Sweet lavender wafts up to me on the steam, and I can’t wait to soak my aching bones.

“Use these towels, and I’m going to run and get you a change of clothes. I’ll be right back.” She sets the fluffy green towels on a wood counter next to the sink.

“Thank you,” I say as she hurries out of the room.

While she’s gone, I force myself to examine my battered reflection in the gold-framed mirror hanging over the sink. A cut on my forehead erupts from a black bruise that radiates over my right eye and fades to a sickly green on my swollen cheek. I’m still wearing my beaded Balenciaga birthday dress, the sheath accentuating my lean frame and the beads somehow intact. I hate everything about it.

“I probably don’t need to wear asymmetrical makeup with this monster face I’ve got going on,” I say when Allard returns.

She smiles. “Probably not. I don’t think you’ll have any scars, though. You’ll need a makeup lesson in no time.”

“No scars that anyone can see, anyway,” I mutter, struggling with the zipper on the side of the dress, unable to peel it off fast enough.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Allard says. “But when you’re done you can put this on. It’s your uniform.” She sets down a neatly folded stack of forest green cloth.

Unfolding the jumpsuit, I examine its boxy cut and cargo pockets. It’s the opposite of anything I would have worn in my previous life, and I’m grateful for its protective covering after so many months of forced overexposure.

“Actually, could you stay?” I ask. “I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now.”

“Of course,” she says. “Let me get something to sit on. I’ll be right back.”

After using the time alone to kick off my dress, I sink into the tub. The bubbles foam up over my shoulders, and the hot water is heaven to my stiff muscles. I relax until I’m reminded of the lake and the ever-present sadness that lingers in the recesses of my brain surfaces.

I miss my mom. We weren’t speaking when I died, but I wish I could go back to a time when I thought she loved me—to when the future was full of possibility—to laying safely next to her in my own bed with her arms wrapped around me. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions,” Allard says, returning. She carries a small orange stool with two cups of tea balanced on it. “I was thinking after your bath we can have breakfast, and then I’ll give you a tour of the campus.”

“Cool,” I say, swallowing a sob, grateful for her distraction.

“And we’re also going to have to do something about your looks.” She sits, handing me my tea.

“I thought you said I wasn’t going to have any scars?” Sitting up in the tub, I take a small sip from the mug. The hot liquid soothes my parched throat.