Hallie never answered, but Maren always gave her a little time, just in case. She swallowed a twinge of disappointment and pulled the uncomfortable brown chair close to the bed. Then she uncapped a marker and held it under Hallie’s nose, careful not to get any black spots on her.

Still nothing. Maren gave the marker a deep, vanilla sniff, then capped it with a sigh. “Gran-Gran’s back from Connecticut. She got a whole bunch of new stuff. And there’s this special kind of dust that she”—Maren leaned in close to whisper—“put in the safe. What do you think it’s for?”

Again, Hallie showed no sign of responding, of hearing, of existing in the waking world, but Maren pressed on anyway.

“I bet it does something really cool. Something even better than falling in love or snuggling a pile of puppies or flying.” Her hand strayed to her pocket, but footsteps squeaked down the hallway. Two nurses stopped to chat outside Hallie’s room, and Maren slumped back in her chair.

“I saw that worm Amos on the bus here,” she said. “Remember what a crush he used to have on you?” She couldn’t help grinning at the memory of eight-year-old Amos leaving bouquets of dandelions and buttercups on their doorstep. Of the time she told him Hallie’s favorite poet was Emily Dickinson, so he’d gone to the library, made a photocopy of “‘Why do I love’ You, Sir?” and then crossed out “Sir” and “Sire” and written in “Madam” and “Ma’am.” Hallie and Maren had laughed for weeks. Even now—well, until the accident—one of them only had to say “Madam?” in a snooty English accent and they’d both collapse into snorting hysterics.

Maren tried it now, but no one laughed. She reached for her pocket again, but just then the door swung open and her mother’s pinched face appeared.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she said, though she looked at Hallie as she said it. She set a store-bought cake on the table beside the bed but didn’t remove its plastic cover.

“Where’s Dad?” asked Maren.

“Working late.” Her mom rubbed her eyes, which were always red around the edges now. “He already came by on his lunch break.”

Maren’s dad had been picking up a lot of extra shifts recently. At night in bed, Maren heard her parents talking in hushed, worried tones about Hallie’s medical bills.

“Have you ever wondered what might happen if we gave her a dream?” Maren meant to sound nonchalant, but she couldn’t keep the raw longing out of her voice.

Shuffle heel step heel…

“Maren Eloise.” Somehow her mother sounded even more tired than before, like she hadn’t slept in a thousand years. “Your sister’s poor brain needs to rest so that it can heal. And it’s against hospital policy. You know better.”