Chapter 2: Paper bags and exams

(Jaime)

The alarm went off at 4am. I roll out of my bed, got dressed in a sports bra, running tights and sneakers, and headed on over to the treadmill in the bedroom I had set up as my home gym.

This was a roomy three-bedroom apartment in a trendy part of New York that ensured I was never too far away from either the med school campus, the academic hospital or HQ for my modeling job. I bought it with my first big paycheck because of the great location, and immediately converted the biggest bedroom into a home gym, and another into a study. It was perfect.

I pushed a few buttons on my phone and the Bluetooth speakers started blasting out the pharmacology lecture I had recorded yesterday. It was an hour-long lecture, and I’ll be running for an hour.

This became a habit when I missed classes because I had to be on site for a shoot somewhere in the world, and one of the guys would record it for me on their phones and send me the file. That way, I could stay up to date and still get the required exercise.

I headed to the shower just after five, and by five thirty I was sitting at my desk in my study, a pile of textbooks and notepads littering the floor around me.

Two hours later, I got up and headed to the kitchen. I put an egg in water on the stove to boil and removed a container of mixed berries from the fridge. Then I refilled the one-liter water bottle I’d drunk this morning already and placed it back in the fridge.

By 8am I headed for the door, knowing Mrs. Ames will be waiting near her door listening for the lock to turn. I wasn’t wrong.

“Good morning love! Off to work, are you?” the lovely old lady who lives across the corridor from me asks. She must be deep into her eighties, with her body huddled over with age and her skin all wrinkly. But her eyes were always twinkling, indicating there was nothing wrong with her mind.

“Morning Mrs. Ames. Yes, I am. It’s just a short appointment today as I have to study,” I replied.

“Of course. I hope they’ll give you some time off for the exams?”

“Yes, Mrs. Ames. I will have some time off. Are those for me?”

Mrs. Ames had two brown paper bags in her hands. I already know it’s for me, but this was our ritual, so I indulge her. Every morning, she meets me outside our apartment doors to greet me and hand me a prepacked lunch and dinner package for the day. If I knew I would be out too early to catch her, or would be gone for a few days, I arranged with her to halt the packages accordingly.

It was an arrangement I made with the old lady shortly after I moved in here. Mrs. Ames had somehow picked up on the fact that I had little to no time to prepare meals for myself, and as my diet is very restrictive because of my modeling career, I needed help. Mrs. Ames needed help too, as she couldn’t afford the rent any longer and was about to be evicted from her apartment.

Since then, Mrs. Ames provides me with freshly prepared meals for lunch and dinner, made according to my strict dietary needs, and I pay the lovely old lady for the food by taking care of her rent.

She holds out the two bags to me and I take it with a smile.

“There’s an avocado, chicken, and asparagus salad for lunch, and for dinner there’s a light chickpea curry with quinoa and broccoli. And then some cashews and a peach for snacks too!” the old lady beams at me.

“That sounds wonderful, thanks Mrs. Ames. I’ll just pop these in the fridge and then I’ll need to get going.”

“Of course, dear. Have a great day now!”

I go back into my apartment to place the dinner package in the fridge and pop the lunch one in my backpack along with a bottle of water. Then I lock up and make my way downstairs, past the guard and receptionist in the foyer who both give me a polite nod. Then out onto the street.

It’s already busy outside, even though it’s just past eight on a Saturday morning. But that’s New York for you.

Without delay, I make my way to the HPC Gym, a 40-minute power-walk from my apartment. That’s where I meet up with Gary Mitchell, long-time trainer of the Angel-models, to not only check on my physical progress and upkeep before the main event in a month’s time, but to also train with the other girls in an intense, personalized workout session.

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These training sessions were always exhausting, and when it finished just before twelve, the four other girls and I were dripping with sweat.

We hit the showers in the high-end gym facilities, then gather around the gym kitchen to have lunch. I fish out my pre-prepared Mrs. Ames lunch. Samantha also brought lunch, but the three other girls each order a salad from the gym kitchen.

“How’s the studies going, Jaime?” asks Lucy.

I shrug. I’m friendly with these girls, much like I am with my med school buddies, but we’re not close. From experience, I know that the girls have a somewhat unhealthy competition between them, and with me, for modeling contracts and high-paying shoots.

