Chapter 3 Never My Turn

While my dad was busy coordinating the ambulances, Reese slipped behind the main school building and called 911 again.

This time, she made it clear how serious my condition was. I was having a severe allergic reaction. My oxygen level was dangerously low, and the paramedics had already classified me as a critical patient.

Ten minutes later, a third ambulance pulled onto campus.

This one had come specifically for me.

"Selena Mendoza, seventeen," one of the paramedics called out. "Severe allergic reaction. Immediate transport."

By then, I could barely stand. Reese and one of the paramedics helped me onto the stretcher and began securing the straps.

They had barely finished when my mom came rushing over. "Who called an ambulance just for her?"

"I did." Reese stepped between her and the stretcher. "If she doesn't leave now, she could die."

My mom went quiet for a moment. Then, she looked toward the school entrance, where dozens of parents were still gathered with their phones raised, recording and livestreaming everything.

It did not take long for people to start asking why the principal's daughter was getting an ambulance to herself.

My mom's expression hardened.

"No one said Selena shouldn't be treated," she shot back. "But every student needs to go through the same transportation process."

The paramedic pointed at the red band around my wrist. "This is the process. She's red-tagged. She needs to go now."

Before my mom could respond, a commotion broke out near the other ambulance.

Lola had collapsed.

She had already been cleared to stay on campus for observation, but apparently the sight of a needle had made her panic. Her knees gave out, and she fell to the ground.

My parents rushed toward her immediately.

Simon got there first. He stepped around my stretcher and caught Lola before she could fall completely.

"Lola? Can you hear me?"

Her eyes opened almost immediately, and she looked more embarrassed than hurt.

"I'm okay," she said softly.

Then, she looked over at me. "Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza, please let Selena go first. She's way worse than I am."

My mom held Lola by the shoulders.

"You just fainted, and you're still telling us you're fine?" Her voice softened. "You've had to take care of yourself for so long. You're always trying not to be a burden. You don't have to do that here."

Then, my dad pointed at my stretcher. "Put Lola on that one."

The paramedic stared at him. "No. She fainted for a few seconds, but her vital signs are stable. Selena is the red-tag patient. This ambulance was called for her."

My dad's expression darkened. "I'm responsible for every student on this campus. If something happens to one of them, I'm the one who has to answer for it."

Then he raised his voice so the people nearby could hear him. "As long as another student is still sick, my daughter does not leave first."

Simon went quiet.

I looked at him, waiting for him to say something. He was a doctor. He knew Lola was stable, and he knew what was happening to me.

For a moment, I really thought he was going to stop them.

Instead, he took the transport form from the paramedic and signed his name in the physician notes section.

"Lola has a history of fainting," he said. "She should be taken to the hospital for further evaluation."

I stared at him, but he would not look at me.

Instead, Simon bent down and straightened my shirt collar. "Selena, hang on a little longer. I'll take her in and come right back for you."

Then, they put Lola on the stretcher that had been brought for me.

She kept shaking her head as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance. Through the window, I could see tears running down her face.

By then, my dad had already turned back toward the cameras.

"My daughter has voluntarily given up her priority transport," he announced. "She has chosen to stay here until the last student has safely left campus."

Applause broke out near the school gates.

My mom stroked my hair with a proud smile. "Do you hear that? Everyone's proud of you."

I wanted to tell her that I had not volunteered. I had not given up my place. They had taken it from me. However, my throat was so swollen that all I could produce was a faint, broken rasp.

My mom took my silence as agreement. She lifted my hand toward the cameras, as though I was supposed to wave.

The red band around my wrist stood out against my skin. Everyone could see it, but no one questioned why the girl wearing it was still sitting there.

I watched the ambulance disappear down the road.

As soon as it was gone, Reese clipped the pulse oximeter back onto my finger. The moment the reading appeared, she froze.

My oxygen level had dropped to 74.

She looked straight at Simon.

This time, the color drained from his face.

He reached for the emergency kit, but before he could open it, our father called to him from across the courtyard. "Simon! The press is here. We need to explain what happened."