mine. May I call you Kwan?”
“Please.”
“Anya told me what happened to you in school. My eldest, Rudy . . . as an adolescent, he possessed a temper that often led him into confrontations which ended badly.”
“Sounds like me.”
“Yes.” The professor flashed a smile, his lower lip quivering for a revealing moment. “Anya also tells me you are quite brilliant. Do you play chess?”
“These days, only against the computer.”
“Is that a reflection of your skill level, or the void in your social life brought about by your recent paralysis?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“Then perhaps you and I might play sometime. I doubt I’d offer you much of a match, but it might be fun. They say one can only learn the game by exposing oneself to better players.”
“I suspect you’re far better than you let on.”
“I suspect the same of you.” He smiled, this time uninhibited. “I suppose that leaves both of us suspicious of one another, an interesting beginning to what I hope will be a lasting friendship.”
“I hope so, too.”
“Then please forgive me if this comes across as intrusive, but Anya may have mentioned in passing that you and your father suffer from a strained relationship. Rudy and I, too, lacked the common ground Anya’s academic interests provide. I realize, of course, the circumstances are completely different . . . my only purpose in bringing this up is simply to offer my services to you—not as a surrogate father, but as a friend. If you ever require my assistance in any capacity—free of judgment or conditions, it would honor me if you called.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a business card.
The emotion welled up in my throat. “Thank you.”
Stephen Ley stopped by a few hours after Anya’s father left—my drug mule coming through like a champ, delivering four hypodermic needles of natural human growth hormone directly to my hospital room. Ley claimed the stuff had cost him every penny in my bank account, but I knew he was lying. Having accessed his Facebook page, I was quite aware that Ley’s older brother, Ronnie, was a physician’s assistant at a wellness clinic in Boca and could get whatever supplies he needed. The brothers had made a nice profit off of me, but I didn’t care. As long as Ley didn’t bring me Restylane, I was in business.
After he left, I drew the privacy curtain around my hospital bed and injected the first dosage of the clear elixir right into my IV, hiding the remaining three needles in between the double lining of my Doors backpack. If anything bad were to happen, at least I was in the hospital.
I waited two days. Experiencing no ill side effects from the first shot, I gave myself a second injection. I was released from the hospital Tuesday afternoon, my cells now saturated with HGH.
I returned to school Wednesday morning. Principal Lockhart greeted me at the student drop-off zone with a warm smile and handshake and confirmed that I’d be going to the ANGEL lab after school. He told me Rachel Solomon was asking about me and I promised I’d stop by before the week was over.
With HGH flowing through my body, the school counselor with the penetrating eyes and mother’s intuition was the last person I wanted to see.
Anya came over to talk to me before first period started and told me I looked much better. Li-ling was her usual self, telling me I needed to eat more, that I had lost too much weight. She suggested that I stop at the local kennel for a snack—a crack about Koreans eating dogs (something I’ve never done). Stephen Ley ignored me, as did most of the other students . . . gotta love high school.
I didn’t. All I cared about was avoiding Rachel Solomon, making it through the day, and getting to the lab.
There was a brief moment of joy when I cut seventh period and met Jesse Gordon in the music room. The two of us jammed for almost an hour—me on my harmonica, him on his acoustic guitar. I impressed him with
“Please.”
“Anya told me what happened to you in school. My eldest, Rudy . . . as an adolescent, he possessed a temper that often led him into confrontations which ended badly.”
“Sounds like me.”
“Yes.” The professor flashed a smile, his lower lip quivering for a revealing moment. “Anya also tells me you are quite brilliant. Do you play chess?”
“These days, only against the computer.”
“Is that a reflection of your skill level, or the void in your social life brought about by your recent paralysis?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“Then perhaps you and I might play sometime. I doubt I’d offer you much of a match, but it might be fun. They say one can only learn the game by exposing oneself to better players.”
“I suspect you’re far better than you let on.”
“I suspect the same of you.” He smiled, this time uninhibited. “I suppose that leaves both of us suspicious of one another, an interesting beginning to what I hope will be a lasting friendship.”
“I hope so, too.”
“Then please forgive me if this comes across as intrusive, but Anya may have mentioned in passing that you and your father suffer from a strained relationship. Rudy and I, too, lacked the common ground Anya’s academic interests provide. I realize, of course, the circumstances are completely different . . . my only purpose in bringing this up is simply to offer my services to you—not as a surrogate father, but as a friend. If you ever require my assistance in any capacity—free of judgment or conditions, it would honor me if you called.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a business card.
The emotion welled up in my throat. “Thank you.”
Stephen Ley stopped by a few hours after Anya’s father left—my drug mule coming through like a champ, delivering four hypodermic needles of natural human growth hormone directly to my hospital room. Ley claimed the stuff had cost him every penny in my bank account, but I knew he was lying. Having accessed his Facebook page, I was quite aware that Ley’s older brother, Ronnie, was a physician’s assistant at a wellness clinic in Boca and could get whatever supplies he needed. The brothers had made a nice profit off of me, but I didn’t care. As long as Ley didn’t bring me Restylane, I was in business.
After he left, I drew the privacy curtain around my hospital bed and injected the first dosage of the clear elixir right into my IV, hiding the remaining three needles in between the double lining of my Doors backpack. If anything bad were to happen, at least I was in the hospital.
I waited two days. Experiencing no ill side effects from the first shot, I gave myself a second injection. I was released from the hospital Tuesday afternoon, my cells now saturated with HGH.
I returned to school Wednesday morning. Principal Lockhart greeted me at the student drop-off zone with a warm smile and handshake and confirmed that I’d be going to the ANGEL lab after school. He told me Rachel Solomon was asking about me and I promised I’d stop by before the week was over.
With HGH flowing through my body, the school counselor with the penetrating eyes and mother’s intuition was the last person I wanted to see.
Anya came over to talk to me before first period started and told me I looked much better. Li-ling was her usual self, telling me I needed to eat more, that I had lost too much weight. She suggested that I stop at the local kennel for a snack—a crack about Koreans eating dogs (something I’ve never done). Stephen Ley ignored me, as did most of the other students . . . gotta love high school.
I didn’t. All I cared about was avoiding Rachel Solomon, making it through the day, and getting to the lab.
There was a brief moment of joy when I cut seventh period and met Jesse Gordon in the music room. The two of us jammed for almost an hour—me on my harmonica, him on his acoustic guitar. I impressed him with
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