Dead Med, page 17
So Danielle isn’t the blackmailer. Or maybe she is, but when she saw me tagging along with her, she decided to open a different locker. Maybe she claimed two lockers right next to each other to mislead me. Whoever sent me that letter would take precautions to keep from getting caught. Danielle isn’t an idiot, that’s for sure.
In any case, I’m no closer to figuring out the identity of the blackmailer.
I also don’t know how to comply with the blackmailer’s request. I have no idea where a copy of the exam answer key might be or how to get a hold of it. I always simply demanded that my grade be changed—I never went through the fine art of cheating. For all I know, Dr. Conlon hasn’t even written the exam yet.
But if I don’t get a copy of that exam, my medical career is going to be over.
51
The next day, I come to the lab to find that the arms and legs of my cadaver have been desecrated.
My legs nearly buckle when I see it. I dissected one arm in the previous lab, but the remaining three limbs have been all but ripped apart. It’s all I can do to keep from throwing up.
The only other person from my group who showed up to lab today is Sasha, who looks equally horrified.
“What kind of sick person would do something like this?” sweet little Sasha says. She’s nearly in tears.
I feel guilty. It’s my fault that someone has done this to our cadaver. The blackmailer is sending me a message. And it’s working. I’m dealing with a sick person who has no morals.
I make some half-hearted attempt to hide the whole thing from Matt. But Sasha is having none of that. The second Matt gets to our table, little Sasha speaks up: “Dr. Conlon, somebody did something terrible!”
As Matt surveys the damage, I catch the look of growing horror on his face. “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened here?”
I have to look away. If he sees my face, he’ll know something is up.
Matt, on his part, is furious. He gets up in front of the class and makes a long, angry speech about competitive behavior. He has no clue.
He’s still fuming later that day when I come by his office.
“It’s disgusting,” he says as I sit down on his lap. “And to think, the person who did that is going to become a doctor someday. Disgusting.”
“Well, all med students are competitive,” I remind him. “That’s how we got here in the first place.”
“There’s a difference between being competitive and that,” he says, shaking his head. “There are lines that can be crossed.”
Matt’s in major denial. He believes cheating is very wrong, yet he’s sleeping with the Queen of the Cheaters. He knows everything I did, but he must not really think about it. If he did, he’d be disgusted by me.
“It’s different with you, Rachel,” he says, as if reading my mind.
“Why?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “you understand now that what you did is wrong.”
Yes, he is definitely in denial.
“Maybe it’s just different because you want it to be different,” I suggest.
Matt looks up at me. I’m always amazed by how blue his eyes are. It always manages to catch me off-guard.
“Maybe you’re right.” He pulls me closer to him on his lap and kisses me on the lips. “Man, why couldn’t I have fallen for a girl who’s less corrupt?”
I kiss him back. “I love you,” I say softly.
Our eyes meet, and the smile fades from his face. Say it, Matt. Tell me that you love me. Remind me why this is all worth it.
“I love you too,” he says, and I nearly sigh with relief. He raises his eyebrows. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I manage.
Just peachy. Can I have a copy of the final exam, by the way?
“Good.” He leans in and kisses my nose. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Matt grabs his cane and hobbles out of the office. I probably shouldn’t hang around in here because it’s a risk, but he shuts the door, so I figure I’m safe.
I sit down in Matt’s chair, which is still warm from his body. I absently play with one of his paperweights. The inscription on the marble weight reads “Dr. Matthew Conlon, Professor of the Year.”
Damn it. I don’t want to screw up his life by getting him fired. But what can I do?
That’s when my eyes fall on the computer.
The screensaver isn’t on, and the desktop is in plain view. I see a folder on the desktop that is called “Anatomy.” I click on it, knowing that at Matt’s speed of walking, I have a good few minutes before he returns. I hadn’t expected to find anything but certainly not a folder called “Exams.” It seems almost too easy, like it has to be some sort of trick. But then again, Matt didn’t expect anyone to be nosing around his private computer.
I click on the icon, and it opens up a directory containing several folders. I click on the folder with the current year and find a file labeled “Final.” When I click on it, I can see that I’m staring at the final exam for my class.
My heart begins to pound. This might be my only opportunity to obtain a copy of the exam and satisfy my blackmailer’s request. I take a deep breath and press the button to print the exam.
I eye the door to the office as the printer slowly, slowly lays down ink on the papers.
“Hurry up!” I whisper to the printer, which has got to be the slowest printer in the history of the world.
Images of muscles and nerves appear on the blank papers, and it’s all I can do to keep from ripping the papers out of the machine.
Just as the last page is finishing, I hear Matt’s key fitting into the lock. I quickly close the documents on his desktop and yank the pages out of the printer, seconds before the door swings open. I fold the sheets in half and stuff them into the pocket of the jacket I had thrown on his chair.
When Matt enters the room, it seems like he immediately knows what I did. His eyes are boring guilt into my chest. He trusted me. Then again, I did this for him. It wasn’t a betrayal—not really.
