“According to zoning codes, the bus can’t go any farther down Route 9 than the entrance to Royal Oaks.”

The main road in Royal Oaks is half a mile long and gravel, and Alcoa Drive, our street, is at the far end. She doesn’t have to say anything else, but she does. “And they don’t have a lift.”

I lean all the way over and put my head on my knees. I’ve visited this town my whole life, and this is the first time I’ve felt like an outsider. Lakeview Middle might as well be another planet.

“Hey! Put your shoulder strap on and stop moping. Coralee’s going to ride with you. I already called Dane and Susie.”

“Great.”

But I don’t lift my head again until I feel the van slow. Neurology, here we come.

Unlike in the school parking lot, there are rows and rows of handicapped spots at the hospital. As we roll toward admittance, I think how weird it is, going to see a neurologist, or any doctor really, that’s not for me.

I wish it felt nicer.

Mema and Grandpa have both dressed up in their church clothes. Every single time I see Mema in pantyhose, it makes me think of church and funerals. I can’t bear to think of either. I want to go back to the trailer and bake a giant batch of oatmeal butterscotch cookies.

When we make it past the receptionist, Mom is out of breath and her hair’s standing up like a Muppet. We are so late.

The room they lead us to isn’t like any exam room I’ve ever seen. It’s more like an office, with a big polished desk and a print of sunflowers on the wall, which beats the airplanes and train carpet at the kids’ hospital by a mile.

Mema glances up when we come in, and she looks wrung out, like someone took her by her lace collar and shook her. A doctor in a suit and white coat stands and holds out a hand. He looks twelve. Okay, maybe not twelve, but young, real young. I have no idea where Grandpa is.

“Sorry we’re late, Mother,” Mom says to Mema.

“It’s all right, honey. Your dad’s just getting dressed. Dr. Hirschman was filling me in.”

Mom turns to him. “Alice. Alice Cowan.” Like she’s James Bond. “I’d appreciate if you’d catch me up.”

“Alice. Yes. I was just telling your mother that Jonah seems to be in peak form. Other than the nose fracture, he is in perfect health… physically.”

We all take in the long pause before “physically.” I am familiar with the long pause. It never comes before anything good. I grip my armrests.

“But?” Mom says.