count to fifty to test my brain.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Lyndon B.,” he said. “We can try another blood test. Your last one was good, so it’s up to you.”
“Do it,” I said. “How come I’m not getting better? Am I gonna die?”
“Lyndon, don’t say that,” Mom said.
“You’re not dying,” Dr. Feldman said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen death and it doesn’t look like you. Let’s get the blood test done.”
Nurse Connie walked in after Dr. Feldman left. She took out way more blood than my last blood test. I passed out right when she was done. When I woke up, I was in my bed.
“Mom?” I said. “Are you there?”
“You’re okay. The blood test is ready.”
“Am I dying?” I asked her. At least if I was actually dying, I would know what was going on. That way, if someone asked me, “What’s wrong, Lyndon?” I could say, “Oh, just dying” instead of “Oh, I’m sick with something my doctor can’t figure out. You probably shouldn’t shake my hand.”
“No, you’re not dying. Everything is normal, but your iron is low because you haven’t been eating much.”
“You want me to eat the iron?”
“Eat the iron and the ironing board if you want to, hijo. I want you to eat something.”
Of course, I didn’t want to die. I was about to start eighth grade, and there was only a month of summer left. There were so many things I liked doing over the summer, like playing basketball, going out for pizza, playing games at the arcade, and of course, Melody’s birthday party. Her mom would make the best tamales ever, and her dad would teach everyone how to build something. Last year, he taught me and all the other guests how to make a birdhouse. This year, his lesson was how to build a working robot, and I missed it. I missed the best parts about summer, thanks to Bat Springs Fever.