Page 4 of Summer with a Player

"Understanding is my middle name," I call after her, earning a smile from a patient in the waiting room. "Well, not really. It's actually Rebecca, but that doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"Rebecca's a lovely name," the elderly man responds, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Thanks, but I prefer Elle. It's short, sweet, and to the point—like me!" I wink, leaning one hip against the counter while I wait.

"Except when you're waiting on lab results, I bet," he laughs.

"Got me there," I concede, my laughter mingling with his.

By the time the nurse returns with the samples, and I collect the vials with a nod of gratitude, my internal clock is urging me to make up for lost time.

"Good luck out there, Elle. And thank you," the nurse says, relief clear in her voice.

"Anytime," I reply, slipping into the driver's seat of my van. The day's hiccup won't derail me; it's just another part of the rhythm of life.

I close the door of my company van with a gentle click. My thumb finds its way to my mouth, an old habit when the stress begins to simmer beneath my skin. I chew thoughtfully as I tap the steering wheel, mulling over the next stop, the ticking clock, and the delicate balance of tasks.

The van hums softly, a background lullaby to the racing thoughts in my head. My next stop is break time under a tree in an empty parking lot. With each nibble on my nail, I reiterate to myself that I can't afford to slip. Not when every moment is a step toward the future I've painstakingly charted for myself. The burdens I carry, the goals I have for myself that are nestled deep within, they're mine to conquer. And I will – one chewed nail at a time.

After I’m safely parked, I pick up my phone from sitting quietly beside me. I swipe through pages of online programs, nursing schools that are pinpricks of light in the distance.

"Online classes," I mutter to myself, "flexible schedules, financial aid..." The words are ones to transform dreams into reality. I take a deep breath and exhale out.

"Let's see... prerequisites completed, personal statement polished," I recite the checklist. My gaze catches the reflection in the rearview mirror of my crystal blue eyes that hold stories untold, framed by laugh lines and the sheer force of will.

My thumb hovers away from my mouth now, poised instead above the 'Apply Now' button. One click, and the journey begins. Or ends with a swift rejection letter.

I move my thumb a centimeter closer to the phone screen but freeze. Maybe I need some more money first. Just a few more months of my nighttime job and this job’s paychecks, then I’ll be ready.

Anyway, break's over, school applications will have to wait. I start the engine and merge back onto the road.

The sun is setting as I pull into the Lab processing center.

"Last stop of the night, and then home to Love Beach," I whisper to myself, thumb now idly tapping the steering wheel to the beat of an old tune humming from the radio.

With practiced efficiency, I gather the plastic coolers containing the day's lab samples. The clang of the car door shutting behind me is the sound of the end of another segment in my daily rhythm.

"Evening, Elle!" greets the lab technician on duty, his voice echoing slightly in the sterile hallways.

"Hey," I reply, flashing a quick grin before placing the containers onto the floor in front of the counter.

My eyes flicker over the list, mentally ticking off each collection as I hand them over. That's when I notice a discrepancy. There's one missing, an important sample that should have been picked up from Dr. Hammond's office, but it's not among the others. My heart skips a beat, then races.

"Got everything?" the tech asks, nonchalantly scanning the labels.

"Almost." I frown, rifling through the cases again, hoping for a mistake on my part, that the vial has been misplaced.

"Let me check the van." My casual tone belies the knot of tension in my stomach. I'm already calculating the delay, the drive back to the office, the search.

"Sure thing," he nods, unaware of the gravity that one missing sample holds over my schedule and making it on time to my second job.

Outside, I comb through the vehicle, lifting mats, peering into crevices, but come up empty-handed.

"Where are you?" I mutter to the stupid little missing thing.

I lean against the van and close my eyes, take a deep breath, letting the distant murmur of traffic fill my ears, trying to steady the tremor of uncertainty.

"Come on, Elle, think," I urge myself. I can't afford mistakes, not with missing tonight’s shift and not making the much-needed paycheck, not with the need to prove I’m capable of making the money to achieve my goals of nursing school.

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