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  When the elevator dings, Cydni reaches out and holds the door of the empty car open. “So, did you see, see what you did? How ‘all right’ Sarah is, because of you? You made my friend look like a freaking Frankenstein, some Tim Burton character, you idiot. She’s got a plate screwed into her head. Screwed!” She jabs me with her finger.

  “But, her mother said, she said she’s still beautiful.”

  “She’s in shock! It’s total denial, obviously.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re so stupid.”

  Squeezing by into the elevator, I absorb the hate streaming out of her. She flings her hair off her face. “It makes me sick to look at you.”

  “I’m going,” I say. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

  “Good, go! Get out” — ​she crosses her arms — ​“because I can take care of Sarah. She for sure doesn’t need you. She never did. She needs me. Get out of here!”

  The doors close, and my knees buckle while the elevator descends. My whole body’s shaking. The car stops, and I manage to pull myself upright. A tall guy in a cowboy hat with a bunch of flowers and a giant grin and an old woman shuffling with her oxygen tank join me.

  Grasping for peace, I recall Sarah’s voice, not Cydni’s, from class when she recited one of the poems she absolutely loved. The Shoha Japanese haiku:

  Rainfall in April

  tears from our weeping willow

  petals from our plum

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking up at me with wide eyes, seemingly oblivious to the room of kids around her. “I love haikus.”

  The elevator slows, and the doors open again to a man in a wheelchair who rolls in beside me. He’s hooked up to an IV, with bolts coming out of his knee and bandages wrapped around his neck. There’s a smell seeping from him that fills the car.

  The last bit of energy I had slides down my legs faster than the elevator drops. Holding my breath, I barely can stay upright in the corner until we reach the lobby. I stumble out, right behind the poor wheelchair guy. He turns the corner and heads the opposite direction while I make it across the main lobby and fall into a maroon chair. The high ceiling towers above me in looming judgment. I drop my head in my hands, taking deep, slow breaths, waiting for my stomach to settle.

  “She’s in children’s ICU, Dad. Come on, I have to see what she looks like.” It’s Luke.

  “Let’s go then,” Mark answers, jostling a couple overnight bags. The two of them disappear across the shiny white floor before I can muster the strength to catch them. Anyway, Cydni’s probably right. I have no right to be here.

  I sit back, reliving her insults and hatred, and wipe the tears off until they abate. No one is going to care if I’m sorry or not, and apparently there’s nothing I can do for Sarah. I rub the back of my neck, and the gift kiosk catches my eye.

  Walking over, I stop before the bears and candy overflowing the stand. I point to the dozen red roses in the mini refrigerator, sitting all alone. “Can these be delivered to Sarah McCormick in children’s ICU?”

  “No, but we can keep the order until she’s moved into a room. Would you like that?” the cashier asks, her arched brows raised.

  “Yes, that would be great.”

  “All right then, and here’s a card to sign.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll skip the card.”

  She puts it back and processes the sale, humming under her breath.

  I punch my pin into the machine. My fingers tap on the counter as I shift from one foot to the other. “Thanks.” I take the receipt and simply walk away. The best I can do is leave them all alone.

  CHAPTER 18

  Sarah

  8:23 pm

  “Haddings,” I murmur.

  “What did she say?”

  I try to open my eyes. “Mom?” I croak. Focus. Try to focus.

  There. There she … is. Her face is so close, she has four eyes. She draws back with a huge smile. “Mom, they said — ​I was going — ​to have — ​a funny haircut.”

  She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yes, it’s pretty silly, sweetheart, but you are still beautiful. Everything is fine now. You rest.”

  My eyes slip closed.

  “Are you okay, Luke?” Dad asks.

  “Someone call the nurse,” Mom cries. “Dottie! Nurse Dottie. She just spoke! She woke for a moment, and my baby spoke!”

  Shhh! Please, oh, please. My head. Be quiet. I have to sleep and get away from this pain, pain, pain. I never ever want to wake again.

  But they don’t shut up. They — ​keep — ​talking.