“Are you okay, Rachel?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.
I nod weakly, “Yeah, I, uh… It’s been a hard day, I guess. I think I’m going to head home.”
“Of course,” he says softly. “Lie down. Get some rest.”
If he ever finds out what I did, that will be the end. But he’s not going to find out.
52
Heather isn’t home when I get back, but I still can’t bring myself to take out the exam in our bedroom. Instead, I lock myself inside the bathroom. It’s the only place I’m safe.
I pull the exam out of my jacket pocket. I have to admit, it’s sort of exhilarating to have it in my possession. Anyone in the class would have killed for a look at this. And I have it! I’m holding it in my hands right now!
I start flipping through the pages of the exam. Okay, I stole it for the blackmailer, but there’s no reason I can’t look at it myself. I mean, yes, I earned that honors on the last exam, and that’s all well and good. But how can I turn down a guaranteed honors grade? I’d be a fool not to look. It’s not like it matters in the long run that I learn this stupid anatomy.
I’m on the second page of the exam when I feel an ache in my chest. A lump forms in my throat, and suddenly, the diagrams of nerves and muscles swim before my eyes.
I can’t do this.
For the record, I still don’t think cheating is wrong. Well, okay, maybe I do a little bit. But what feels worse is betraying Matt. He trusts me. He believes I’m earning the grades I’m receiving. It’s important to him that I learn anatomy. If he knew I looked at this exam, it would kill him.
Moreover, he believes I’ve changed. He believes I’m a good person, and I know it sounds dumb, but that makes me want to be a good person.
I’m not going to cheat ever again. I’m done.
And even though Matt is sixteen years older than me and my professor, maybe this can work out. Maybe there’s a chance this can be more than just a fling. We’ll have to keep things quiet for a while—at least until I finish my preclinical years—but I don’t mind the secrecy. It’s worth it. And then maybe someday, I can bring him home to meet my parents, and they’ll know for sure that I’m not a lesbian.
But first, I have to protect myself. And if that means giving in to the blackmailer, then so be it.
53
I seal the exam in an envelope and bring it to school with me the next day. Before classes are due to start, I hurry over to the locker hallway and go down to Locker 282. I look around and make sure that the hallway is completely deserted. I compress the envelope as much as possible and then slide it carefully under the locker door. It barely fits.
I can’t believe I just did that.
Matt wouldn’t approve. I know that for sure. But my intentions are good. Nobody can know about the two of us until anatomy is long over. Truthfully, I don’t care as much about the fact that I’d get kicked out of school—I just don’t want him to get fired.
There are guest lecturers teaching anatomy that morning, so I decide to skip them and go straight to his office. He’s usually working there in the morning. He sometimes scolds me for missing lectures, but he has to admit that none of the other professors are nearly as good teachers as he is.
The light is on under his office door, and I knock gently.
“Come in,” he calls.
I gingerly open the door. He’s working at his computer, his blue eyes pinned on the screen. I love the way he looks when he’s hard at work.
“Hi,” I say.
He turns away from the monitor and looks at me.
“Hi,” he says. There’s something guarded in his tone.
“I just came by to see you,” I say. I’m trying to sound sexy, even though I feel a bit foolish, especially with the way he’s looking at me.
“Uh-huh,” he says.
My stomach sinks. Something changed. Does he know? But how can he?
“Sorry I skipped class,” I say.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” He raises his eyebrows at me. I’m quiet as he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper. He holds it out to me. “You left something in my printer yesterday, Rachel.”
I take it from him, my hands trembling. It’s the last page of the final exam.
Oh no.
I don’t know what to say. As I stare down at the page, the whole world around me fades to black. I sink into the chair in front of his desk so I don’t fall to the floor. I can’t even lift my head to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t be,” he says. “I’m the stupid one. Your old professor even warned me about you and I didn’t listen. Everyone warned me about you.”
“It’s not like that,” I try to say, but I know my words sound lame.
“Then what’s it like, Rachel?”
When I raise my eyes to meet his, I expect to see anger, but all I see is hurt. I wish he’d be angry at me. I want him to start yelling and cursing. That would be easier to deal with—I’m used to anger. One professor threw his stapler at me, and I needed stitches on my forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Please stop saying that,” he says. “I feel dumb enough as it is. I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit act.”
“It wasn’t an act,” I say.
“Please.” He holds up his hand. “Enough with the lies. Let’s just say we both lied, okay? You lied about being interested in me. I lied when I pretended I wasn’t the lonely, pathetic loser you knew I was all along.”
“You’re not a pathetic loser.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves anymore, okay?” he says. “We both know what I am. I’m a disabled anatomy geek who hasn’t had a date—much less a second date—in years. You know the last time I’d been with a woman before you? I don’t even want to think about it.”
I don’t know what to say. My mouth feels dry.
I want to try to explain to him what happened. I could tell him about the blackmailer, about how I did it to save his career so that we could still be together. I really want to tell him. But I hear the words in my head, and it all sounds like a big lie. He’ll never believe me in a million years.
