The hours melt into each other without light or dark to define them. When a nurse brings pain pills every four hours, I try in vain to keep track of the time.

Cora casually mentions what time of day it is often. She did the same thing when I first came out of the coma, too. Huge sheets of paper on the wall so the first thing I’d see each time I woke up was the date and a list of surgeries I had while I slept.

It almost feels like I never left. Cora by my bed, the same antiseptic hospital smell in the air, a nauseating blend of antibacterial soap, latex, and optimism. The same muffled screams from the tank. And always, the beeping of the machines in time with my body.

Soon, the days start to melt, too. Cora tries to distract me by reading my earth science homework out loud and talking about how it’s time to start thinking about college applications. She plays The Wizard of Oz when I get restless, and even holds up my phone to my ear so I can hear my mom’s cheerful “Call me ba-ack.” Her voice helps, but not enough.

My mind spins. I jump at every noise. I panic when I think I’m alone.

The claustrophobic darkness pins me in.

“Are you okay?” Linda asks when she pauses from what sounds and feels like she’s changing my catheter bag.

“Yeah. Why?”

I feel her dab at my face with a tissue.

“You’re crying.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve got an hour till your next pill.”

“It’s not that,” I say. “It’s just I hate it here. No offense.”

Linda laughs. “None taken, sweetheart. You’ll be home in a few days.”

I nod. That’s what they told me last time.

Home.

Click your heels three times.

It’s been a year.

Am I there yet?

The darkness shrouds my vision and my mind. I think about the night of the fire, when Sara said she smelled something and went downstairs to check. I think about Dad’s face, all contorted through the flames as he ran to shove me out my window. I feel the heat pushing me down, filling my lungs, closing me in.

Cora pats a wet washcloth on my head and tells me I’m screaming in my sleep.

She reads me a card from Asad after assuring me five times that he did not see me.

“ ‘Hope your surgery went WICKED awesome. See what I did there? I’m so punny. Love, Asad.’ ”

Cora puts the card in my hand and I hold it, letting the good thoughts flood in through the dark. I have people now. Asad. My drama friends. I guess even cantankerous Mr. Lynch.

And Piper.

In the blackness, I allow myself to admit how much I’ve missed her since our stupid argument.