There are times when admitting defeat reeks of giving up. That I’ve lost a battle and don’t even have time to lick my wounds before the war begins again. I’m not healthy. I’ll never be healthy again, no matter what hope I hold onto or daydream I fall into. And sitting here, in the doctor’s office waiting room with Mel, the crushing defeat weighs heavily on my shoulders.

  The pain was too great, and Mel insisted I call the doctor after I came home from the night sky viewing with Dom, barely able to move or breathe. My joints had locked up due to the pain and the ache in my kidneys. There is something wrong. I have to present myself as healthy to reach the stars, so I need these symptoms taken care of. Mel came to ensure that. Support and manager, ready to go to my defense if the doctor won’t do anything, but also ready to strong-arm me if I try to leave anything out. She told me to go to any doctor. I chose Doctor Pratcher, my rheumatologist.

  Still, giving in and sitting here tightens my stomach into knots and curdles the breath in my lungs because these diseases are decaying me from the inside out. And the worst part is, I’m stuck like this, with one thing left to me—the ability to fight the symptoms.

  There is no cure for these ailments but death.

  And that’s off the table.

  Not when I have a date with Evangeline and am on my way to getting to the stars. I have something to live for that isn’t for the sake of others’ emotions. I’d be lying to say I hadn’t considered ending things a time or two. Considered that it’d be easier for Mel and Gen in the long run. I got on meds before I did something I would regret. Threw the want to die out with the first empty bottle of antidepressants.

  Meds are a literal lifesaver.

  And I’m about to get more if we ever get called out of this waiting room. Around us, an older population relaxes in comfy obsidian chairs under the gentle murmur of the news emanating from two teles on opposite walls. A sea of white hair, interrupted by the occasional burst of color, is accented by hot pink potted plants and abstract art swirling with color. I’d be the youngest by decades if Mel weren’t here. We’re separated by a few months, but I’m counting it here. I’m not the youngest, and therefore I’m somehow winning, even if Mel isn’t the sick one. Or aware she’s playing.

  Mel scrolls down the script displayed on the palm of her hand, searching for her next lines. It’s for the audition of the side character with a Southern accent. I read the part, and was impressed with the character. They became a main component of the main character’s woman-led mob. It was a part with more than a few lines like Mel’s others had been. If she got it, the part would elevate Mel to the next part of her career.

  “Hey, ask you something?” I say, bumping Mel with my shoulder.

  “Sure.” The holo keeps her gaze.

  “Why haven’t you gone after a main part yet?”

  That does get her attention. She lowers her hand, and the script closes. “I’m not ready.”

  I huff. “You’re self-rejecting.”

  She frowns. “I’m being reasonable.”

  “You’re afraid to fail, and that your mom may be right.”

  “I didn’t ask for a therapy session,” Mel says, voice tense. “Especially so soon after a visit with my mother, where she once again told me I needed to go to college.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  Mel heaves a sigh. “You’re right. I am afraid.”

  I lean my head on her shoulder. “It’s fine, I didn’t mean that you had to do it right now. But if you’re not going to let me hide from my issues, you don’t get to either.”

  Mel groans. “That was payback for all but dragging you here.”

  “Dragging me here, without Az,” I correct.

  Az is allowed on the bus in his unit bod, but there’s no comfortable way for me to carry him. And God forbid I drop him. He wasn’t happy to stay home, but it’s better. I hope he and Sunny are getting along.

  “Jaqs,” the nurse calls into the waiting room. Mel rises and holds out her hand. I take it, allowing her to help me up. The others in the room stare as, with cane-laced steps, I make it to the door, Mel in my wake. The nurse, a woman about my age in bright pink scrubs and baby blue hair, leads us to an exam room. Mel takes root in a chair across from the table I perch on. Her eyes cast down as my blood pressure is taken, slightly elevated, and the thermometer makes its way over my forehead, low-grade fever.

  “The doctor will be in soon,” the nurse says and leaves. The door clicks shut.

  “Do they have a script they follow? Or is it that they’ve all seen the same medical dramas?” I ask.

  Mel snickers. “It’s a matter-of-fact thing to say.”

  A knock ricochets off the door, and Doctor Pratcher comes in. My eyebrows rise. I wasn’t expecting him for another several minutes after the last time I was here. I guess if you’re an emergency appointment, you don’t have to wait.

  “Jaqs, unfortunate to see you again,” he says. His tie is lime today, although the rest of him stays subdued. Very unbright, yet again.

  “I guess the same to you,” I reply, unsure if I’m insulting him or not. Or if I was being insulted.

  He turns to Mel. “And who is this?”

  “I’m her roommate,” Mel says.

  Doctor Pratcher sits on the roller chair and rolls back and forth while he wakes the holo on the desk. “And does roommate have your permission to be here, Jaqs?”

