Jae Ham
My friends are one floor below us, guarding an unconscious Sage in her hospital room. I've already contacted Angel, whose reply was a sharp "I'll be there" before she hung up.
On my way to Sparkle's room, the door to the ICU sweeps open, and Dr. strides into the waiting room. He has piercing gray eyes, sloped nose, shock of white hair, and inevitably, a white coat.
Sparkle's parents stand up nervously and walk over to the doctor.
"Your daughter is still unconscious," says Dr. Giles quietly. "Not much has changed. We've set her broken arm and are checking the extent of her internal injuries."
"When can we see her?" asks Mr. Snow.
"Soon," says Dr. Giles "But she's still in very critical condition." He turns to go, but Mr. Snow catches his arm. "When will she wake up?"
Dr. Giles fiddles with his clipboard. "She has a lot of swelling in her brain, so it's hard for us to predict the extent of the damage at this point. She might wake up just fine, or there might be complications."
"Complications?" Mrs. Snow goes pale.
"I've heard that people who are in comas have less of a chance of recovering from them after a certain amount of time," says Mr. Snow anxiously. "Is that true?"
Dr. Giles rubs his hands on his blue scrubs. "That is true, yes, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?"
A murmur goes through the room. Joni bursts into tears again.
Mrs. Snow picks up her oversized brown leather tote from the floor. "I'm going to go get some coffee," she tells her husband softly. Everyone agrees to grab something to eat while waiting for an update on Sparkle's condition.
A few moments later, I'm left alone with Joni, a mutual friend of Chord and Sparkle.
She looks at me strangely, as if she wants to say something, but stops herself. I turn to stare at her. For a 21-year-old, she looks younger, with long shiny yellow hair and petite figure clad in a plain shirt and jeans. But she has that joker vibe that makes me think she must feel a smug triumph in showing her ID to bar and club bouncers, proving she's at proper drinking age.
"I'll just follow the others to the cafeteria," she says wearily, and I nod at her before she brushes past me and I can hear the clicks of her heels against the white tiles of the floor.
Should I return to Sage's room or pick up some food for her and my friends?
I'm about to spin on my heel when the door to the ICU swings open a second time, taking me by surprise.
Standing in the doorway is a young man in his early twenties. His dark hair is unkempt, same as his clothes of v-neck and dark pants. His eyes are red, puffy, and swollen, his lips are dry, and he looks like he hasn't slept in the past two days.
Chord's voice cracks as he breathes out, "She's awake."
I can feel some tension escape my shoulders. "Thank God. We should tell F-"
"Where's Sage?" he asks, cutting me off.
My brows furrow in perplexity. "She's downstairs, but--"
Chord clamps a hand over my wrist, interrupting me again. "Sparkle wants to talk to her."
"What?" I gawk at him stupidly. "I'm trying to tell you, Sage is--"
"I'm here, I'm here." We turn to the sound of a girl's voice, and for one dumb second, I think it's Sage, but it's a 21-year-old with long auburn hair, black sheath dress, and matching heels.
