“You okay, honey?” she says.

Glenn mutes the TV. They both wait for me to say something—anything. But the words get stuck.

I want to tell them I’m scared. I want to tell them about the darkness and that I don’t want to stop fighting.

I want to tell them thank you for being there when I woke up.

That I’m a child without a mother.

That I need them, too.

“You guys up for a musical?” I hold up the DVD.

Cora scoots over quickly in the bed, nudging Glenn to make room.

“Of course!” she says. She throws up the covers on her side and pats the bed while Glenn puts in the disc. She fluffs a pillow next to her. “Jump in!”

I slide into the sheets, still toasty from her body heat. Under the covers, Cora’s hand finds mine, and when it does, the darkness lifts slightly.

I barely make it to Oz before I drift off.

All I know is it feels good to be there, sharing the same space.

May 10

I don't remember much.

My dad's face

through flame.

Heat crashed down on me.

Dad

disappeared.

An open window

beckoned.

I remember

a thought:

If I jump, I live.

If I stay, I die.

I jumped.

45

Cora and I go by the hospital before school the next morning, but Piper’s mom says she’s not up for visitors.

“Visitors? Or me?” I want to know as we leave.

When Cora drops me off at school, a major wave of déjà vu from my first day grips me. I walked in alone then, too.

I wave goodbye to Cora and turn, bracing myself to see the empty spot by the door where Piper would normally sit, zebra-striped and ready for the worst the hallways can throw at us. Today, when I turn, no wheelchair waits. But also not the nothing I expect.

Asad stands in Piper’s place. He rocks back and forth on his heels when I approach.

“Ava.”

“Asad.”

Once we establish who we are, we run out of ideas. The memory of our last conversation—the one where I made a total fool of myself—replays in my head.

“I see the wig has returned,” he says after what is undoubtedly the longest any two people in the history of earth have gone without speaking.

I instinctively tug at the bobbed strands I donned this morning.

“I wanted to do something for Piper.”

“How is she?”

“Okay. I think.”

Asad’s face is tight.

“Kenzie says you guys had a fight,” he says. “Was it because of me—because of what happened with us?”

Us.

I look up at him, which I was trying desperately hard not to do because those deep, black eyes gut me.

“Oh, you mean the time where I thought you liked me but then, oh, no, wait, you’re in love with my best friend?”