Page 28 of My Heart to Find

I shake my head. “Sorry. He practically bit my head off.”

She looks wistful. “It was worth a try.”

“Yeah,” I say. My voice trailing. There’s a spark in her eyes that’s brimming with energy. “Uh, do you want to get a drink? Like now?” I ask. And jeez, what is it about me? Going from one girl to another? Finding myself a date straight away because Cara rejected me?

Jana raises her eyebrows for a second and looks at me—the kind of look I can tell where she really drinks me in. She smiles slowly. “Sure. But anywhere but the one with the racist, sexist boss.”

“Of course,” I say. “I mean, they’re not serving new customers now, anyway.” I laugh.

“There’s a great place on West Street. Stays open late too. I’ll show you.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cara

“ASMALL SCRATCH,” THENHS nurse says, but she looks gleeful as she stabs me with the needle. Of course it’s more than just a small scratch—it always is—and I blink quickly, trying to stop my eyes from smarting.

I have to have my thyroid and liver checked monthly while I’m on the private treatment for Lyme, and my consultant, Dr. Singh, wrote to my GP to ask if this could be done on the NHS. I’d fully expected a point-blank refusal, but surprisingly, they agreed to do the blood draws, rather than demand I went to the private doctor who was requesting it for this. That had shocked me, and I wonder still whether it’s a half-admission from my GP that she thinks something is going on but knows that the NHS system isn’t able to treat it, constrained by guidelines.

The nurse tries to make small talk as she siphons my blood away, and I try to follow whatever it is she’s saying—really boring stuff anyway—as I stare at the ceiling. My vision wobbles and immediately anxiety jumps into my throat. Is that my vision going because I’m starting to lose consciousness?

I’ve never fainted before during a blood test, but ever since I began fainting at random times, I’ve been convinced that the sight of blood is going to set me off. So that’s why I stare at the ceiling, tense and on edge. I used to lie down on the couch when my blood was being taken, but I can’t now. Can’t let my hair touch it. The upright chair is safer—even if it does mean I may be more likely to faint. And then what would happen? Would I slump back into the chair and contaminate my hair against its leather surface anyway? Would I fall on the floor, spelling out even more disaster?

I need to distract myself. I try to think of the latest events in the book I’m reading—what’s currently happening to Ani, the main character inLuckiest Girl Alive. And she’s such a great character, so dark and twisty, one of my favorites, but my brain’s all foggy now and I can’t remember anything that happened in the last chapter I listened to.

“All done,” the nurse says, her voice that fake kind of cheery that you speak to young children with. As if I’m definitely not an adult.

I scurry out of the room as fast as I can. Mum’s in the waiting room.

“Everything all right?” she asks. “You’ve gone very pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“Guess it was that walk this morning,” she says.

“I guess.” My voice is dull, like it’s not really there and my words are floating away.

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