“N-no,” I sputtered. “That can’t be—”

“I’ve seen it,” Nora said. “My husband . . .”

He died, I remembered now. Her first husband died.

“I’ll flag them from the lobby.” Bill rushed off in a rapid glide.

“Dad, hang on,” I whispered, cupping his scruffy face in my hands. He was cold, clammy—conscious.

“Ruby?” He blinked, winced. “Ah. God.”

I glanced up after who knew how many matching breaths, seeing an avalanche of EMTs rushing at us, then I backed out of the room to give them access. I looked for Nora, to thank her for her quick thinking, but I couldn’t find her anywhere—only my cell phone propped up against the fleur-de-lis wallpaper, waiting for me to discover it.

She’d run off.

My gratitude burned to ashes as I bent to pick my phone up off the floor. She was my godmother. She was cotton candy and meadow bunnies. She’d dialed 911. She’d cheated on her husband. Stolen from the school. Manipulated Oscar. Manipulated me. Disappeared while my dad lay curled up on the floor, fighting for his life. She was probably locked downstairs in her office suite, calling her lawyer even now.

They stretchered Dad down the service elevator and out to the ambulance. A small crowd had already gathered outside, including a clutch of students. Some of them were crying. I felt like screaming at them, telling them they had no right—but they had every right, didn’t they? They spent as much time with him as I did.

The EMTs started to slam the ambulance doors, when I let out a wordless cry.

“Only family,” the female EMT said curtly.

“I’m his daughter.”

“Come on then, quick.”

I sat in front with the driver, peering through the grill to stare at Dad’s hair instead of all the gear covering him, the needle they were injecting into his arm, the defibrillator they were charging and pressing to his chest.

“Clear,” the EMT said, and a scream lodged itself in my throat, watching his chest judder upward.

We were at the hospital before I had a chance to orient myself, and before I could even find the name of the hospital they’d taken us to, Dad was rolling away through doors I wasn’t allowed to enter, a nurse pulling me to a harshly lit waiting room, crouching in front of me and telling me they’d give me updates and was there someone she could call for me?

“Your mom, honey?”

I let out a frantic laugh, then clapped my hand over my mouth. She pressed her lips together.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just really scared?”

She rubbed my arms. “It’s okay. He’s awake now, he’s with the best doctors here and we’re going to do everything we can for him. Now . . . how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”