“Nothing. He said absolutely nothing. Not one word to me in three days.” He says this like the silent treatment is a victory. “Three days! But guess what. I’m still alive. I didn’t die of shame. He didn’t die of disappointment. And since that revelation didn’t end in a fatality, I’m going to face another fear. It’s a doozy, but I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To jump. But it all hinges on your answer to a very important question.”

“Which is…?”

Asad scans the classroom and leans in close to me.

“Not here. After school, meet me in the lighting booth?”

I nod, pretending to concentrate insanely hard on my journal-entry description of our former mealworms turned beetles. I use tweezers to remove the dead skin they left behind.

Amazing how one week can change everything.

Getting through the rest of the day is basically torture. A few people comment on my eyes. Sage tells me she can better imagine what I used to look like, which I think she means as a compliment.

Kenzie tells me at lunch that drama hasn’t been the same without me. I don’t think she means it as a compliment.

Even Vice Principal Lynch stops me in the hall to say it’s good to see me back. He actually smiles, which is kind of amazing considering I’ve never seen him do that before to anyone. His lips snap back into his usual perma-scowl after approximately one-tenth of a second, but still, I saw it.

By lunchtime, Piper’s given up her walker and resigned herself to her wheelchair.

“Not bad for the first day,” she says, trying to smile while rubbing her legs and sneaking a pain pill. She tells me about all the slings and bars and crazy contraptions the physical therapist uses to help her walk farther each session. She taps the spokes of her wheelchair. “I bet I’ll make it a full day without this baby soon.”

All I can think about, though, is Asad and his question that only I can answer.

Maybe it’s something silly. Like do I think he should experiment with different-colored spotlights. My gut tells me it’s bigger, though, the way his eyes came alive.

When the afternoon bell rings, I reach the booth before Asad, which only makes the suspense more unbearable because the first thing I see when I walk in—right there on top of all his switches and dimmers and control panels—is a bouquet of bright pink gerbera daisies. Did I tell him they were my favorite? Who knows. Who cares. My chest tightens, almost like it used to in the burn unit, like there’s not enough oxygen and too much oxygen at the same time.

A small card peeks out from the stems of the flowers. Should I look?

No. Definitely not.