I wake up on my own, not because someone is waking me up, and it’s a lovely feeling. I wiggle my toes, my fingers, and knowing I don’t need a nap after makes me feel like I can do anything. I stretch my arms overhead, then look at my watch. It’s 8:37 a.m. Maybe I’ll climb a mountain by 8:37 p.m.

Joey walks in, and I smile at him. “Hey, you,” he says. He seems happy to see me, and his happiness makes me wiggle my fingers and toes all over again. He sits down on the edge of my bed, and I’m acutely aware of how close my foot is to his butt. He doesn’t seem to think I’m poisonous. I look up at his face, and his eyes are watching mine.

I feel myself blush a little. I’m suddenly self-conscious of my hair, of what I must look like. Hopefully the hazmat suit blocks out some of the stench that has to be coming from my mouth.

He says, “Your color really is returning.”

I nod, and I think my throat feels okay enough that I could actually speak, but I don’t trust the words that might come out of my mouth.

“Let me check your vitals.” He takes my temperature, pulse, and blood pressure.

He furrows his brow at the thermometer and says, “This really is interesting.” But he seems to be talking to himself more than to me as he jots notes down on his clipboard.

“Interesting?” I finally say, with some effort. I’m surprised at how much my throat still hurts. “Good interesting? Bad interesting?”

“You still have a fever. I was hoping by now it’d be going down.”

“I still have a fever?”

“Aye.”

“It’s been over a week.”

“This is a new and unpredictable disease.”

“Right.” I’m glad my mom isn’t here for this conversation.

I look at him in his hazmat suit. I look around the room, to the antechamber that separates my room from the rest of the hospital. I think of the way the guy who brought me the gift basket looked at me, like I was poisonous. Disgusting.

I think of the way Oliver looked at me after I kissed him.

I feel tears well up in my eyes.

But Joey has his head down, making notes on his clipboard, and doesn’t notice.

“I’ll see you later. Someone will bring you breakfast soon.” He leaves the room, head still down, writing. He looks up in the hallway and waves, but doesn’t see me wiping away tears.

I wonder why it’s “someone” and not him, but I don’t need to wonder long because I feel my eyes closing.

When I open my eyes again, my breakfast is on the tray next to my bed and my mom is dozing off in her chair. I look at my wrist. Now it’s 10:42. Darn it. Two hours gone, just like that, and I almost slept through my mom’s visit again. I miss being awake for longer than five minutes. I miss being able to remember my life, to live my life.