"Thank you, ma'am," I said. She stood back and nodded toward the doorway. I hurried out and up the stairs to the second floor. The nurses' station was located near the center of the corridor. A nurse who looked about fifty with curly gray hair and friendly blue eyes turned my way as I approached. A short, slim black girl with large round eyes stood beside her.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Winthrop," I said. "I'm Pearl Andreas."

"Oh, yes, dear. I'm Mrs. Winthrop. We've been expecting you. Sophie will take you to the linen closet and find you a uniform," she said, nodding at the slim black girl, who looked no more than sixteen. Her hair was cut very short, and she had a tiny but prominent scar on the left side of her jaw. She came around the desk quickly.

"This way," she said. She stared at me hard, dropping her eyes to my feet and raising her gaze to my face. When we were far enough away from the nurses' station, she spun around. "What do you want to be a nurse's aide for?" she demanded. "You look rich."

"I want to work in a hospital during my summer vacation because I hope to study medicine," I told her. "I want to get as much experience on my own as I can."

"You want to be a doctor? How long do you have to go to school to get your degree?" she asked, looking friendlier than before.

"You go to college and medical school for about seven years, and then you do your internship in a hospital. I'll be in my late twenties before I can practice on my own."

"We've got one of those," Sophie said.

"One what?"

"An intern. Dr. Weller. He's not a full doctor, though. He's got years to go yet."

"Well, it does take years and years of hard work. I hope I can stick it out," I said.

She narrowed her eyes again. "You sure you want to be a doctor?"

"I'm sure."

"I've never seen a woman doctor here."

"Well, maybe I’ll be the first," I said and smiled.

She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then narrowed her eyes skeptically. "You ever give someone a bedpan?"

"No."

"You ever cleaned up vomit?"

"Once, when one of my brothers got sick," I replied. She leaned toward me. "You ever seen blood, lots of blood?" she demanded.

"I've seen blood," I assured her.

"And guts?"

"I've dissected animals and I know what's inside a human being," I said.

Sophie stepped back, shocked. "Where did you do that?"

"In school in the lab. Didn't you?"

"I only went to school through the fifth grade," she told me, "and we didn't have a lab, but I clean the lab here, so I've seen blood and guts and smelled it, too. You got to have a stomach made of iron. I do. Nothing makes me throw up anymore," she added proudly.

"I'm glad," I said. "It would be hard for you to come to work every day if you got sick to your stomach all the time."

She nodded. "The other girl, the one who come here last Friday, she got white as chalk the first day and puked in the bathroom for half an hour before Mrs. Winthrop sent her home. I'm glad you're here because I've been doing twice the work ever since that girl left."

"I won't throw up. I promise," I said.

She looked satisfied and led me to the linen room. There weren't many uniforms. The ones that were there were either way too big or too small. The best fit was so snug I had to leave the top two buttons of the bodice undone. "I guess this will have to do for now," I said.

"What's that around your ankle? Is it a dime?" Sophie asked.

"Yes. It's a good-luck charm."

She eyed me suspiciously for a moment. "Who gave it to you?"

"My mother. Someone special gave it to her a long time ago."

"My mama says people who wear a dime around their ankle be practicing voodoo."

"The dime is good gris-gris, if that's what you mean, but I don't practice voodoo."

"Does your mama?"

"No, not really," I said, but she continued to eye me warily.

"How old are you?" Sophie asked.

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in two months. How old are you?"

"The truth or what I tell people here?"

"The truth."

"I'll be fourteen next August, but they all think I'm going to be seventeen. Don't you tell," she warned.

"I won't."

"Let's go see Mrs. Winthrop."

"Is that the best fit you can find for her, Sophie?" the head nurse asked immediately.

"The others are much smaller or much, much bigger, Mrs. Winthrop," Sophie said. "We tried them all."

"I'm afraid this is the best," I said.

"Well, I'll ask Mr. Marbella to order more uniforms. Now that you're here, Pearl, we'll divide the floor between you and Sophie. You take rooms 200 to 205; Sophie will see to the rest." She checked her watch. "It's time to bring the patients their juice and refill their water pitchers. Sophie will show you where things are."

Sophie took me to the kitchen where we found another, much younger nurse talking with the intern. He was sitting with his back to us, and she was leaning against the counter. They were laughing when we entered.

