Dylan’s blood comes up clean, too. “Why
couldn’t we have done that little thing instead of the HTS last
time?” he asks as Shanley puts the hemoscanner back into his case.
Dylan isn’t sucking on his finger any longer, but he picks at the
small scab unconsciously, until the skin around it is an angry red.
I smack his hand to make him stop and he rubs his palm on his leg,
smiles at me, and starts picking at it again without even realizing
it. “It’s a much easier procedure.” Then something occurs to him,
and he asks, “This won’t make me sick, too, will it?”
“It shouldn’t,” Shanley tells him.
“Though the way you carried on…” He lets the thought trail off and
when he glances at me, I have to grin at the mischievous glint I
see in his eye.
“What?” Dylan asks, confused. He looks
from
