Page 10 of Keeping It Professional

I bit my lip hard. Ihadgot the kid to aim for the bag, but we’d hit a bump right when he blew. I thought I’d done good catching most of the mess, but of course Miles would have other ideas.

“It’s not the puke,” he said. “Or, eugh, not just that. Hell, that bleach spray makesmewant to hurl. No, she’s too… ugh. You know what? Forget it.”

Jones cleared his throat. “I have to work with her too. If there’s a problem, I ought to know.”

I heard a thump, then a creak, as Miles sat on the back step. He sighed. “I don’t know. It could just be she’s new. But every call’s taking longer, and she’s… she’s naïve. We had a callout this morning for an allergic reaction, guy’s girlfriend called in blaming a peanut. And I see the house, and the yard’s full of weeds, and I’m thinking right off?—”

“Potential OD?”

“That, or a meth cook gone horribly wrong. Then we get inside and he’s snoring away, not gasping or whistling like his throat’s closing up. But Miss Sunshine hears that and still goes for her epi, never occurs to her it’s anything else.”

I flushed. Ihadgone for my epi, sort of. I’d wanted to have it ready to go. I wouldn’t have stuck him without being sure, but maybe?—

“She doesn’t trust what she sees. That’sher whole problem. I’d get if it was just, y’know, tunnel vision. Like, he’s breathing weird and the callout said allergy, so, yeah, okay. Let’s go with that. Everyone falls for that, especially rookies. But with her, it’s more… ugh. She has no confidence. She doesn’t trust what she sees, or her own judgment. She’s like a kid with her hand up to answer a question, waiting for the teacher to tell her she’s right.”

I leaned on the wall, feeling lightheaded. Sick. I’d been so sure,sosure I was hitting my stride.

“Like this slip-and-fall yesterday, she kept repeating the checklist. Going over and over his mental state. The poor guy got sick of it and askedherwho’s president, and she just kept on asking?—”

“He was slurring,” I said. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words just burst out, and I heard Jones hiss, and Miles muffled a curse. His dark eyes burned as I stepped into view.

“How long were you eavesdropping?”

“I was coming to see if you still needed help.” Anger rose, and I breathed through it, trying to hold back. “Listen, I’m fine with you giving me pointers. I’m fine with you yelling if I screw up. But talking behind my back?—”

“How thin is your skin?”

“—maligning my competence, when I’m not even wrong? I took my time with that slip-and-fall because he was slurring. Because he wouldn’t let us touch him to examine his head. I kept asking questions to help him calm down. And I wanted to hear if that slur was just natural, or if we were dealing with a concussion. You want me to rush, and maybe I’d miss that?”

“You examined him, didn’t you? Checked his vitals? His eyes?”

“Yeah, but his speech?—”

“You wasted ten minutes when we had other calls waiting, and even the guy’s wife said he just cracked his knee.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been angry like this, face hot, blood boiling, pulse loud in my ears. Miles was making this face, likecan you believe this,like he’d be laughing if he wasn’t so mad. I balled up my fists, my vision gone red.

“You don’t see people,” I snapped. “Just vitals. Checklists. A little compassion?—”

“Compassion issavingthem, not wasting their time. Not messing around when there’s other calls waiting.”

“He was about to let me check his head for bumps. Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?”

“Hewassafe. He’s fine. Jones, tell her… Jones?” Miles spun around, but Jones had noped out. My hot flush of anger gave way to embarrassment. All I’d meant to do was present my side. Explain my position in a rational way. Instead, I’d got sucked into a loud, stupid scuffle, yelling at Miles while he scrubbed out the bus.

“He ditched us,” he said, and his ears were red too. He pushed his wavy, dark hair back and turned away.

I swallowed. “I’m sorry. That was, uh…”

“Tempers run high here. It comes with the job.”

I wanted to tell him, it didn’t for me. I wasn’t the yelling type, never had been. But the way he went on got under my skin, that superior look. Those snide little jabs. How he saved up his grievances to blindside me later. What was he, five? Though, I was hardly much better. I’d come out here to talk to him, not get in a fight.

“You should head home,” he said. “I’m almost done here.”

“You sure I can’t help?”

“No, I’ve got this.” He didn’t look up, but he slumped where he sat, hunched over the cot with a bottle of bleach. “You were all right this week. So relax, okay?”

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