  “Now see there? Didn’t I tell you?” says an unfamiliar voice.

  “Doesn’t she look good, Luke?” Mom whispers.

  “Are you kidding, Mom?” he says. “This is like a horror film.”

  “Luke!”

  “Mom, look at all these tubes and the blood. Her hair!”

  Maybe a chair is knocked over? I drift away, far away.

  9:16 pm

  I return at some point.

  “Now, don’t you worry,” the unknown voice says again. “And don’t spend an ounce of worry on her hair, Janet.”

  “Are you sure, Dottie?” asks Dad.

  “Yes. It will grow back beautifully. Let me check her vitals again. Her oxygen.”

  Who are they talking about? Is it me? My hair?

  There’s a pinch on my finger. A prod. A poke. I try to open my eyes again, but I can’t.

  “Can’t they cover up the grossness?” asks Luke.

  “Everything will heal better exposed to the air,” Dottie answers.

  “Well, what’s that lump thing stuffed under her scalp?”

  “Drainage.”

  “Man, I can’t believe that guy did this to her, Dad. I mean, compare this to her senior photos. Seriously? I want to cream him with my truck, you know?”

  “Let’s focus on the positive,” Dottie says.

  “That’s right,” Mom answers. “The surgeon said we’ll be the signal for how Sarah should react.”

  It is about me. This is something about me. There’s a cool kiss against my left cheek.

  “That gives me the creeps you can do that, Mom.”

  “Luke!”

  I float away.

  10:04 pm

  I come back to Luke whispering. “I can’t believe I couldn’t wait to see her! I just wanted to be sure she didn’t look like a freak, but she does! Look how huge her head is. Don’t you think her skin’s actually green? And those black stitches and red ones clumped with brown blood chunks. Oh, man. She looks like death. A zombie, right?”

  “Shhhhhh,” is the only reply. Who? Who was he talking to? Who was he talking about now? It sounded horrible.

  “We all agree? We will not tell her who the driver was,” says Mom.

  “That’s right. It will only upset her more,” someone else says.

  “But maybe she needs to know.”

  Was that Cydni?

  “No!” several people say. I glide off before I can even try to ask what they are talking about.

  10:32 pm

  “This is her senior year, for crying out loud! What? She’s supposed to go to school like this? Like some monster? Who would ever ask to take her to prom?” spews Luke.

  “She’s still beautiful!” Mom argues.

  “Whatever, Mom. Just keep denying this really happened.”

  “Enough, Luke,” says Dad. “Did you see that poor moaning child a few doors down? He was covered in bandages from the waist up. Let’s all take the time to be thankful Sarah is okay.”

  I’m okay! Isn’t that what he said? So, why can’t I wake up? What is wrong with me?

  He goes on. “There’s so much pain in this ward. So much to pray for.”

  Are you praying for me, Daddy?

  “Sares, I’m here, too.”

  “Cydni?” My eyes flutter. It is Cydni. She’s sitting next to me on this bed, wherever that is.

  “Did you hear that?” asks my mom.
>
  “She recognized me! Me, her best friend who is going to help her get better. I promise, Sares!”

  I try my hardest to hold on, but I lose my grip and fall asleep.

  CHAPTER 19

  Haddings

  10:35 pm

  Alone in my tiny flat, I’m grateful I don’t have a roommate I’d have to shrug off right now. It took long enough to answer my friends’ texts and convince them not to come over. No, I don’t want any company tonight.

  Having parked under a streetlight, I was able to see to scrub my car seat clean. I ran my hand over the small dents in the grill and across the hood. I didn’t look at the car damage at the hospital because I was focused on finding Sarah, I guess. But the dings are irrefutable proof of what I did.

  Finally, I plodded back up to my flat. I showered and changed, balled my dirty clothes into the hamper, and folded my leather jacket to hide the blood stains. Maybe the cleaners can get everything out.

  Now, I set my empty Mac & Jack’s bottle on the cement floor. My round paper light glows above me like an eyeball while I sit beneath it, huddled in the center of my bed.