  “Her name is Mel, and yes.”

  “Good,” he says and pulls up my chart. “Let’s see, hasn’t been that long since I saw you, almost two weeks, but you called in saying that you’re having intense pain in your joints and kidney area?”

  Mel meets my gaze. Sheepishly, I say, “Yes.”

  “This wasn’t present last appointment?” Doctor Pratcher asks.

  “The kidney pain wasn’t,” I answer, rubbing my hands together, embarrassed to admit to the lie.

  Doctor Pratcher doesn’t call me on it. He turns, eyes calm. “What’s the pain at?”

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  “Today? An eight, but it’s the kidney pain that worries me.”

  “Because of the fibromuscular dysplasia?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Valid. I’m not necessarily the doctor for it, but we’ll run some tests. I want to do a quick physical.”

  He’s right. He isn’t the right doctor, my primary would be, but he’s out at a conference and it was Doctor Pratcher or the urgent care. He may be dismissive at times, but I trust him more than a random doctor.

  “Let me see your hands,” he says, subdued from last week. I guess if you’re a worrying case, the energetic puppy energy gets packed away.

  I hold out my hands. Pratcher takes one and, with care, squeezes the palm and the fingers. I suck in a breath.

  “Pain?”

  I nod.

  He repeats it on the other hand with similar results.

  He hums. “You’re using the cane. I’m assuming it hurts to walk?”

  “Yes, my hips, knees, and ankles hurt and are stiff,” I answer under Mel’s hot gaze.

  “Any numbness or tingling?”

  The question gives me pause. “Yes.”

  Both Mel and Doctor Pratcher give me long blinks. I avert my gaze and continue to rub my aching hands together.

  “I didn’t consider it a part of the disease.”

  Doctor Pratcher makes a note. “Let me check those lymph nodes.”

  He prods my neck. It’s gentle, but still not pleasant. Next, he listens to me breathe and the beating of my heart. He pauses there, longer than I’m used to, and makes another note.

  Another hum. “You’ve been taking the NSAIDs?”

  “Daily,” I say.

  “She takes them almost religiously,” Mel interrupts. She sits forward in her chair, gaze hard. They aren’t enough.”

  I’m thankful and annoyed she’s here. She won’t downplay my pain, and it’s nice to have someone looking out for me, but at the same time, I’m trying to keep my diagnoses to a minimum. Less to try and hide to get to the stars.

  “You’ve been having the blackout spells,” she continues, flint-like eyes finding me.

  “I’m not blacking out, my vision goes black,” I argue, returning the hard gaze.

  “Anything else happen with that? Increased heart rate? Passing out?” Doctor Pratcher asks.

  “I get this weird pressure in my head that comes on like a wave and moves to the top of my head.” I use my hands while I talk, forming them into a crown around my temples before moving them up into a scrunched diving position. It’s ridiculous. But it’s the only way to explain.

  Doctor Pratcher scribbles something, not meeting my gaze. “The vision going black concerns me. It sounds like POTS, but I want to send you to a cardiologist to be sure.”

  “Another disease?” I ask, tears choking the words.

  Doctor Pratcher’s lips tighten. He nods, eyes strained and hardened by years of delivering bad news. I’m another trophy on the shelf.

  First prize in a race I didn’t want to enter.

  “POTS can surface with autoimmune diseases. Comorbidity is common with them, and unfortunately, we’re seeing it in you.”

  Great. I roll my eyes at Mel. She sends a serious glare back.

  “What tests are you going to run?” Mel asks, not beating around the bush. She’s not asking if he’s considering tests. She’s demanding he does. Mel’s on a mission.

  “I’ll check for protein in the urine, basic blood panel, and an inflammation panel,” Doctor Pratcher answers. “The cardiologist can do a tilt table test.”

  “And the results will be quick?” Mel asks.

  “As quick as the bots allow,” Doctor Pratcher says, not at all disturbed by the force of Mel’s questions.

  She nods, satisfaction softening her hardened gaze.

  “Anything else, Jaqs?” he asks, eyes as soft as his tone. Real concern.

  “No, those are all the worries.” I glance at Mel. I’m being truthful, but I may have forgotten something. She remains silent.

  “All right, let’s send you to the lab. By the time you get over there, the bots will have the order.” Doctor Pratcher stands and leads the way out of the room. “You remember how to get there?”

  “Yeah, no prob.”

  “Then I’ll see you at your next appointment, and I hope not before.” With a little wave, Doctor Pratcher all but jogs away. Mel and I stare after him.

  “He’s an odd one,” Mel says.

  I make a noise of agreement.

  “Shall we head to the lab, m’dear?” she asks.

  “Of course, Lady Mel,” I joke back.

  Mel offers me her arm, and I set the pace towards the lab, cane thunking against the opalescent tile.

