When I open my eyes, my mom is staring at me again, and she looks so worried. “Hi, sweetheart!”

I swallow carefully. Still burns, but it feels less like lava and more like I drank hot cocoa too fast. “Hi, Mom,” I say slowly.

“Are you feeling better? You look like you’re feeling a little better! Should we get Joey in here?”

But she doesn’t need to do anything, because suddenly he’s there, and he’s grinning at me, like he’s happy to see me.

“She’s awake!” he proclaims. “We missed you, kid.”

I swallow again. “How’s Oliver?” I ask.

Joey is holding his clipboard and writing something down, but I still see him make a face. “Oh, Romeo is fine. His girlfriend has been keeping him company, that’s for sure.”

“Right, girl—” But I pause to swallow, my throat feeling hotter and more lavalike.

“Your followers and fans are pretty worried about you too,” he says.

“Who?”

“Oh, right, you probably haven’t been checking your phone,” Joey says.

“Oliver let everyone know that you got sick. But that you’re doing better,” my mom chimes in. “He asked me if it was okay first. I told him it was. I hope that’s all right?”

I’m so confused, but it hurts too much to ask all the questions I want to ask.

“So, your illness is running about the same course as the man on the flight’s. That’s good,” Joey continues.

“Why is that good?” my mom snaps.

Joey says, “Your virus seems to be concentrated in your throat. Also a good thing.”

My mom is looking at Joey, waiting for him to go on, but he’s writing again. “And why are these good things? It seems like it’s incredibly painful for my daughter to swallow, much less speak.”

“Oh, well, it’s a good thing for everyone else she’s been exposed to. The man on the flight was sneezing and coughing, which is a faster way to spread an illness. Flora hasn’t developed those symptoms yet, so luckily she’s keeping the germs to herself.”

“Yeah, luckily,” my mom says sarcastically.

Joey looks up from his notes at me. “You do look more like yourself; the color is returning to your cheeks. We’ve kept you hydrated with that IV in your arm, but I’m going to get you some Jell-O too. Should feel good on the throat. Any questions for me?”

I open my mouth, but he interrupts. “Sorry, bad joke. I know your throat hurts. I’ll be back.”

My mom watches him walk down the hall, then turns to me. “Flora, I’m so happy to see you awake!” She squeezes my hands hard.

I open my mouth again, but she says, “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m so happy.” She squeezes my hands harder.

I nod, smile. I want to ask about Oliver but I don’t even know what to say. My mom won’t be able to tell me what Oliver has been thinking, doing, while I’ve been asleep. And I want to ask about these supposed fans and followers that Joey was talking about.

She leans forward. “Oliver—”

But then Joey is back in the room, handing me Jell-O and pudding. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m disgusting and germ-ridden like Oliver did, like he must again now that I’m sick for real.

But even chewing squishy Jell-O is exhausting, and by the time I’ve finished half a cup, I feel my eyes closing. I feel my spoon dropping out of my hand as I doze off, but someone must catch it because I don’t hear it hit the floor.