" 'Scuse me," Sophie said and did a small curtsy. "We got to start on the juice."

The nurse smirked and moved away from the refrigerator. I saw from her name tag that she was Mrs. Crandle. She had light brown hair trimmed at the nape of her neck, hazel eyes and a firm mouth that dipped with annoyance at the corners. She wasn't unattractive, but her nose was a little too sharp and too long. The intern spun around in his chair and smiled widely when he saw me.

"Well now, who have we here?" he asked.

"She's the new nurse's aide," Sophie explained. "Her name's Pearl."

"Well, hello," he said. "I'm Dr. Weller. My mother always thought I should be a doctor because of our name. Get it? I make people weller." He laughed, but Mrs. Crandle grimaced as if it pained her to hear his joke again.

"Hi," I said. He rose to his full five feet eleven inches and extended his hand. He widened his smile to show me his very white and perfect teeth. His dark eyes sparkled wickedly when I put my hand into his. He folded his fingers over it quickly. His skin was as fair as mine, though in contrast to his dark hair, it made him look a little too pale. His strong chin sported a devil's cleft and another dimple in his right cheek flashed in and out apparently at will.

"About time we dressed up this place," he said, still grinning from ear to ear. He shot a look at Mrs. Crandle, who raised her eyes toward the ceiling.

"Just what we needed," she remarked, "another thing to distract you from your work."

"Don't mind her. I'm never distracted from any-thing I put my mind on," he said, keeping his gaze fixed on me. He dropped his eyes slowly and raised them with a look of appreciation. "That's the sexiest nurse's aide uniform I've seen," he added.

"There aren't any that fit me better, but . . ." I began, feeling my face grow warm as my cheeks turned crimson.

"Hey, I didn't say this doesn't fit you." He laughed. He was still holding my hand.

"We've got to start bringing the juice to the patients," I said.

"Sure." He flashed another amused smile and released my hand.

"She gonna be a doctor too," Sophie bragged.

"Is that right?"

"Yes," I said.

"Not a nurse, a doctor?"

I looked at Mrs. Crandle who had turned back to me sharply when he asked the question.

"I think nurses are just as important," I said, "but I'm interested in practicing medicine outside the hospital too."

"Oh? Very ambitious." He frowned, putting ripples in his forehead. In a deeper voice he asked, "How are your grades in school?"

"I was class valedictorian," I said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Impressive. We better watch our p's and q's, Mrs. Crandle," he joked.

"I would say you should watch the whole alphabet and not just the p's and q's," she remarked. "I have an I.V. to hook up. Don't you have anything to do, Doctor?"

"Whoa," he said. "Yes, I do. Well, good luck, Pearl. Please don't hesitate to ask me any questions," he said and reluctantly followed Mrs. Crandle.

"He's always making jokes," Sophie said. "Mrs. Crandle says some of his patients will laugh them-selves to death. Can people do that, laugh themselves to death?"

"I don't think so," I said. She looked unconvinced, but nodded and then showed me where everything was located. I loaded my cart and began my rounds. There were two elderly women in my first room, one of whom was on a heart monitor; a man with a broken leg in the second, and a woman in her thirties undergoing tests for a stomach problem in the third. Her name was Sheila, and she was obviously very nervous and concerned. "I have to fast for a day," she told me. "Tomorrow morning I'm having another test."

"What's wrong with your stomach?" I asked.

"I get terrible pains right here whenever I eat," she said, pointing.

"They're looking at your gallbladder?"

"Yes. How did you know? Did the same thing happen to you once?" she asked hopefully.

"No. I just know that's where it is and that's where you would feel pain if it was acting up. But that doesn't have to be the reason," I added quickly.

"I know," she said sadly. "It could be something else. It could be something far more serious."

"Don't get yourself upset. Wait for all the reports. Most of the time, our imaginations make more of it than it is," I told her. I had overheard our doctor say that to Mommy once when Pierre and Jean both came down with a bad case of whooping cough. Sheila smiled, and I fixed her bed and made her more comfortable.

When I turned to go on to my next room, I saw Dr. Weller standing in the doorway, a slow grin forming around his lips. He stepped back into the corridor as I emerged with the juice cart.