  I underline the lawyer’s number my prof gave me and flip my notebook closed. What a relief he’s excused me from classes and papers for a couple days.

  Bunching a pillow in my lap, I dial up my folks, despite the time difference in Boulder. My ear rings through my mother’s rant. “I understand having an accident, Jake. Anyone can have an accident, and we can hope the girl is going to be okay, but why, why didn’t you carry a better policy on your car?”

  “I thought that was enough, Mom.”

  “Do you realize we are going to have to take a second mortgage for the hospital bills alone? Do you know the strain that will put your father under?”

  “No, no,” I argue. “It’s my responsibility. I’m going to figure it out.”

  “Just like your school loans are your responsibility, and we’ve ended up helping how many times?”

  “Once, Mom. Okay, maybe twice, I couldn’t make the payment. But the bill is suspended now since I’m back in school.”

  “I know that, Jake,” she snips. “That’s not the point.”

  Silence.

  “Let’s think a minute.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Is it possible … I mean, I can tell you, over the years I’ve had cases like this at the shelter — ​just last week a young man threw himself in front of a bus out of desperation. You say this girl came out of nowhere. Is there any chance she intentionally stepped in front of your car?”

  “What? What are you saying, Mom?”

  “Just that there’d be no culpability on your part, Jake, if this was a cry for help, an attempted teen suicide.”

  “No, Mom. No, she wouldn’t do that. She’s very stable.” She’d never try to kill herself.

  I pick at the Tom Petty sticker on the back of my journal. Yeah, I read my poem to the class, but my rejection wouldn’t have incited Sarah to step out in front of a car. Even if she believed what Cydni said earlier — ​that I led her on — ​it’s too ridiculous.

  “I’m only suggesting that be explored,” Mom repeats. “It would explain things. Teen suicide rates are higher — ”

  “Can I talk to Dad, Mom?”

  My father is quiet when he takes the phone. The truckload of disappointed silence is worse than Mom’s reaction.

  “Please don’t pull overtime yet, Dad. I want to try to work this out.”

  “That’s good to hear, but this will be enormous, Jake. We’ll wait and see.” Mom interrupts in the background. “No, I don’t think we should fly out, Margery. We need to save that money.” He comes back to me. “Have you been to the hospital, Jake?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “And did you see the parents?”

  “I saw them, but they didn’t — ​no. I really didn’t think they’d want to see me.”

  There’s a long pause. “Well, think about it. Think about what the right thing to do is. In the meantime, stay focused, and stay in class.” Dad clears his throat. “Neither your mom nor I would want you to give up on your degree.”

  I swallow. “Have to go, Dad.”

  I shove my cell aside and crawl under the covers with my shame.

  “Yzma,” I call my Siamese cat, but she doesn’t come. In fact, she walks right out of the room, her tail flicking side to side.

  I open my journal to the poem I wrote and read in front of the class.

  Never

  Never

  can it be.

  Never was it

  meant to be.

  Never will it

  ever be.

  You

  and

  me,

  even when

  you say,

  Just wait;

  we’ll see.

  Never,

  ever,

  my friend.

  I followed it up with Shiki’s work:

  Tranquility:

  Walking alone,

  Happy alone.

  CHAPTER 20

  Sarah

  10:42 pm

  I surface again, but I can’t move, even an eyelid. I know more though. I remember. I was walking to school …

  That car didn’t stop. The headlights veer close. I slam onto the hood and fly through the rain.

  A whimper cuts past my dry throat and out my puffy lips.

  “Oh, hand me a tissue!” Someone dabs my cheeks. “You’re okay, sweetheart,” says Mom.

  I roll my head away from her hand. Pain shoots out my forehead, but I try to focus through it, hold on even if I can’t open my eyes. I had surgery, brain surgery! Wait, wait. I was in an ambulance, and then I flew in a helicopter. They said I was going to have a funny haircut, and I was worried I was going to die. I didn’t. I didn’t die. I’m still here! The thought patters like soft, warm rain all over my skin.

