Complicated

"You know, personally speaking, I don't think you're really unwell at all."

"I'm sorry, are you the one who is sick or am I?"

"There is nothing wrong with you."

"Can you say that again?"

"I said, you aren't sick!"

"Whatever. The receptionist is calling me in, anyway."

"You're a hypochondriac."

"What?! Listen you-"

"Look, just go inside. I'm sure the doctor will say the same thing."

"Fine!"

*

"So. What did the doctor say?"

"That it's complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Yeah. They need to run more tests and figure it out."

"Really?"

"You sound skeptical."

"You told him that you only get 'sick' in history class."

"Yes."

"And about how your heart races and your hands shake."

"Yes."

"And about how you can't sleep at night and you can't concentrate."

"Yes, yes, all of that, I told him everything I told you."

"Did you also happen to mention the boy who sits in front of you in that class?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"…"

"Seriously. What?"

"Tell me something. Have you noticed his eyes?"

"Sure. They're blue. Well, no, actually they're more of a sapphire blue. They light up when he talks, so I can't always see. He makes these wild gestures with his hands when he's happy, and they sparkle, so they look more sea blue, then. Sometimes when he's upset, he's really quiet, so I can see what colour-"

"And you can tell all that from the back of his head."

"Don't be silly, I have to cross him to go to- Why are you looking at me like that? What's so funny?"

"That you still don't know what's wrong with you."