I want to push her off my cot. I want to kiss her again. I want to rinse out my mouth with acid. I want to call Kelsey. I want to know what’s going through Flora’s head. And Kelsey’s head. I want a do-over on my first kiss.

The air feels very thick in the room, and I want to get off my cot but I can’t because Flora is there and I want to touch her and never touch her again. And my first kiss was supposed to be with Kelsey, and I was supposed to have gone to a party with Kelsey last night, and now I can’t see her for thirty days, and it may as well be thirty years.

Thirty days. A month. I quickly add thirty to the current date, and it’s the middle of April, and two days before spring formal, and it’s not fair, and why did Flora do it, and why were her lips so soft? And why haven’t I told on her yet? Why am I letting her get away with this? I could stop this all now, tell the workers what I saw. But would they believe me? And then what—they take our temperatures again, Flora fakes the fever again?

And I don’t know who I’m supposed to talk to anyway. I watch the workers milling around, and I have the sensation of being stuck at a restaurant while trying to get a check and not knowing who to ask. I never know who to ask about anything.

And why is Flora sitting so calmly on my cot, and why won’t anyone tell us anything, and why does my leg feel so weird? I put my hand in my pocket, realize my phone is buzzing. I take it out, look at it, put it back in my pocket, realize I didn’t actually read what was on the screen, and take it out again. Eleven missed calls from my mom. And a text from Kelsey: OMG. 30 days of QUARANTINE?! Can I be your nurse? ;)

And the idea of her taking care of me is sweet and amazing and makes my chest feel warm, until I remember she’s in New York and I’m in Florida. And that Flora just kissed me. And I’m going to be in quarantine for thirty days. But Kelsey is flirting with me. I think. Maybe quarantine won’t be all bad. And how long can thirty days really be?