Isabella
“What do you mean I’m not on the schedule?” I gawk at Amina.
My resident smiles. “You’re not on the schedule.”
I look at the paper scheduler in her hand. Sure enough, I’m not there. “No, I did not come all this way to not be on the schedule,” I grumble, whipping out my phone. I hurriedly navigate to my email where a schedule had been sent last week. I find the attachment and – “Ha!” I hold the phone out. “See? I am on the schedule.”
“But you’re not,” Amina says with a shrug.
Something is off. She’s got a lilt to her voice that’s playful and strange. “What’s going on?”
She shrugs again, biting on her lower lip. She doesn’t even have to say, “I know something you don’t know.”
I open my mouth to respond again, but hear my name said by an unfamiliar male voice.
“Isabella Delga
