I take a breath. “He said it was probably the candles by my bed or the extension cord,” I tell him.

Teddy frowns. “Candles,” he repeats.

“The electrical spark seems more likely,” I say quickly, wincing at the thought of him believing I make a habit of lighting candles before bed. “Those houses built in the fifties weren’t wired for all our electronic devices.” I try for a smile, but he only nods distractedly, a small twist to his mouth.

I close my eyes. Michael told me to be careful. That can’t be a coincidence.

But what’s more likely: An extension cord sparking or a fraternity boy breaking into my house, creeping up the stairs, and setting me on fire? It sounds crazy or like I’m biased and one-track minded—all the things Oliver suspects and Truman’s warned me about. And Teddy? Would he believe me after what I told him about Craig? Or would he think my hatred’s spilled over, tainting everything, and ruined my ability to be objective? I can’t risk him doubting my credibility, too. And so I bury my suspicions deep, waiting to reexamine the details, to see if whoever did this was smart enough to cover their tracks.

I’m in the hospital for two weeks. The doctor—who tells me to call him James—stops in twice a morning, and Danae mutters that I’m getting special treatment. She asks me so many questions about Teddy, I let it slip how great his girlfriend is, how they’re in love, and it’s really so sweet. And she punishes me with stories of burn patients with terrible nightmares, whose bodies reject their skin grafts, who refuse to leave their houses and wither away from loneliness. I’m also pretty sure she skipped one of my hydrocodone doses on purpose.

Teddy visits me every day but won’t say a word about the Kemp case. No matter how many times I pester him, he tells me to focus on getting better and ignores the fact that I have nothing else to do but think about Jay, his brothers, the stolen car, and the broken body on the asphalt. The rest of the time, I slip between painful wakefulness and unsettling dreams, where the hospital and my house conflate into one and I can’t escape either because someone’s handcuffed me to the bed and the walls are in flames.

Ten

Thursday, November 28, 8:00 A.M.

They release me—as if I’ve been in a holding cell instead of a hospital room—on a bright Thursday morning. I can’t say I’ll miss the place, all colorless right angles and squeaky nurses’ shoes, but I do swing my head around for a last glimpse of the doctor. No luck. Danae’s there, though, probably hoping for a Teddy sighting. She smirks as my mother grabs my elbow and steers me toward the glass exit doors.