I try to text Marcus, but I can’t find our message thread. Our conversations are gone. It’s like we’ve never spoken in our lives before. Could everyone be right that the last month justdidn’thappen?
“That’s impossible,” I whisper to myself. Clearly, my phone glitched out at some point. The timing is suspect, but the only other option is that someone purposely deleted some conversations off my phone. I don’tthinkanyone would do that.
***
Mo and Amber show up with home-baked goods for me the next day.
“We’ve missed you like crazy,” Ambs says. “I hope you get that you’re crucial to us.”
“You know you said almost the exact same thing to me in the…after Jason’s accident.” Amber blinks in confusion, and Mo frowns. “I meanouraccident.”
The conversation is stilted and awkward, like they are afraid to hear my version of reality.
“How’s your app?” I ask Mo.
She beams. “It’s coming along really well.”
“I like the name,” I say. “Zebra.”
It’s a tiny flex. How would I know the name of her app if I wasn’t there when she came up with it? If I’ve been unconscious all this time?
“It’s called Stripes,” Mo says, “but Zebra’s cool too. I’ll write that down.”
Disappointment feels like something heavy pulling me to the bottom of a well.
I try again with Amber. “You changed your mind about going to CIA in New York.” Before she can answer, my voice turns pleading. “See? I knew that because I’ve been here. I’ve been awake.”
Amber can’t hide the fact that she feels bad for me. “Actually, I talked to you about it while you were sleeping. Saying it out loud helped me make the decision.”
Oh.
I frown as I stare down at the starchy hospital bedsheets.
Ambs squeezes my arm. “It’s okay,” she says. “Nobody thinks you’re lying.”
“But you think I’m crazy,” I say.
“You heard what Dr.Chukwu said. All the stuff people weresaying to you while you were unconscious somehow worked its way into your mind,” Mo says. “Of course you remember things.”
It’s the most depressing explanation she could have given me, because it means that they still don’t believe I lived it. They don’t believe the last four weeks have been real.
I can’t convince them, but if I can just talk to Marcus, I know everything will start to make sense.
Twenty-Nine
By the time Mom pulls into our garage the day I’m discharged, I’m rabid with impatience. I’ve even tried calling Marcus on the phone, but it just goes to voicemail.
“I’m going for a drive,” I announce right after Mom has helped me up the stairs to my room.
“You absolutely are not,” Mom says. “You know the doctor said no driving before your next follow-up. You’re walking like a toddler, and you want to drive?”
“Driving is just sitting.”
“The answer is no,” Mom says firmly. She has been acting like mothering is her full-time job ever since I woke up. “Where are you even trying to go?”
“To see Marcus.”
“Marcus Riddick?”
