I stare at my corkboard filled with my soccer things, the hamburger menu, and all my photos of me and Cora. “I don’t know either.”

“What do you want me to do?”

I look her right in the eye. “I want to talk with someone about this. Someone professional.” I say the word Mrs. Euclid used. Professional. It sounded like someone who could really help. I don’t know if Mrs. Euclid called Mom. I hope she didn’t. But I also kind of hope she did.

“No,” Dad says. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Daniel,” Mom says. “Let’s listen to Quinn.”

“Fine,” Dad says. He doesn’t look at me. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

He casts one last look at Mom and then walks out of the room.

“This is hard for your dad, Quinn,” Mom says.

“It’s hard for me, too. Don’t you get that? I’ve tried—I’ve—I’ve—”

She wraps her arm around my shoulder. Gently, she wipes the tears from my cheek and meets my gaze.

“Okay, Quinn, okay. We’ll go talk to someone.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She puts her hand on top of mine and it feels like a promise.

It feels like a start.

Thirty-Seven

Cora

Mia comes to visit on the second day I’m home from the hospital. She brings me all the homework and assignments that I’ve missed. I’m supposed to go back next week, but Dad says I can take as long as I want. Really, I’m ready to get back to school. Sitting alone all day in my room—in my and Mabel’s room—isn’t making me feel any better.

“If you want, I can talk you through it,” Mia says once she’s done going over everything I’ve missed in math.

“That’s okay. I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Mia digs around some more in her backpack. “Well, I think I’ve given you everything.”

I cross my legs, feeling a little embarrassed that it’s the late afternoon and I’m still in my pajamas. “Thanks again for coming over.”

She tugs on the ends of her hair. It’s already grown a lot since she chopped it all off a few months ago. “Of course. I was, you know, worried about you. I’m really glad you’re okay. I mean, you are okay, right?” She gives me her searching look.

I shrug. “I’m here.”

“You know what I mean,” Mia says.

I look down at the pile of papers she brought me. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s just, well, I don’t want to make you mad or anything.”

“Mia, it’s okay. I’m not like a breakable object now.”

“Right, right. I know we were fighting before. And I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I get . . . well, you know how I get. We’ve been friends a long time, right?” she says, letting out a nervous-sounding laugh.

“Right,” I answer.

“I don’t know. I’ve always been kind of jealous of you and Quinn. Like you always had this thing that you and I didn’t have.” Her eyes dart around the room. My skin begins to crawl when I realize she’s looking at Mabel’s bed.