Sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Peter sat in the uncomfortable seats outside the nurses’ office once more. Blood leaked from the ends of the suture on his arm and from the corner of his mouth. His clothes were caked with dust and mud where the blood and snot had mingled with the dirt. He stared dejectedly at his feet. I am SO screwed. Even if I had studied, Bully is going to take my scores. But I haven’t. And he’s going to fail and I’m going to get my ass handed to me. Again.

“Peter Fuller?” the nurse poked her head around the doorway. “Come in please.”

Tripping over his shoes, Peter stumbled into the room and threw himself on the bed. Everywhere he touched he left a trail of grime. Maybe that’s some sort of metaphor for my life, he thought, everything I touch turns to sh..

“Well, well, well. I thought I wasn’t going to see you again after last time.” Nurse Happily tapped her pen on the desktop irritatedly. “Are you actively trying to piss Billy off? Is this some sort of masochistic show to impress a girl? What?”

Shrugging and sniffing hard, Peter merely shrugged. He tried to speak, to explain, but his throat constricted so he settled for shaking his head. He swallowed the phlegm running down the back of his throat, wincing as the dust and sand mixed in with the disgusting mess abraded his throat.

Nurse Happily’s expression softened after a moment. “Ok, how about you take a moment while I get you cleaned up. Take your shirt and shorts off and drop them in the basket over there.” She saw his expression and added, “I’m a medical professional and I’ve served in an active warzone. There is nothing I haven’t seen before,” she indicated a framed certificate on the top shelf above her desk with a jerk of her chin.

Reluctantly, Peter stripped to his underclothes and tossed his shirt and shorts in the indicated receptacle. “Um, I’ll get these back?”

“Sure will, that’s an autocleaner for my sheets and uniform. Strange as it may sound, you’re not my worst mess to clean up. Not even the worst today.” The nurse spun on her wheeled chair and pulled out a draw cleverly hidden in the bottom of the device that Peter could now see was only disguised as a wickerwork basket. Inside was a perfectly folded, impossibly white uniform identical to the one she was currently wearing. “See?” When Peter nodded she waved him back to the bed. “Now, let’s get this lot cleaned up.”

Peter was scrubbed firmly, but not overly roughly, with a series of damp cloths that were then discarded in a separate bin. As they progressed through the wipes were less and less discoloured and Peter felt like they were wiping away some of his fear and pain as well. Eventually all that came away were spots of blood where his suture refused to stop leaking. This was remedied with two dots of superglue.

“Did you know that this is why superglue was originally invented?” Nurse Happily asked as she tended to the wound. “Sure, everyone uses it for building models and stuff these days, but waaaay back in the Vietnam war they used it to patch up soldiers enough to stop them dying on the way to hospital,” she put the cap back on the tube, “that’s why you’re more likely to glue your fingers together than the model you’re trying to make.”

Nodding exhaustedly, Peter let the nurse’s random chatting wash over him without really paying attention. That was until his ears picked up the alarming phrase “had to call your parents”.

“You did what?” His head jerked up. “No, no, no, no. You didn’t!”

Nurse Happily pulled out the drawer from the bottom of the autocleaner and handed Peter his clothes that had been cleaned and folded but had still clearly been through the wringer. Figuratively, of course. The collar was torn, there was a hole in the armpit and a ladder like abrasion up the back. “Sorry Peter, but I’m a mandatory reporter. That means legally I have to tell your parents and the school authorities that you’ve been hurt. I can’t tell them who did it unless you are willing to testify though. Are you?”

It only took a moment for Peter to imagine what would happen to him if he reported Billy to the authorities. He shuddered, his mind awash with images of pulverised, punished and pureed Peter pounded into the pavement. “Nooo thank you. It’s bad enough already. My mum is going to kill me.” Peter took the proffered clothing and put them on. “Besides, I can’t miss class this afternoon.”

“It’s the last day before exam week. Classes are nothing but revision and the occasional party. I’m sure you can miss a cake or two.” The nurse sat down at her desk and began signing a couple of sheets of paper. “Here’s the notes for the office and your teachers. Take the break and enjoy your last weekend before stress week. You’ll be fine, just chill on the seat in the corridor until your mum gets here, okay?”

Peter slouched over and snatched the papers out of the nurse’s hand ungraciously with a mumbled “thanks” and stalked out into the corridor. Instead of sitting down, however, he rushed off towards his next class as fast as his protesting body would allow. On the way he activated the phone function of his implant.

“Oh my god, Peter. Can you not stay out of trouble for one day?” his mother demanded shrilly. “I was in a very important meeting when I get a priority call from the school saying you’ve been hurt AGAIN!”

“Woah, Mum!” Peter stopped dead and threw up his hands in a completely useless gesture in attempt to ward of his mother’s rage. “I’m fine! The nurse went too far and freaked out. I just fell over and pulled the suture on my arm!”

Peter’s mother’s voice was much calmer as she continued. “Are you sure? I’m already outside the conference room, I can come and get you.”

“I promise,” Peter continued his way towards his classroom, stepping out as much as he could without increasing his breathing and raising suspicions. “I got cleaned up and patched up, but I fell in a planter and tore my shirt a bit. It was worse than it looked, honest.”

“...Alright,” the doubt in his mother’s voice was beyond evident, but so was her desire to remain at work. “Be careful and I’ll see you when I get home tonight. I’m going to be quite late now, so get your studies done before you start reading.”

Careful not to let his sigh of relief be heard down the line, Peter assured his mother he would do exactly that and cut the connection. Great, now all I have to do is find out the rest what I’ve missed, study hard and still get grounded for failing when Bully swaps the tests. Oh yay.