“Used to be is the key. After the crash, she became this bitter version of the girl who used to be my friend. This new Kenzie is incapable of being actual friends with anyone,” she says. “She and I used to do this stupid thing where we’d ask each other if we’d still be friends ‘if.’ Like, ‘Would you still be my friend if I had a nose on my forehead?’ or ‘If I stole your boyfriend?’ Of course the answer was always yes. Turns out, our friendship had some serious fine print and a gaping drunken-crash-that-lands-me-in-a-wheelchair loophole.”

Piper grabs my hand tightly. “Just promise me you won’t fall for it like I did.”

I mutter my commitment as Dr. Layne takes command of the group.

“People don’t always know how to react to your burns. They may feel nervous or scared, just like you,” she says. “Does anyone have examples of someone saying the wrong thing?”

I tell about a time an old lady stopped me at the post office to tell me that God still loves me, no matter what I look like. Olivia talks about how some girls on her second-grade swim team wouldn’t get in the pool with her because they were afraid they’d catch her “disease.”

“I’ve worn a full cover-up ever since,” she says.

Braden says his friends call him Stumps.

“I hate it. But it’s just a joke, so I laugh along. It makes people feel better about it, I guess?”

Piper jumps in. “You gotta tell people to buzz off.” She then details my run-in with the lady at the ice-cream store. “You should have seen her face. Vegetitis. It was awesome.”

Dr. Layne seems less than impressed.

“I know none of you asked for this, and it’s not fair, but you are an ambassador for all burn survivors,” she says, pacing in the middle of our therapy circle. “People can be cruel and ignorant, as you all clearly know. But the way you react reflects not just on you, but on all of us. You should certainly stand up for yourself, but in an appropriate way.”

She gives us a three-point method for responding to invasive questions:

1. Briefly say what happened.
2. Say how you are doing now.
3. Close the conversation politely.

Layne makes a note on her clipboard, and I swear she keeps her eye on me the whole time we practice our responses.

“I’m Piper. I was burned in a car accident caused by my sadistic ex–best friend. I’m probably never going to walk again, and thank you so much for sticking your big, fat nose in my personal business.”

When the hour is up, Dr. Layne snags me before I leave, to give me a pamphlet with a burned boy swimming in a lake on the front.

“I already told Cora,” I say, pushing the paper back toward her. “I’m not interested.”