The nurse comes in and gives me the rundown of my care, tells me I’ll be staying there for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours so I can be monitored for a concussion and stay off my ankle until my parents pick me up to bring me to a specialist. Honestly, hiding away for a day or two sounds so good, I think they might expect a protest from me, but they don’t get one.

Then they tell me the dormmate who found me will be coming back later with my clothes, toothbrush, and whatever else I need.

Which means I have just a few hours to figure out how to talk to Salem again.

Sabrina leaves for her next class, telling me Heather plans to visit later, and I plaster a smile on my face as if that doesn’t make me want to put all my weight on my ankle right now just to black out again. I don’t have my phone or laptop or even a deck of cards, but I’m still plenty exhausted from last night, and woozy from what I assume are pain meds, so I let my eyelids flutter shut and hope I’ll just sleep through Heather’s visit.

When I wake up, Salem’s sitting in Sabrina’s seat.

“Hey,” he says, so softly I don’t even have a second to convince myself my feelings aren’t real. “You feeling any better?”

“Depends.” At the sound of my dry, raspy voice, Salem pours me a cup of water from the little plastic pitcher on the nightstand, and I take a sip before continuing. “Has ‘the Klutzy Slut’ caught on as a nickname for me yet?”

“It’s still being workshopped.”

“Oh, good.” I struggle to sit up, and Salem reaches out to help me, then thinks better of it and lets me do it alone. “I guess you guys got the ladder back up in time.”

“Yeah.” I expect a snarky follow-up, but none comes. He just looks … drained. “Fuck, Evie,” he mutters. “You fell out my window. I don’t know what I did, but—”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, and this time, I’m the one to grab his arm, even though I know I’ll regret it. “You were really, really nice to listen to me last night. This is all me. Crazy Evie,” I add through gritted teeth.

“You’re not crazy.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I am. It wouldn’t be a brand-new nickname, even.”

He clicks his stubble-shaded jaw. “Ableism is shitty. And I’m guessing so’s your sister. Or your ex. Or both.”

“Both is good dot gif.”

“Is it weird that I hate everyone in your life?”