I flail and sink. Flames fill my head, exploding into a million white lights behind my eyes. Is this what dying feels like?

“Naomi!” I hear Morgan call from somewhere in the distance. “Someone help me. I don’t know where Naomi went!”

Morgan, I should have trusted her.

3

Friday, June 25:

Waking Up Last Week

Ow, ow, ow! I wake up with rocks pounding against the inside of my skull. I roll to my side. I’m on some kind of hard patio stone. I drop my hands from my face and sit up, gasping in oven-hot air. Where’s the sand? Where’s everyone?

I jumped in the water. Morgan must have found me and dragged me to the beach. I can picture the crowd gathered around my body stretched out on the sand. Did she perform artificial resuscitation?

Only, there’s no one around. Instead of sand, brittle brown grass stretches in front of me all the way to a rickety fence. Our backyard.

“Rouff! Rouff! Rouff!”

Man, that barking sounds so loud, like it’s bouncing on the inside of my head. Ow, ow, ow!

Hot air puffs fast and heavy against the back of my neck.

I inhale the cooked-hamburger smell of dog’s breath and turn — ow, too fast for my aching head — and smile. “Diesel? You’re alive?”

I blink. Pinch my arm, hard, and see the white line from my nail form on my skin. I can feel it, too. So I can’t be dreaming.

Diesel’s milk-chocolate muzzle opens into a panting grin. I throw my arms around him. Drool drips onto my shoulder. Wet. I feel that, too. “Yuck!” My nose wrinkles but my heart smiles.

“Drooling relieves stress.” I hear the words, mellow and soothing like hot chocolate. Only, the hot chocolate bubbles inside my head. My imagination has really kicked into high gear.

“Drooling is how dogs relax.” More words. If I’m thinking them, why are they in someone else’s voice?

Diesel’s body language matches that hot-chocolate voice. His wide pink tongue washes over me.

Then he bounds away, zigzagging across the yard. Joy and energy, despite the heat. The voice turns loud and happy. “Drooling is dog yoga.” Again, not my thoughts, not my voice. Diesel wags his tail. He barks.

“Are you talking inside my head?” My nerves vibrate like plucked guitar strings. Am I dead? I freeze. That has to be it. Morgan never did find me. Never pulled me out of the water. I breathe in deeply to get some air. In, out, in out, too quickly. I feel my head floating. How can I breathe if I’m dead?

Don’t worry! You’re not dead.

But I never asked that question out loud. Who’s answering my thoughts? My heart drums.

That hot-chocolate voice soothes. Look at me. Watch me. More dog yoga. Diesel faces me and lowers himself on his front legs, a move he’s done hundreds of times when he wants me to play. Downward dog, his voice growls inside me.