Keeping Sweets by Cate Ashwood

to look the other way.”
    “I’m okay,” he repeated.
    “Alright, Evan. One, two, three and a little pinch.” She pushed the needle gently into his arm then removed the elastic squeezing his arm. He hardly felt anything. He watched as the deep red liquid filled the vial. She took three more vials before expertly sliding the needle out and pressing firmly on the little dot with a fresh cotton ball.
    She disposed of the needle and gloves before sitting back down.
    “Alright, Evan. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
    “Not bad at all.”
    “The next part is usually the hardest—anticipating the results—but in your case, it’s probably just a formality. Just give the office a call in three days or so, or you can stop by and pick up the results in person if you prefer. Do you have any questions, or is there anything else I can do for you?”
    “I don’t think so. Thank you, Dr. Reynolds.”
    “You’re very welcome, Evan.”
     
     
    E VAN had returned to the clinic three days later, just as Dr. Reynolds had said, and picked up the sheet of paper that declared he had a clean bill of health. That had been yesterday. Since then, Evan had been going crazy with impatience. He actually thought he might lose his mind. He made a checklist of everything he needed to do before September and crossed the items off the list one by one. Now, there was nothing left to do but wait, and it just meant more time he would have to waste before leaving for Newport. He was restless and agitated. Of course time seemed to pass more slowly because all he wanted was for the week to be up already.
    He needed to do something. Anything. Desperation often led to terrible decisions, and this Thursday afternoon was no different. Evan rooted through his bag until he found what he was looking for: a pair of shorts and a ratty T-shirt. After pulling the shirt on over his head, he tied the drawstring on the board shorts, then bent down to tighten his sneakers. They weren’t real running shoes, but they would have to do.
    Evan had never excelled in gym; he was one of the ones who barely skated by. He was nowhere near a jock, but he wasn’t the kid that got picked last for dodgeball. Third to last was not last, he reminded himself.
    He tucked his keys into his pocket and set out running. It only took twelve minutes for Evan to realize what a mistake running had been. Summertime in Oregon was not the place for outdoor athleticism, especially for someone who did not possess any sort of innate skill. He was sweating and dizzy, partly because of the heat, partly because all he’d eaten had been a stale bag of nacho chips from the gas station down the street.
    Realizing that it was a terrible idea, he turned on his heels and began walking—slowly—back to the motel. When he got there, he toed off his shoes and sat down on the bed, pulling his computer into his lap. He started it up and checked his mail. His heart rate sped as he saw Noah’s name in his inbox. He opened the e-mail, eager to read what Noah had written to him.
    Evan finished reading the letter. He was such an idiot. He had forgotten that he hadn’t left any contact information with Noah. He hadn’t wanted to put down his house phone number, since at the time he was on the precipice of moving out. He couldn’t afford a cell phone, so his plan was to e-mail Les after he had gotten settled at the motel and give him the number there. In all the excitement over the website and the clinic, he had forgotten to send it.
    He was glad Noah hadn’t written him off, though. Noah wanted to work with him enough to go out of his way to track him down. Evan smiled at the thought. He picked up the phone beside the bed, fingers poised over the buttons and ready to dial. Switching his gaze back to the e-mail, he realized Noah had given Evan his own phone number, not Les’s.
    Evan was gripped with a sudden case of butterflies. What would he say when Noah picked up? A glance at the alarm clock told him it