Fainting on Purpose? No, I'm Just Dying
To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, my father, Myron Bradshaw, forces me to participate in the group blood donation. The only problem is I'm severely anemic.
When the nurse, Lorna Ritter, draws 100 milliliters, my vision suddenly goes dark.
I've just put my hand on the needle tube, about to call for a stop, when Ms. Ritter holds my wrist down.
"You're calling it quits after only 100 milliliters? All the other students are donating 400 milliliters."
She glances at my bloodless face, her eyes full of disgust.
"Donating blood is such an honorable thing to do. Selfish fakers like you who pretend to be sick really deserve to be penalized with a double draw."
Beside me, Dad looks at me col