No. No, I was not ready to see yet more people. And privately, I was a little worried about seeing sick kids. Unlike Jasper’s family, I didn’t have a lot of experience with small children in the hospital. I didn’t like the idea of kids being so close to something awful. I’d seen enough medical stuff myself the past few years to not want that for anyone, let alone a kid who should be out playing. My back tensed. I hoped I didn’t freak out. But everyone else was nodding and murmuring, so all I could do was mutter, “Sure.”

Jasper pursed his mouth and positioned himself next to me, almost like he expected me to make a run for freedom. But I wouldn’t. I said I’d do this, so I would, no matter how chilly my bare legs were and no matter how embarrassing this became. I’d stick it out so that I could earn Jasper’s help and maybe also so he’d stop expecting the worst where I was concerned. I didn’t fool myself into thinking we could be friends again, but I wouldn’t mind elevating myself in his opinion some. And if it took being Neptune to do that, then so be it.

Chapter Seven

Jasper

This was my favorite part of the week, especially when I got to do it with April by my side. I liked walking the hospital corridors in costume, getting smiles from passersby. I knew firsthand how scary it could be visiting loved ones in the hospital, and if we made a sibling or grandparent grin for a minute, that meant a lot to me. And the doctors and nurses worked so hard that I liked bringing some lightness to their days too. Like the doctors earlier in the restroom. We’d made them laugh, and maybe Milo couldn’t see the value in that, but I did.

Not that I expected Milo to see any of this my way. April was right. He looked like he was chewing glass as we made our way down the hall, jaw set, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back. He might as well be a prisoner we were escorting to an interrogation. He stiffened further as we reached the large and airy patient lounge favored by some of the older patients and their families—lots of art supplies and games and puzzles, and less of the toys and play equipment of the spaces intended for tiny kids.

“Smile,” I ordered Milo as we paused at the door.

“Trying.” His smile looked closer to that of a dog with a bellyache, and I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan.

“Try harder.”

“Hey, Jasper! How’s it going?” Natalie, the room attendant greeted us, her Disney-print scrubs as cheerful as the rest of the colorful space.

“Great.” I moved aside so everyone else could enter the room.