  I flinch when the pain circles back around and snaps me. It slowly disappears in the thickness around my body. I pant, coming out of the agony.

  There’s something stuck in my nose. I raise my hand to wipe it away but get tangled in tubing.

  “Lie still, sweetie,” Mom whispers into my ear.

  Sniveling, I try to wipe my nose with my shoulder.

  “It’s just oxygen, Sarah. It’s helping you,” says Dad.

  I start falling asleep in the middle of their excited chatter. “She moved her hand, her whole arm!”

  “I saw her foot move.”

  “And her head. She turned it! Did you see that?”

  Shhhhhhhh, please.

  10:51 pm

  Coming back, I enter the stream of an argument.

  “Now, Luke?” Mom asks.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s late, and I have school tomorrow. So, there’s her stuff in the corner. I dug through her trashed room, Mom. At least give me credit for getting everything from the list for her.”

  He went through my things?

  “You did a good job, Luke,” says Dad.

  “Oh, and here’s her blanket thingy.”

  My baby blanket?

  “Oh, she can’t have that right now,” someone says.

  “You think, Chantelle?”

  “I’m sure it’s not clean enough.”

  But I want it. Can’t someone ask me?

  “I’ll take it,” says Dad softly.

  “Yeah. So I, you know, need to get out of here,” Luke says. “What, Mom? Look. I can’t take this. She looks like a freak.”

  What? What does he mean?

  “Luke!”

  “I’m keeping it real, okay? Sarah’s so out of it, she’s not hearing us.”

  Yes, I am!

  “Don’t you say such things, Luke! Sarah can hear you.” Someone rests their hand on mine. I flinch from the pain.

  “So, do you need a ride, Cydni? I can take you home if your mom wants to stay longer.”

  “Um. Well, I guess, I want to — ​stay.”

  Dad coughs. “All right, son. You go do what you need to.
”

  “Oh, great,” Mom cuts in. “Go ahead and enable him, Mark!”

  “Not now, Janet. Drive carefully, Luke.” Keys rattle.

  “Yeah, yeah, I will.” There’s a shuffled walking. “But when Sares really wakes up, um, tell her I was here, if she doesn’t remember, and tell her that, you know, I love her and stuff.”

  Really? Did he just say that out loud?

  “You can tell her, Luke,” says Mom, “when you come back tomorrow.”

  11:11 pm

  I think I must have fallen asleep again, because now’s there laughter.

  “Why, Mark, did you bring me six bras?” There’s a burst of snickering. “You think I needed this black lacy one particularly? What were you thinking this time?”

  “Well, I thought you needed one per day. No one has said how long they’ll keep Sarah. Don’t you need a bra a day?”

  “And what did you bring for yourself?” A zipper is opened. “Yes, Mark. You are going to need what, oh, seven books to read?”

  “It’s okay, Mr. McCormick,” Cydni says. “That looks like a good book. We’re studying the Oregon Trail in AP American History. I bet when Sarah’s feeling better, you could read some to her.”

  I do like the Oregon Trail.

  “I think so, too,” he says. “But are six bras over the top, really?”

  “Yeah.”

  I finally open my eyes, and everything clears. Mom is holding a pile of bras. Dad’s holding a book. Everyone is giggling.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask in a hoarse, thick voice.

  “She’s awake!” They swarm the bed, but no one ever thinks to say what they were laughing at.

  CHAPTER 21

  Haddings

  11:54 pm

  Not able to sleep, I’m hoping another shower settles me down. I stand in the stall as the water thrums my back. “I am not going back to the hospital.” My dad doesn’t understand. Even Cydni knows that’s the last thing I should do.

  With a fist on either side of the showerhead, I tilt my head and open my mouth. “No!” gurgles up through the water. I spit and lean my forehead against the wall.

  I’m going to go back to bed, where I’ll finally be able to sleep and escape.

  The spigot drips when I turn it off. Go, go, go, it taps.