I picked out a panda T-shirt and a pair of jeans with pointlessly small pockets, then went to the toilet, standing there disoriented for a moment before realizing I had better do this sitting down. Then I brushed my teeth, which hadn’t changed, and brushed my hair, which had. In addition to being longer, it had far better texture than guy hair. I tossed it, felt it settle, and liked the feeling.

Hunter was in the hallway when I came out. Seeing him was a breath of fresh air, because he was the same as before, although there was an intensity to his expression that wasn’t there in earlier versions.

“Mom told me what happened,” he said. “A cracked rib sucks, but you’ll probably be able to cheerlead again in a week or two.”

“Doctor said three.”

“Alternating ice and heat, three times a day,” Hunter said. “You’ll be good to go in two weeks.”

I grinned. “Thank you, Dr. Bowman.”

“Don’t thank me till you see the bill.” Then he glanced down the stairs and said, “Hey, do you want me to run interference with Layton? I could tell him you’re still sleeping and get him to throw a ball around in the backyard with me. That’ll be good for half an hour at least.”

“Thanks, Hunter, but this is a ball I’ve got to run with.”

“Hah! Since when does a lineman run with the ball—” Then he stopped himself. I could swear I saw his pupils constrict a little. “Never mind . . .” he said, a bit uneasily. “I don’t know what . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I gently took his arm. “It was a good thought, Hunter,” I said. “And thank you for offering to help.”

He held my gaze for a moment, and his disquiet faded. He smiled. “No worries.” Then he went into the bathroom. I hoped he would forget that moment of confusion. He didn’t deserve to be laid low by the proximity effect.

When I came downstairs, Layton was sitting in the kitchen, talking about the history of weird sports injuries with my mom. He stood up when he saw me.

“There you are!”

“Hi, Layton.”

The sight of him brought forth a flood of emotions tethered to memories that were all too complicated to parse.

My mom left the room, giving us privacy, which I really didn’t want at the moment.

“I’ve been texting you since last night,” he said once she was gone.

“The doctor gave me something to help me sleep, so I just now saw them.” Which was mostly true. I actually didn’t read them. I just saw that he had sent nine texts.

He came close and put his hand around my waist, leaning in, clearly wanting to give me a kiss, but I pulled out of his grip before he could.