Oliver keeps taking his phone out of his pocket and looking at it like he’s never seen the thing before, like he doesn’t understand what it is or how it got there.

Watching him reminds me I should probably call my mom and tell her that I won’t be coming home today after all. I think about her getting Randy ready to go to the airport, which I know is no small process, especially if he doesn’t think he’s ready to leave yet. I think about them sitting in traffic, Randy asking my mom a million questions, him getting frustrated when she can’t answer because she’s concentrating on the traffic. A tiny little flame of guilt starts to burn in my stomach. I remind myself how awful my mom was on the phone, how selfish, and it’s not like thirty days is that long.

I dig my phone out of my backpack, and I’m a bit startled when I see all the notifications and texts. I scroll through, see that there are five missed calls from my mom and two voice mails. And somehow a few missed calls from my dad and Goldy and one voice mail from Goldy.

I listen to the first one from my mom. “Flora, I’m sorry about last night. And I’m sorry you were in quarantine and were stuck in Miami overnight. I know that must have been scary.” She pauses. “You’re a good cousin to Randy and you make your uncle Craig’s life easier.” She pauses again. “I don’t know why I’m talking like I won’t see you in a couple hours! Anyway, I just wanted to apologize and get that all out of the way. Have a good flight home, and I’ll see you soon.”

Oh god. She called this morning. The time stamp is 11:13, just a few minutes before I messed with the thermometer.

The flame of guilt is getting hotter.

I listen to the next voice mail from my mom, which came in just a few minutes ago, at 11:26.

“Flora! I’m watching the news right now … please tell me that there is another flight with two teenage passengers who are going to thirty-day quarantine. Call me back!”

I start to feel warm. Maybe I really do have a fever? I’m just about to listen to the voice mail from Goldy when someone in a hazmat suit approaches our cots. I realize it’s Joey, the guy who woke me up from my nap yesterday to take my temperature.

He smiles. I guess I was too tired yesterday to see his dimples. I start to feel even warmer. “You ready?”

Oliver has been sitting on his cot tapping furiously at his phone and talking to someone who I assume is his mom. I’ve been too distracted to really hear much of what he’s been saying, but I’m still surprised he snaps out of his daze to say, “Ready for what?”

Joey looks confused. “For your transfer to quarantine?”

Oliver looks around, waves his arms. “Isn’t that where we are? Quarantine?”

Joey throws back his head and laughs. Oliver nervously chuckles, and it’s clear he’s just as confused as I am.

“Flora has a communicable disease whose mutation we don’t fully understand yet. And, Flora, you might have spread that communicable disease to your boyfriend”—he flips through the pages on his clipboard—“Oliver. This could be the very beginning of an epidemic!” I’m both comforted and disturbed by his excitement. “You guys are going to the hospital. Same hospital as the man from your flight. I’d say you guys could all hang out, but that whole quarantine thing.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I say quickly. “And hospitals are for sick people,” I add without thinking.

Joey looks at me sympathetically.

Oliver seems too embarrassed to look in my direction. I think of how fast he pulled away from my kiss, like my lips were full of poison.

I don’t like when people feel sorry for me. And I don’t like feeling poisonous. And I don’t like that Joey thinks Oliver is my boyfriend.

I wish I were back in Brooklyn and I could go for a walk like I do after a crummy day. Most times I start out in different directions, but I always end up at the little community garden two blocks from my apartment. It’s usually locked by the time I get to it, but I love looking at the statues. My favorite is one of a little girl with her head thrown back in glee, birds resting on her upturned arms.

I suddenly really need fresh air.

Joey is still watching me. He takes a pen from his clipboard, jots something down.

“Okay, let’s get ready to go!” he says brightly, like we’re about to head out for ice-cream sundaes. “Before we can transport you both, we’ll need to talk to your parents again. Since you’re both minors, your parents will need to give consent to any medical supervision and procedures. The head doctor of the communicable diseases unit is going to meet us by the ambulances.”

“What if they say no?” I say quickly.

“If who says no?” Joey asks, furrowing his eyebrows at me.

“Our parents. What if they refuse to give consent?” I ask, feeling suddenly hopeful that maybe there is a way out of this mess.

“Oh, well, then we’d have to get a court order to put you in quarantine,” Joey says without skipping a beat.

“Court?” I’ve never even been in detention before.

Joey is grinning. “Any other questions?” he says.

I have a ton, but it feels pointless to ask any of them. “Nope,” I say, with tight lips.

“All right, let’s go,” Joey says, slapping his knee.

We walk through the warehouse, wheeling our suitcases behind us, and I’m in a daze. I need to figure out how to explain to Joey, to Oliver, to everyone, that I don’t want Oliver to be my boyfriend. I didn’t kiss him because I liked him. I kissed him because … I’m still trying to figure it out when we walk outside. There are two ambulances with their doors open and two stretchers with huge plastic covers waiting for us.