And just like that, our days in quarantine wind down.

The #quaranteens are almost quaran-free!

Will Floriver survive outside of a hospital? #quaranteen

Finally, Kelser can go on a real date and get away from Flora. #quaranteen

I still think they’re not really in #quaranteen

But even with the online attention, I feel a little bit of the same disappointment that I did when we came in. I don’t know what I’m expecting exactly, except more hubbub, more sirens. There should be some kind of countdown clock somewhere in our hospital room. Like Times Square on New Year’s. Or maybe a doomsday clock?

Five days left, then four, then three.

Like everything in my life, even quarantine settled into a routine for me.

My dad and Goldy visit, we watch TV, talk a little. Interspersed in there are vitals checks, doctors’ visits, and the canned sitcom laughter coming from either my TV or Oliver’s.

Oliver. At least there’s Oliver. He keeps quarantine interesting. We play cards, watch soap operas and bad daytime talk shows. We avoid watching the news. We look out my window and take bets on who is going to walk by next. He thinks the dragon tattoo on the woman’s forearm should be named Saphira.

We don’t talk about what is going to happen outside quarantine, in the real world. He doesn’t ask me about school, how I’m going to make up all the missed assignments and papers and tests, and I don’t ask him about his school either.

And there’s his girlfriend. The video seems to have brought us even more followers, more attention, and Kelsey seems to keep getting more and more popular on social media. And more guys are talking about asking her out if Kelser falls apart.

I can’t keep ignoring the bad feeling—the really bad feeling—that she might be using Oliver. Maybe she’s trying to make everyone focus on her again after my failed roommates video, but all she ever wants to talk about with Oliver is hashtag this, hashtag that, and I’m kicking myself for ever thinking of it in the first place. Sure, it got him the girl, but it also got the girl social media fame, which I worry she enjoys more than Oliver.

I’m listening to them talk, and I swear she says the word hashtag fifty times in five minutes.

When she finally leaves, I text Oliver: Hey, you busy?

I hear him laugh, then he texts back: Terribly.

I slide the curtain open, and he grins at me, his blue eyes sparkling.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing, just saying hi.”

“Um, hi.”

I’m starting to lose my nerve, but Oliver’s phone lights up in his hand with social media notifications.

It’s now or never.

“Has she always been this active on social media?” I blurt out.

“What? Who?”

“Your girlfriend. Kelsey.” I try not to make a face when I say her name, but I’m not sure I’m successful.

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“I guess I’m just worried about her intentions,” I say honestly.

“Intentions? What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s your history? You never dated before, right? Never asked her out before all of this?”

“No. She’s just always been a crush.” Oliver looks a little dreamy for a second. But then he snaps back to reality. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

I choose my words carefully. “I’m just a little … concerned.”

“Why? Spit it out, Flora.” He’s got his arms crossed over his chest.

“Fine.” I sigh. “It’s just … she posts, like, constantly on social media, and she uses the hashtag—”

“That you came up with!”

“Yes, that I came up with. But she’s taken it and gone with it and added to it, and she seems to really like the attention, the fame, and now all these guys are talking about asking her out—”

“She’s doing it for me,” Oliver snaps. “She’s doing it because she wants me to know that I’m not alone. That other people care about me, are worried about me.”

“Are you sure that’s why she’s doing it?” I ask.

“I wish you would stop hinting at whatever it is and just come out with it already.”

“I think she’s using you for the attention,” I say quickly, then slap my hand over my mouth.

We stand there, looking at each other in silence for a few seconds.

Oliver’s face turns white. “How dare you,” he spits. “A girl finally likes me and you accuse her of using me? Do you think I’m that awful that no girl would want to date me? That no girl would come all the way to Miami from New York and expose herself to all this craziness unless it was for a little attention?”

“I … I don’t think you’re awful,” I say quietly.

Oliver says, “Well, you must, because otherwise you wouldn’t say these awful things to me. But you know what? She doesn’t. Look, Flora, I don’t know what it is I did to you, why you kissed me and dragged me into quarantine—this mess—in the first place. My mom was right: What kind of person kisses someone when they’re sick? I’m sorry your life back home is hard. Truly. But I didn’t make it hard. I’ve never wanted anything but good things for you, but it seems you’ve never wanted anything but bad things for me.”

“Oliver, listen—”

“Are you jealous? Is that what it is?” Oliver interrupts.

“What?” I ask, flustered. “What are you talking about?”

“Kelsey said you probably were, but I didn’t want to believe her. Now I know she’s been right all along. I’m sorry I took your advice and got the girl. We only have a few more days left in quarantine. Maybe we just shouldn’t talk anymore. Sometimes it seems like every time we do, it ends like this.”

Not talking to Oliver is the last thing I want, but I’m used to not getting what I want, so I say, “Okay,” in a calm, quiet voice.

Oliver gets up from the chair on my side of the room, walks over to his side, and has his hand on the curtain. He opens his mouth to say something, but he just shakes his head and closes the curtain.

I wish more than anything I could kick another door, punch a wall. But I don’t. Instead I picture the garden in my neighborhood, think about the statue of the girl with her head up. Think about how I can keep my head up just like her.

I turn on the TV and try to forget that Oliver ever existed.