I keep refreshing the post, and every time the number of likes and comments multiplies. Gone are the Who’s Olivers and now come the I’ve known him since kindergarten and We hang out all the time. Even Emily chimes in, My bestie from spring break. And then there are all the people I really don’t know, the complete and utter strangers. People asking their friends who they’d want to go into #quaranteen with. Who they’d hate to go to #quaranteen with. What illness they wish their ex could be sent to #quaranteen with.

Some other people say they want to go into #quaranteen with me, which I think must be a joke.

I keep scrolling, and I almost scroll right past the tweet, Looking at airfare to Miami now! My uncle already said I can stay with him!

My thumb hovers over the words, frozen. It’s from Kelsey.

Flora looks up at me a couple of minutes later, grinning, but something about her smile also looks a little forced. “Now Kelsey is joking about visiting you!”

“Oh, you saw? Right, she’s just joking!” I clear my throat. “I mean, Joey did say we could probably have visitors …”

“Does she know Joey said we could probably have visitors? I mean, nothing is official.”

“Not yet.”

Her smile looks further strained.

“I mean, should I tell her? You’re the expert—the author of the girl handbook!”

“Ha, right, that’s me,” she says, but it feels half-hearted. Her enthusiasm from before seems to have dissipated.

Over her shoulder I see a nurse in scrubs approaching our doorway. He slips into a hazmat suit and enters our room, pushing the vitals cart. He takes Flora’s temperature, blood pressure, and pulse, then writes down the results, sanitizes his hands, gets a new thermometer, and takes my vitals. The whole thing takes less than two minutes, but the entire time I’m wondering what I’m supposed to do next—tell Kelsey next. Wondering why Flora seemed so excited before and now she doesn’t. I keep getting notifications about the hashtag, and my phone keeps buzzing and lighting up and making all kinds of sounds I didn’t know it could make.

I look up from the beeping and dinging and vibrating to see Dr. Demarko come in. “Well, it’s nice to see my celebrity patients,” she says. “That sure happened fast.”

Flora squirms on her bed. “Yeah, about that—”

“It’s okay. I know you need to pass the time somehow. You’re teenagers, after all, and there’s nothing wrong with some harmless social media stuff, right? I think Joey might have hinted at it, but it’s official: You will be allowed to have visitors, starting tomorrow. With a few caveats, of course.”

My eyebrows shoot up in attention, and I think Flora notices.

“Your visitors will have to remain in hazmat suits the entire time, and their visits are limited to only one hour at a time, three times a day. No more than two visitors at a time for each of you. Even if you’re not exhibiting symptoms, Flora, you did have a fever, and you did pass those potential contagions on to Oliver orally. You both need lots of rest to prevent any further illness in yourselves or others. And it should go without saying, especially since your visitors will be in protective clothing the entire time, but absolutely no oral contact of any kind.”

She says it medically, not using the word kiss once.