She raises an eyebrow to give me a stern look, though her features are soft. “You’re not in trouble,” she tells me. “But you should be taking your classes seriously. The school has been very accommodating despite everything that’s happened in the past.”

I toy with the phone in my hands. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Were you feeling overwhelmed?” she asks gently. “You could’ve called me.”

“I guess I just needed a break.”

She sighs, rising to her feet. “Next time, tell me, and we can figure something out. I don’t want you falling back into your old patterns. This used to be a regular thing for you, and I’d hate to see it happen again.” I mumble my assent and she nods briefly, placing a hand on my back. “All right, let’s go.”

Dr. Meyer’s office is unchanged, everything in the exact same spot it was the last time I was here—the potted Monstera in the corner, the framed photo of his family on his desk, the clock that ticks persistently in the silence. Being back at the hospital in general gives me a feeling of dread. It’s impossible not to think about how horrifying it was to wake up here for the very first time, even if it’s starting to feel like a lifetime ago.

I sit in an armchair across from the man himself, gripping the arms with white-knuckled hands, my knee bouncing impatiently. I haven’t been able to sit still since we arrived, and it very clearly annoyed the nurse who checked my vitals and tested my memory. Dr. Meyer assesses my anxious movements, noting something on his clipboard before setting it aside.

“Tell me,” he begins, folding his hands neatly. “How have you been adjusting to life at home?”

“Okay, I think,” I say, glancing out the window into the courtyard. The world outside always seems to feel more dim when I’m in this room. “Still figuring out how to navigate this.”

“Of course. That will take quite some time.” He checks the clipboard. “How are you finding your classes?”

“In most of them, I can catch on pretty quickly. The information feels new and familiar at the same time.”

“That’s wonderful,” he says. “It’s like I told you before, a lot of things are stored in your brain. You just need to learn how to access them.”

“But that’s not the stuff I want to access.” Knowing how to divide fractions and decode figurative language is hardly useful.

“Have you experienced any other changes regarding your memory?”

I take a moment to consider, wondering where to start. There’s the image of a party I saw on my first day back at school, the dark hand that had me freaking out on the Ferris wheel, the strange dream involving Mason, and the hallucinations in Zoe’s car.