I should be excited that I can have visitors. Ecstatic, even. But everything just feels weird. Things were so nice and cozy at the warehouse, and then it got weird with Oliver, and then we came to the hospital and it was weird again and then it was nice for a few minutes, and now there’s a hashtag and we’re trending.

I knew Kelsey would like the hashtag, but I didn’t think anyone else would really find it all that interesting. Except for maybe Kelsey’s friends.

But now random strangers are talking about #quaranteens. Girls and boys are saying they want to be in #quaranteen with Oliver.

No one is talking about me, though, because I guess everyone forgot that there are two #quaranteens.

Except, oh god. I look at Facebook. Goldy has tagged me in a post. Thinking about my beautiful #quaranteen.

Her friends chime in to tell her how hard this must be on her. Right. Of course. On her.

I look at the post again, notice she has tagged my dad in it too. I don’t know why, since he hasn’t bothered to text me to see how I’m doing.

Jenna and Becca text me within thirty seconds of each other, and I know they must be hanging out after school. They both say that they saw my hashtag, that they hope I’m feeling okay. I wonder if I should invite them down to visit me. But then I think about them putting on hazmat suits together, talking about quarantine, about my hospital room, and the idea of them sharing the experience together, when it’s my experience, my quarantine.

And Oliver’s too. I just know Kelsey will want to visit when Oliver tells her we’re allowed to have visitors. Maybe he won’t tell her, I think hopefully. Or, more likely, her parents won’t agree to it. What kind of parent would knowingly let their kid visit someone with a possibly mutating, possibly highly contagious and dangerous disease? But I don’t know why those thoughts make me feel optimistic. I agreed to help him win over the girl, after all.

“Tell Kelsey to come!” I try to sound enthusiastic. “She can be your nurse!”

“How did you know I was going to ask you if I should invite her?”

I want to tell him it’s not rocket science, that I know he’s obsessed with this girl, that the chance he’s thinking about her at any given second is about 90 percent. But I like that he thinks I’m some genius about girls, so I say, “I could feel it in the air.”

Oliver seems to buy it. “What do I tell her? I’ve never invited anyone to visit me in quarantine before.”

I think of what I’d want to hear, if anyone ever wanted me to visit them, like my dad did. It was kind of cute, actually. He sent me an online invitation saying I’d be a guest of honor at his house. I was almost able not to be mad at him for a little bit when I saw it. Almost.

“Do something to make her feel special, like she’d be a VIP.”

“She is my VIP, isn’t she?” He looks wistful. Then he looks at me. “But how do I tell her that? I can’t exactly send her a wristband in the mail inviting her to Club Quarantine.”

“No, but what about an invitation?”

“An invitation? I can’t send one of those in the mail either.”

“Oliver, what century do you think this is? An online invitation.”

“An online invitation? But she’s the only person I’m inviting. Well, besides my mom, but it’s not exactly like I invited her, she’s just coming. Like always.” He mutters that last part.

“You’re missing the point. It’s to make her feel special. Anyone can send a text. That takes like three seconds. But making an online invitation just for her? It’s creative. Romantic, even.”

“Are you sure it’s not overkill?”

“I wouldn’t use kill in a hospital setting.”

He snorts. “I see your point.”

He’s back on his phone, fiddling with an online invitation. His brow is furrowed, and it’s kinda adorable how seriously he’s taking this. I see a baseball and the words Can’t wait to catch up with you.

He sees me watching him, stands up and comes to my side of the room. “It’s great, right?” He shows me his phone, so proud of himself.

I choke back a laugh. “Yeah, if you were inviting your eight-year-old cousin to visit you. Think more romantic.”

“Catch up with you? Come on! That’s genius!”

I give him a look that I hope is stern, but he starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, trying to look sterner, which makes him laugh even harder.

“Nothing, I’m sorry.” But he’s laughing again.

I’m trying to glare at him now, but he’s clutching his stomach and laughing.

“Fine, fine,” he says between fits of laughter. “When you try to look mad, your nose gets these wrinkles. It’s really …” He stops, suddenly serious. “It’s really—”

But Joey steps into our room. Somehow, I didn’t see him in the hallway slipping into his hazmat gear. “Hey, gang!” he says. “Or should I say, quaranteens.”

“Hey,” I say, but I’m still looking at Oliver, and he’s still looking at me. I think I might know the word he was going to say, and I think maybe he might not need as many lessons as he thinks he does from the girl handbook.

“You heard the good news? It’s official! Party time in room 702.” He doesn’t seem to notice that Oliver and I are looking at each other. “The girls will be fighting over you, Romeo,” he says, nudging Oliver. But something about the way he says it is mean.

Oliver breaks his eye contact with me and glares at Joey. “Actually, I am inviting a girl.” He stands up straighter. “Flora was just helping me with an invitation.”

“An invitation! Planning your wedding already?” Joey hoots. He looks at me, but I don’t join in on the laughter.

On Oliver’s face I see all the times he’s been in this situation before, being picked on by someone bigger and older, and I can picture him as a nine-year-old, getting pushed off a swing by a middle schooler.

“She’ll like it. Girls like that kind of thing,” I say hotly, glaring at Joey. “Girls don’t like when guys make fun of other guys.”

Oliver looks at me, and I guess I’m doing the nose-wrinkle thing, because he starts laughing, and Joey only looks confused. “See, look, he’s laughing. Who’s making fun? Just some teasing. We’re buddies, right, Oliver?” He nudges Oliver harder than he needs to.

I don’t say anything, and Joey checks our vitals quickly. He doesn’t stick around to chat, and for the first time, I’m relieved.