  “Does this pace ap-pee-ase you?” Mel asks. A smile threatens to break free from the tentative hold she has on it.

  “God, that was awful.”

  “Is it not ap-pee-alling?”

  “That one was worse!”

  We round the corner to the lab, a small room called out by a bright pink door jam, which bleeds into the surrounding walls before trailing away into lime green.

  Mel’s smile slashes across her face. “Sorry, am I miss-pee-king?”

  “Stop,” I say through a laugh.

  Mel is forced to stop or face her fear of needles to accompany me into the small room. She stays out, leaning against the wall, face turned to her holo.

  The blood draw bot and I perform the song and dance. I leave them with two glass tubes of my blood for the bathroom, carrying a small cup. I refuse to meet Mel’s eyes. She won’t get silent permission to release another bad joke that way. I’m forced to acknowledge her once I’m done.

  “All ready?” she asks.

  Primo, no joke. “Yeah, I love being poked, prodded, and having my bodily fluids taken. Such a perfect day.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  Out on the sidewalk, Mel hugs me goodbye. “I’ll be home from work around ten. You’ll be all right getting back by yourself?”

  “Yeah.” From others, the words would come across as an insult. From Mel, they come from a caring place. A want for me to be safe. If I’m not going to take care of myself, I’m thankful someone is. Mel heads the opposite way from me, worries placated for the moment.

  Too bad I’m not going home.

  It’s not a lie, not really. I will go home. But first, I have a date with Evangeline. I grab a seat on the bus headed towards the lake.

  Half an hour later, the bus leaves me on the small strip of dry, lifeless grass that separates the road from the lake. Across the street, rows of shorter scrapers stand, each a different color until the whole rainbow coats that side of the street. Balconies crowded with chairs and plants overlook the lake and the city beyond it. Very bright. And a lot of cost.

  With a shake of my head, I turn my back on them and find a bench to wait on. I’ve beaten Evangeline here. Or she’s taking care of her Prism business. She didn’t have a lot of time, but wanted to see me. Evangeline told me her drop-off wouldn’t take long, and then we’d walk around the lake before she had to get back to work.

  I’ll take it.

  Even if it was five minutes, I’d take the bus here a thousand times to spend a little time with her.

  The stagnant water of the lake taints the air since all the flowers that mask the stench are long dead. I’m sure the mercury doesn’t help. Something obscures my sight, and I stiffen.

  “Guess who?”

  I chuckle and break free of Evangeline’s grip with ease to smile at her. She returns it. Her white hair is replicated in her coat and pants, devouring any color beyond the seafoam green of her boots.

  “You look great. I mean, you always do, not just today.” Smooth as ever.

  “Thank you.” She offers me a hand up. I take it. She doesn’t drop my hand when I’m steady. Evangeline links our fingers together. It drives a spike through the pain, anchoring me to the present. In her other hand, she holds an iridescent package.

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s the guy it’s for, come on.”

  She leads the way, avoiding my question. Fair enough. It was rude to inquire about what could be a personal thing for someone. Our feet land on the walking path, and we start our rotation around the lake. We won’t make it even a quarter around in the time we have, not that I’d want to with how cold it’s supposed to get, but the time we do have will be nice.

  A masc presenting person in bright red passes us. The package disappears from Evangeline’s hand and is tucked into the man’s coat, quick as a flash.

  “That was smooth,” I say, when we’re far enough away, I’m sure my voice won’t carry to the masc presenting person.

  “Lots of practice,” Evangeline replies, voice flat.

  I search around the bleak landscape for a change in subject.

  Evangeline continues. “Doing things like that drives home some fears that came up after the neon festival.”

  I cough. “What fears?”

  “Fear of being caught. Fear of losing everything I know. I’ve been working the underbelly of ‘Cuse for so long, how am I supposed to survive in the neon society?”

  “You don’t have to figure that out alone, Evangeline.” I put the tip of the cane down with care. Leaves taint the sidewalk, obscuring the white cement tiles with gold, orange, and red debris. A slippery trap.

  “Jaqs,” Evangeline says. There’s a tightness to my name. A plea. It draws me up short and brings our eyes to one another. There’s no one around, so we stand in the middle of the sidewalk. I don’t push Evangeline for more. I give her space to find the right words. “I’m so scared. I’m scared Blake is going to find out. That I’ll take all this information to someone and they’ll lock me up for what I’ve done.”

  It costs her something to admit it. I can see it in her face.

  “Hey, look at me.”

  She does. I kiss both of her cheeks and pull her close. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll help you. Dom and Mel will help, too, I’m sure of it. All we have to do is tell them.”

  A tear rolls down her cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “It’ll be OK. Trust me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nod.

  “Thank you, Jaqs,” Evangeline says. She leans forward and kisses me full on the lips.