“Not too bad. I’m nearly there. Just exams next week then I’m done,” I reply as I spear a chunk of asparagus from my salad.

“You’ll be free to go after all those big contracts you’ve been saying no to all these years after that,” Kylie comments from the side. Her tone is almost sulky as she says that, and I’m fully aware that many of the contracts she had landed over the years were offered to me first.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

I’m not willing to disclose to them that I plan to retire from my modeling career after the Angel event. This industry is too small, the gossip magazines too interested, and these girls too loose lipped to trust them with that juicy bit of information.

I wave goodbye to the girls at 1pm and flag a taxi down to take me home, too exhausted for another power walk. There was still a long day of studying ahead.

By Monday morning, I feel the bile rise in my throat from anxiety, but then I give myself a pep talk. I have to trust in my preparations, in my subject knowledge, and in the fact that I’ve been preparing for this for seven years of my life. I can do this.

This week will be mostly theoretical exams, both the written and oral versions. Next week will be clinical exams where I’ll need to demonstrate my practical skills.

By the time I have an extra-long morning run and have gathered my brown paper bag meals from Mrs. Ames, my mind is calm and I feel ready for the challenge.

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It’s just over a month later. I step down onto the tarmac from the small airplane that delivered me to Claw Ridge airfield. I had shared the 20-seater plane with a handful of tourists, three locals who were returning to the town, an estate lawyer coming to look for a person who is named in their grandparents’ will, the airline staff and two other candidates hoping to secure the same internship that I’m here to interview for.

I just stand on the tarmac for a minute to breathe in the fresh air around me.

Claw Ridge is a town of around 5,000 residents. It’s economy mainly spins around the tourism industry. This high in the mountains, and surrounded by dense forest, there are ski lodges, campgrounds, hiking routes, guest houses and AirBnB’s aplenty.

The town has a combined school that caters for all grades and a small hospital that apparently treats more tourists than locals. It’s at this hospital that I hope my new life will begin.

As the line of passengers disappear into the small building to the side of the airstrip, I follow them in to collect my small overnight bag.

The interviews are scheduled for after lunch. All three of us vying for the internship will be picked up here, taken to overnight accommodation to freshen up and grab lunch, then picked up again and taken to the hospital for the interviews.

Afterwards, we’ll be taken out to dinner by the Medical Director, delivered back to our overnight accommodation, and fly out again tomorrow morning. We’ll know our fate three days from now.

The other two candidates are both young men, straight out of med school just like me. They’ve been friendly on the flight and, of course, one of them had recognized me immediately.

“Heck, you’re Jaime Grey, aren’t you?” he said the moment he took a seat next to me on the plane. “I’m David McCormack. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I had shaken the young, bearded guy’s outstretched hand with a smile.

“Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you too.”

The other young man also stretched out his hand for a handshake.

“I’m Mike Delaney,” he had introduced himself.

David was the one who kept making conversation. He seemed like a very outgoing guy.

“So, why are you going to Claw Ridge?” he asked.

“I’m going for a job interview. Hoping to be the new intern at the local hospital,” Mike answered, even though the question was more directed towards me.

“Same here,” I said, and both the men looked at me as if I’d grown a second head.

“Wait what?! So am I!” exclaimed David. “But are you a doctor?” he asked me half incredulously.

“Yes. Just like you.” I answered calmly, used to the disbelief that usually came my way when people learned I was studying medicine.

“Shit! Sorry!” David immediately apologized for his language.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to that response,” I said to make both the guys feel a bit more comfortable. “So why Claw Ridge?”

Mike answered first. “To be honest, it’s the only place I thought I would get a chance at a residency. All the great spots were picked up so quickly and I probably left my application until too late.”

David smiled excitedly. “Well, I actually aimed for this one first. I’m addicted to the ski slopes, and what better place to live and work than in a place like Claw Ridge. How about you?”

“I really like the idea of not working in a city, in a place where there’s a community who looks out for each other. S some connection. That’s why I applied,” I answered.

And the rest of the flight went by without us sharing too much with each other but maintaining a friendly vibe.

I was aware that some of the other passengers on the plane had been staring at me on and off. Yet again, this was something I was used to, so I didn’t read too much into it. I had a fairly famous face, after all.