Marcie
“Nice work,” a girl whose name I don’t know says after our Nursing of Older Adults. “I thought Dummy-nic was a goner.”
I blink a few times before the pieces slide into place. The old rubber test dummy I’ve been using for at least four years now gets a new name every year, and this year, it’s Dummy-nic. She’s talking about my save in the bronchodilator-cardiomyopathy example.
“Thanks.” I smile awkwardly.
She nods and wanders off. People don’t usually talk to me after class, but I always feel like I’m doing it wrong.
Whatever. I pound down the stairs while pulling my phone out of my back pocket, hoping for an email from Everett with results. We watched movies until I passed out on the couch last night, and Heather told me this morning that he said it might take a couple of days,
