“You’re sick,” she says, not looking up.
“So I heard,” I mumble. I glance around, but the waiting room is empty except for the two of us. She idly swings her legs back and forth underneath the chair, and flips the page.
“You should sit down, you’re gonna fall over.” She waves at one of the chairs next to her.
“I’m not,” I start, but a wave of dizziness comes over me. My equilibrium is shot, and I land on my butt, barely avoiding crushing my purse. “Whoa.”
“Told you,” she says, smiling slightly.
“Knock it off,” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“I’m sick, too,” she says, and frowns. She puts down the magazine and stares me in the eye. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
This girl looks to be no older than about eight or so. She has long-ish straight blonde hair, and her pale blue eyes look clear and bright. She certainly doesn’t look sick. Maybe a little skinny– her jeans and t-shirt are hanging off of her– but not too badly. Maybe her mom thought she’d grow into them.
“Sounds familiar,” I mumble, picking myself up off the floor. “Are you with a sister or something?”
“Nope,” she says, glancing at the table next to her. She shuffles a few of the magazines around, trying to find something more on her level, I guess. For a moment I catch myself wondering just what is on her level. Child psychology isn’t my thing. “My other doctor told me to come here.”