The doors of the hospital whoosh open, and a blast of heat smacks me in the face. The elevator to the doctor’s office tower smells like hand sanitizer and toilets, and it makes me wish I were back in class, which is saying something. A family sits under the television in the corner. The man has a long beard, and the woman wears a bonnet. Their little girl has neon leg braces, and she fiddles with their Velcro under her skirts. I want to tell the girl that the braces aren’t as bad as they seem, that she’ll get used to them. And I would tell her, if my voice weren’t caught on a tangle of nerves.

I stare at the TV for distraction.

“It’s always PAW Patrol.”

“You used to love PAW Patrol.”

“Yeah, when I was, like, five.”

“Well, there are a lot of little kids here.”

“Which leads me to my point.”

“Which is?”

“Why do I have to go to the little-kid doctor? It’s me and a thousand seven-year-olds in pajamas with their Build-A-Bears.”

“When you turn eighteen, you can go wherever you like.”

“Six years and counting.”

“Just don’t count too fast, okay?” Mom whispers, and untucks the end of my ponytail from my sweatshirt. Her hand is shaking, and I lean into it for a second like a cat until it stills.

She looks back down at her phone. Still no text from Dad. I’m half thinking about what comes next and half still mad over my conversation with Lauren earlier, when the door opens and a nurse steps out. “Cowan?”

Both of our heads snap up like we’re in trouble. We take a deep breath at the same time, like we’re going underwater, and then I wheel forward and Mom gets up to follow.

The exam room has planes on the walls in primary colors and a train rug on the floor. Who thinks this stuff up? Like making it look like a nursery means we don’t know what goes down in here? Needles and tape and cold hands and stethoscopes… and hours and hours of endless waiting. I get my phone out to Snapchat Emma Claire so I won’t just watch the clock. And she understands the doctor’s office torture—the jangly nerves and ticktock tediousness. I peek over at Mom to see if she’s going to get on me for being on my phone, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. But miracle upon miracle, before I can even hit the app, the door opens.

“Hello, Mrs. Cowan and…” The doctor pauses to look at her chart. “And Lily.”

“It’s Ellie,” I say.

“And it’s Ms. Cowan,” Mom adds, but I don’t think the doctor hears her, or cares.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ellie. I’m Dr. Reardon.”