Gasoline | Ben Parish

18

THE next day Teacup is due to finally get rid of her sling. I walk with her to Dr. Pam's room after breakfast. She doesn't say much, yawning every five minutes. I know why.

Teacup had a nightmare last night. A really vivid one, from what her screams suggested. It wasn't until Oompa and Dumbo had dragged her out of her top bunk and she was sitting beside me that she calmed down.

No one had asked any questions. It's obvious what she was dreaming about from the way her tears soaked the collar of her night shirt and the way her quivering lips kept calling for her mother.

We wait in the uncomfortable plastic chairs in Dr. Pam's office in silence. She sniffles every now and then, keeping her arm close to her. I feel like I should say something, but I don't know what. Even if I did know, I doubt I would say it. Croak doesn't comfort people.

I lean my head back against the wall. My eyes close and I focus on the subtle ticking of the clock.

I see Zombie, vulnerable and crying, and I force my eyes back open. Somehow that's one of the worst things I've seen and experienced.

I'm not sure if I regret our swapping secrets last night.

Dr. Pam comes in with a smile. "Good morning, ladies." She sets her coffee cup down on a table. "I'll have you fixed up in no time, Teacup. Then you both are supposed to report to Processing and Disposal."

Resisting the urge to let out a major groan, I help Teacup hop up onto the operating table. I watch as Dr. Pam carefully removes the sling and performs various exercises to make sure Teacup's arm has healed.

When she's been cleared, Teacup jumps down without my help. She gives Dr. Pam a brief thanks, antsy to get out the door. I take my leisure time, sending her an odd look. Why the hell is she so eager to get to P&D? Shit's disgusting.

I ask her about it in the hallway. "What's the rush?"

Teacup glances at me out of the corner of her eyes, half a step ahead of me as she charges down the brightly lit corridors. "I'm not in a hurry." She denies, keeping her chin raised. "I just want to keep moving."

"Why?"

She sighs. "I don't know, Croak."

"There has to be a reason."

"I don't want to talk about it."

I roll my eyes. "You're supposed to talk about it, Teacup. You're a little kid. When something's bothering you, you tell someone. That's how it works."

"You don't tell people when you're upset about something."

Well, shit. She's got me there. "...that's 'cause I'm older than you, Teacup. I'm almost an adult."

"But not yet." She insists as we turn a corner. "You're still a kid."

Still a kid. That simple phrase slams into my chest like a heaving mallet onto a gavel.

I don't answer her for a moment, biting my lip. Little kids are hard to put up with. They know more than people let on and can outsmart the best of us with simple logic.

"Yeah, well," I start. I push my ponytail off my shoulder as I struggle to gather words that would've come easier a year ago. "I don't get to act like a kid. I'm the oldest in the squad. I need to act like it. I can't dump everything on everyone."