Chapter Forty

I have never once said this about a Fall Fest meeting, but the final one is nearly pointless.

It lasts all of twenty minutes, and that’s only because Hudson brought in cupcakes for us all to celebrate a job well done. I thought for sure we’d be scrambling to get everything done ahead of the kickoff carnival on Sunday, but . . . we’re actually kind of good? Apparently, all the planning Isaiah, I, and the committee did up until this point has paid off.

Afterward, I curse myself for accepting a shift at Nature’s Grocer, because I’d much rather be practicing my skateboarding skills with Jay, Malik, and Daniel than ringing people out.

Still, I show up for the miserable fou r-hou r shift.

The work is mind-numbing, but sadly not enough to distract me from the terrible sensations in my ovaries. My period has been raging since that day with Destiny in the bat hroom— but today I feel a sudden pain in my lower belly so sharp it steals my breath away.

Is this what my periods will be like now? Is this what they were like before? I can’t even remember.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, trying to keep my breaths steady and even despite the occasional rush of agony, I almost think I’m hallucinating when Isaiah comes into view.

He offers me a small smile. “Hoped I’d find you here.”

“Zay,” I say, doing my best to mask how I’m feeling. He can’t know. I make my voice bright. “Hi!”

At the sound of his nickname, the smile on his face grows. “Just picking up a box of these.” Isaiah holds up a package of pumpkin cheesecake cookies, which are made right in the store’s bakery.

“You’re going to become hooked. I apologize in advance to your wallet,” I joke.

“Small price to pay for cookies that I believe you said ‘taste like a little slice of autumnal heaven,’ if I’m remembering correctly,” he says with a laugh. “And I brought you a coffee.”

I give him a look. “What for?”

“Not that I need an excuse to bring you a coffee, but you may remember that I spilled one all over you a few weeks ago.” He chuckles. “I told you I owed you, and I meant it.”

“You didn’t have to—”

But another wave of pain hits and cuts my sentence short. I suck in a sharp breath and grip the counter in front of me.

“You okay?” Isaiah asks.

“Fine,” I manage through gritted teeth.

“You don’t look fine . . .”

“I am,” I insist, but another pang causes me to squeeze my eyes shut.

“Okay, no, you’re not.” Before I can respond, I feel his hand on the small of my back, and he’s guiding me away from the register and over to a nearby bench. “Sit down. I’m going to get you some water.”

I just nod, waving him away. Then I look back at the line of customers I’m supposed to be ringing out. “Sorry,” I croak. “Just a minute.”

“No. Sorry, folks, but she’s closed,” Isaiah says, voice firm.

“Her light is on,” an older woman argues. “And I’ve been waiting!”

“She’s clearly in pain and is in no state to work right now, so you’re going to need to find another lane that’s open and move on.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” the woman mutters. “I’m calling a manager.”

“Please do!” Isaiah says. He turns to me. “What hurts?” I grab my lower abdomen and he nods. “Okay. I’m going to get help.” He abandons the coffee he’d been holding and taps Anna, the cashier at the register next to mine, on the shoulder. “Hey, can you watch her while I grab some water? She’s not doing too well.”

Anna looks over at me and her blue eyes go big. “Oh my gosh! Okay. Let me page Pamela.” She calls for our manager into her walkie and then rushes to my side. I don’t know Anna well, but she’s suddenly my bestie, especially once Isaiah disappears to get me something to drink.

“What’s wrong?” Anna asks.

“I’m having horrible pain in my abdomen,” I gasp. “It’s making me queasy.”

She takes my hand. “Pamela’s coming. Not that she’s a warm and reassuring presence or anything, but she’ll help.”

When Pamela rushes over, she immediately notes my register’s now-long line and walkies for backup ASAP. Then she asks us what happened. Anna explains on my behalf. “She’s hurting in the lower abdomen. It’s really bad pain. She might be having appendicitis or something.”

When Isaiah returns and hands me a water bottle, Pamela asks him if we should call an ambulance.

“No! Please,” I beg, knowing we really can’t afford an ambulance bill right now.

“I can take her to the hospital,” Isaiah says immediately. “Just— just stay with her while I get my car, okay?” He squats down to look me in the eye. “Take a sip of water. Breathe. I’ll be right back.”

I nod, more appreciative than he knows, but unable to express it properly right now. The pain has made me break into a sweat and all I can think about is how I know I need another tampon and pad I had to double up because my period was so heavy— but I feel too weak to even go to the bathroom on my own.

“Let’s get you outside,” Pamela says.

“I’ll get her things,” Anna offers.

I climb to my feet and Pamela helps me hobble to the doors. Isaiah pulls his car right up to the curb and hops out, rushing to my side and helping me into the passenger seat.

“I need something to sit on,” I say.

“Here.” Anna appears, handing me my bag and draping my coat on the seat. “Feel better.”

I slide into the seat and give her a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow to check in,” Pamela says. “Drive safely.”

Isaiah nods, shutting my door. When he climbs into the driver’s seat, I turn to him. “Please just take me home.”

“Are you out of your mind? You can barely stand!” he argues. “You need to go to the hospital.”

It’s only then that I start to cry. “Our insurance is really bad. A hospital bill will kill us.”

Isaiah’s face goes soft. “Please don’t worry about that right now. Shit, I’ll help if need be. We’ll figure that part out later. We just need to get you taken care of. You’re not okay.”

“It’s just my period,” I protest.

“Listen. I grew up with an older sister, and let me tell you something: periods should not be doing this to your body.”

Panicked, I blurt, “But mine can be really bad. I have PCOS.”

This may not have been the way I envisioned breaking that news to Isaiah, but what choice do I really have?

“I don’t know what that is, exactly, but I still don’t think this is okay. You need to get checked out. Please, just let me take you.”

I stare at him, at the concern in his furrowed brows and all over his face, and finally nod, reluctantly.

“Call your abuela,” he instructs, pulling the car away from the curb. “She can meet us there.”

I do as he says. When Abuela picks up on the other line, the sound of her sweet “Hola, nena” inspires a fresh round of tears. “Abuela, I’m not feeling well,” I croak. “Something’s not right. Isaiah is taking me to the hospital.”

“¡Mija! I’ll be right there. Te amo.” I sniffle. “Te amo. Hurry.”