you’ll get a better night’s sleep down below without having to
worry about unconsciously sliding off the bunk onto the floor.”
    “No, I just have to worry about being
crushed if this decrepit piece of crap snaps in the middle of the night. There
is no way it can support all of this… bulk,” I profess, brashly prodding Tate’s
stomach with my index finger.
    “Hey! Knock it off,” he grunts in
irritation. “Okay, tell you what. I will Duel you for it.”
    “You are on!” Duel is a game played
predominantly by children and junior high schoolers as they develop their
working knowledge of the medical field. Players alternate saying technical
medical terms they think the other one doesn’t know how to define. The second
player must provide a precise explanation for the term; otherwise he is stumped
and loses the game. If at any time the second player believes the questioner
does not know how to define the term they produce, the second player can
challenge. The first player must prove he can describe the word or he forfeits.   
    “I’ll start: antiemetic,” Tate quizzes.
    I yawn, feigning boredom. “A
pharmaceutical that can stop vomiting and queasiness. What about alopecia?”
    “Very funny. Hair loss,” Tate succinctly
answers. “Hm… pruritic.”
    “Itchy. You are going to have to try
harder than that! Vasculitis.”
    “Inflammation
of the blood vessels. Let me think of a good one…”
    “Tate, you have ten seconds. Ten, nine,
eight…”
    “I am thinking!”
    “Six, five, four, three, two..”
    “Okay. Fulminant.”
    “I know this… it’s on the tip of my
tongue.”
    “You have ten seconds Avelyn,” he chides
in a ridiculously exaggerated impersonation.
    “Don’t get your panties in a twist! It’s,
um, a … abnormally brutal form of a particular disease!” I raise my hands in
triumph, and release a peal of laughter. Settling down again, I craft my next
question. “Grave’s disease.”
    “I challenge that,” Tate counters.
    Great, I forgot I can’t just mention
words I’ve heard once or twice and have only a vague understanding of. Here
goes nothing.
    “Well, it’s kind of like when your heart
starts racing, and you can’t breath properly. You sweat profusely, and stare
off into space with a vacant expression.” I smile weakly in an attempt to win
bonus points for effort.
    “Oh, so close, but I think you just
described being in love,” he smugly responds. “You got the symptoms, but
Grave’s disease is hyperthyroidism.”
    I let out a gut-wrenching groan of
frustration, and shove Tate towards his