Matt closes his eyes. “You got me, Rachel, I have to admit it. I really believed that…” He shakes his head and opens his eyes again. “Look, I’ll let you keep the honors on the last midterm, and let’s just forget this ever happened, okay? I’ll change the final exam questions, and we’ll call it even. It’s… it’s a valuable lesson for me, I guess.”
I want to cry. I don’t care about the grade. That’s not what matters to me anymore.
“Matt,” I say, speaking through a sizable lump in my throat. “You have to believe me. I never faked anything with you. I swear.”
He glances down at the exam paper still in my hand. “Yeah, okay.”
“I know how it looks,” I admit. “But you also know how hard I studied for that last midterm. I mean, we studied together. You were quizzing me—I couldn’t have faked that. And I wasn’t faking my feelings for you either. I… I love you.”
Matt looks at me like I just slapped him in the face.
“Please just get out,” he says, his voice breaking on the words.
What else can I do? I get out. And as I am shutting the door, Matt drops his face into his hands, and my heart breaks in two.
54
I cry. A lot.
I feel like a hypocrite for all the times I mocked Heather for crying over Abe. I get it now. This is the worst pain ever. I miss him so much. And knowing how much he hates me just makes it a thousand times worse.
I keep reliving the whole thing over and over. I imagine the crushed look in Matt’s eyes when he handed me that exam paper. Maybe I made a big mistake—maybe I should have gone to Matt right away when I got that note.
Of course, the main thing I keep thinking is:
If only I had noticed that last damn piece of paper in the printer.
It’s silly to think about “if only” though. It’s over with Matt. He hates me, and he’ll never forgive me. The best thing to do is just to move on.
I don’t go to class or lab, mostly out of respect for Matt. He’s required to go, so the least I can do is be the one to back out gracefully. I keep to the library when I have to go to school. I try studying for the final, hoping that a stellar performance might convince him that I hadn’t been trying to con him.
Unfortunately, it’s pretty hard to concentrate. Plus I lost the best tutor I’ve ever had.
On the night before the final exam, I find myself in the library, studying late. There aren’t many students around, but I recognize Sasha, my quiet little lab partner. I like Sasha. She doesn’t talk much, she seems nice, and she’s not terribly annoying. I wonder if Sasha might consider being my friend—I could use a friend these days.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one here on a Saturday night,” I comment to Sasha as I slide into the seat across from her.
“It’s never empty here on Saturday night,” Sasha replies with a kind smile. “Do you usually study at home?”
“Sort of,” I say, thinking of all the late-night “study sessions” at Matt’s house.
I guess I must look pale, or maybe my eyes are bloodshot from all the crying, because Sasha is giving me a funny look.
“Are you okay, Rachel?” Sasha asks.
Sasha is reaching out to me—maybe I should confide in her. I eye Sasha, a tiny little pixie of a girl with olive skin and a plain face. Sasha looks much younger than twenty-two, more like a high school girl, and I can’t imagine she could know much about love or sex.
Then again, didn’t Heather say that Sasha is hooking up with Mason Howard? Sasha must know something if she’s getting it on with a guy like Mason.
“It’s just this guy I’ve been seeing,” I finally say. I appreciate how Sasha doesn’t immediately start grilling me to find out his name, like Heather would have. “We sort of… we broke up recently. I really messed things up.”
Sasha frowns. “I’m sorry. Did all the studying get in the way?”
“No, not really,” I nearly laugh at how opposite Sasha’s question is from reality. “I just… did something dumb. He wouldn’t even let me explain.”
“So you’re having a fight?”
“No, it’s over,” I assure her. “I did something pretty unforgivable.”
“You cheated on him,” Sasha says, nodding with understanding.
“No, it’s not that…”
And that’s when I realize something:
I didn’t do anything wrong.
Okay, technically, I did. I stole an exam. But I did it for honorable reasons. The worst thing I’ve done is that I wasn’t honest with Matt about why I did what I did. He deserves to know the truth before he decides to dump me. Honestly, I owe it to him.
“Sasha,” I say. “I have to run out for a few minutes. Can you watch my stuff?”
Sasha looks confused but nods in agreement. I leave behind all my belongings, and I run out of the library. I hurry up the stairs, past the anatomy labs, over to Matt’s office. It’s dumb because of course, he’ll never be here. But I have to try.
Just as I get to Matt’s office, the door opens, and the prongs of his cane peek out. I race over then pause, doubled over, trying to catch my breath.
“Matt,” I gasp.
He looks up at me. There’s no affection in his blue eyes.
“What is it, Rachel? I’ve been stuck here all night rewriting the exam.”
Well, at least he seems more angry than hurt right now.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask.
“There’s nothing to say,” he mutters.
“Please.”
Finally, he nods, although his expression is still wary. He backs up to give me room to enter. He gestures toward the seat, and I sit down while he plops down in his own chair. He crosses his arms and glares across the desk at me.
