"What kind of diversion?" said Jay. "What should I do?"

"I thought of the creating-a-diversion part," Doug said. "Can’t you at least come up with your own diversion?"

Jay thought about it a moment with a Charlie Brown look on his face.

"I could…freak out," he said. "I could pretend I don’t like needles."

"There you go. Perfect. And can you still throw up at will like you could in sixth grade? That would be good."

They stepped up and into the bus. A woman in Muppet-print scrubs came to meet them.

"Will you be donating today?" she said, then frowned. "Are you both eighteen?"

"Oh, sure."

"Uh-huh."

"Can I see some ID?"

"WE DON’T HAVE ID," said Jay, loudly. "’CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN. WE DON’T USE ID…THERE. AND THAT’S WHY WE LOOK SO YOUNG. ’CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN."

Doug stiffened. Jay sounded crazy. Doug tried to look extra sane to even things out. The woman raised an eyebrow.

"And you’re not maybe just trying to donate to get the free bag of comics?"

"Oh, no, of course not," said Doug. "Free comics? No, you don’t even have to give us those. We just want to help out."

The woman’s face softened. "Well, all right, I guess. Who’s first?"

"He is," said Doug.

"You can have a seat by the donor beds while I ask your friend some questions and check his vitals," she said to Doug, then led Jay toward a private room the size of a closet.

"What part of Canada you from, honey?"

"THE LEFT PART," said Jay.

Doug sat down in a plastic chair. There were two thin beds in the bloodmobile, and one of them was occupied. The boy had a needle and blood-filled tube snaking out of his arm and into a plastic bag attached to the bed. He was attended by another woman in scrubs and gloves.