Kaleidoscope Hearts by Claire Contreras

either. And she was only eighteen. It was her first semester of college, and I was about to graduate and go to medical school.
    “You’re the one who wants to have fun now that you’re a college girl,” I said jokingly, kind of hoping she’d say otherwise. Instead, she smiled brighter.
    “That, I do. See you next time, Bean.”
    Adam groaned beside her, and we both froze and glanced his way. He stayed put.
    “Yeah, next time,” I said, as she drove away. I sighed. My heart felt heavy as the taillights disappeared around the bend. I wondered if it would ever again stagger and skyrocket the way it just had.

Present
    I HATE FIGHTING.
    I hate being wrong, but I hate fighting more than I hate being wrong. I’m just not good at the grudge-holding thing. I get mad, scream about it and let go. Mia, on the other hand, gets mad, screams about it, and clings on to her anger like a leech. Needless to say, we haven’t spoken in a couple of days. I’d managed to avoid Oliver the past few days at the hospital, while I painted vinyl records and surfboards with the kids. I saw him a couple of times by the nurses’ station, though, and once leaving Jen’s office. I caught glimpses of what his life must be like—the flirting, the multitude of sexual partners, the late night rendezvous he probably has in the hospital during the night shift. They aren’t things I necessarily want to imagine, but that’s just where my mind automatically goes when it comes to Oliver.
    Two of my friends, Micah and Dallas, are standing in the middle of the hallway of the pediatrics floor, both with the same disgusted looks on their faces that I had when I saw the walls. I could tell from the way Micah keeps running his hands through his long blonde hair that he’s nervous about taking this project on. Dallas is just full-on gaping, as if the walls are taunting him. Micah turns first and shoots me a what the fuck did you get us into look that I have to laugh at.
    “But for real,” he says when I reach them. My arms swing around his middle, and I squeeze.
    “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I say against his back and then do the same to Dallas.
    “Honey, this thank you better come with a blow job,” Dallas says as I pull away, laughing loudly until I hear a throat clearing behind me. I turn to find Oliver standing there with a strange look on his face. That makes me laugh harder, because clearly, he’d heard Dallas.
    “Hey,” I say. “This is Micah and Dallas. Guys, this is Oliver, my brother’s friend—the one who got me into this whole thing.”
    As they nod at each other, Dallas, who’s just slightly taller than me, gives Oliver a quick onceover, and Micah throws out a “hey man” that makes him sound like a stoner straight out of Woodstock. Oliver returns their greetings politely before his eyes return to mine.
    “May I speak to you for a moment?” he asks, the intensity in his eyes making my stomach twist.
    “Sure. Guys, the paint is in there. I think we should start with the room on the far left first. I’ll be right back,” I say, pointing to the room before turning to follow Oliver with a frown. “Where are we going?”
    He opens a door and signals for me to go inside, but I stand rooted in place. This side of the hospital is vacant because of the paint project, but I don’t want somebody to see us and get the wrong idea.
    “Come in.”
    “We can talk here.”
    Oliver closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as if he’s trying to calm himself down. When he opens them, they look more tired than before, if possible. “Please, Elle. Just humor me.”
    I shake my head, but do as he says, because I don’t want to leave the guys alone for too long. He’s invited me into some sort of storage room, with a bunch of filing cabinets lined up along the walls.
    “So?” I ask, turning to face him. He’s leaning against the door with his hands in the pockets of his white coat, just staring at me. “What?”
    “I haven’t