“How’d it go?” Rachel asked from her seat in the dingy police station waiting room the next morning. It smelled like old socks marinated in air freshener, and she had her sleeve pulled up over her nose to block out the reek.

I shrugged.

“You know, Casey?” She shook her head in mock exasperation. “Sometimes I wish you’d just shut up. You talk too much.”

“Har har.” I pushed the door open, the abrasions on my legs pulling and stinging with each stride. My muscles had tightened up; I felt like I’d been shoved into a dryer with a couple of bricks and left to rattle around for a few hours. “There’s nothing to tell. Detective Johnson showed me a bunch of pictures, but none of them was the guy.”

“So if it wasn’t such a big deal, why are we running like the hounds of hell are about to pounce on us and devour our gizzards?”

“Dude, people don’t have gizzards. That’s chicken.”

“Whatever.”

Rachel pulled out her keys and pressed the button to unlock the doors to her Mini Cooper. We got in and immediately rolled down the windows. It was already warm even though it was still midmorning; the air felt soupy and on the verge of rain.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve got to tell you something. It’s driving me nuts.”

“All right.” Rachel folded her hands and put on her best listening face, which normally made me want to laugh. Normally. “Spill.”

So I told it all, starting with the disembodied voice and ending with the … well, the disembodied voice. And then I waited for her to call me a lunatic.

“You sound like Dad,” Rachel said.

Our father believed in everything. His reality included things like men in black, alien abduction, spirit animals, demonic possession, voodoo dolls, Kyrilian photography, leprechauns, poltergeists, Ouija boards, reincarnation, pyrokinesis, subliminal messages that could be blocked by the generous application of tinfoil, and the theory that dolphins were really Atlanteans in disguise. The fact that some of these beliefs were incompatible never seemed to bother him. Frankly, he didn’t even appear to have noticed.

“I know.” I hung my head. “But I don’t know what to think. At first, I figured maybe I’d gotten my meds mixed up. But I would have noticed that, right?”

“I’d think so.”

“So …” I didn’t want to say what I was thinking.

“It’s the only logical explanation, Casey. He flicked a cigarette at you, just like that cop said, and you hallucinated it was tears. I mean, stranger things have happened. One time when I came to see you in the hospital, you were so doped up you thought I was Lady Gaga. And I wasn’t even wearing my meat dress that day.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You sound less than convinced.”

I threw up my arms. “Well, this sucks! I don’t know what was real. Maybe the guy didn’t look at all like I thought. Maybe he was an albino midget with only one arm. How do I know I’m even telling them to look for the right freaking person?”

Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but I wiped them away ferociously. I hated feeling scared, and things like this, inexplicable things, terrified me. Because there was another explanation I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud. That stupid voice at the back of my head kept squealing, Brain tumor! It’s a brain tumor! It was only a matter of time! I tried to tell myself the voice was full of crap, but if I hadn’t dorked up my meds, it was the only other logical explanation. I was hallucinating for no reason. That couldn’t be good.

“I hear what you’re saying.” She sighed. “But getting all worked up over it is only going to make you red in the face, and with the no-hair thing, you’ll look like a tomato on a stick.”

After a shocked moment, I started giggling. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“Me either.” She flashed a grin, but it faded fast. “All joking aside, though, this pisses me off. It’s like, we almost lose you once, and then some crack-smoking douche bag comes by and almost kills you in an alley? I’m seriously not okay with this.”

I sighed. “I’m fine, Rachel. It was scary as hell, but I’m okay.” What I needed was to go to a hospital, but I wasn’t ready to face it yet. I could hide my head in the sand for just a little while.

“Did you tell Detective Whatshisname the whole story or the edited one? You need to tell him everything, even if it makes you feel stupid.”

“I left out the parts that made me sound like a total lunatic. Can you blame me?”

“You need to tell him, Casey. If you don’t, how can he get the job done?”

I looked at the squat building and envisioned walking back inside, through the sock-scented waiting room and into Detective Johnson’s grotty little cubicle, and then admitting I’d been hallucinating last night. It was the last thing I wanted to do.

“I’ll call him later,” I said. “He seemed kind of busy.”

“You better. No one messes with my little sister. We’ll find the guy and hang his balls from my rearview mirror.”

“Eeeeew.”

Rachel finally put the car into drive and sped out of the parking lot like the hounds of hell were in fact following us, despite our lack of gizzards. Not that she was reckless; she just ran at a higher speed than the average human.

I braced myself against the armrest as we flew around a corner, and then I checked the dashboard clock. “Think you could drop me off at the dojo? It would do me some good to get out of the house under circumstances that don’t involve any burning.”

“Your wish is my command, dahling,” she deadpanned.

My nerves stopped jittering as soon as I got out of the car, which was a major relief. I hadn’t been to the dojo since I’d gotten out of the hospital. Every time I’d decided to go, I’d felt like puking and canceled at the last minute. But now? After what had happened yesterday, I felt like I had to come, despite the continued temptation to vomit. It was either that or be paralyzed with fear for the rest of my life.

The thwack of bodies hitting the mats was clearly audible outside the doors; sensei had probably propped them open in a vain attempt to make the thick air circulate through the building. I slipped inside, stepped out of my shoes, and bowed to the kamidana shrine on the wall.

About fifteen students milled around, shrugging on gi tops, stretching on the mats, and throwing each other around for fun. A couple of black belts came through the back door with armfuls of bamboo practice swords, and I saw Sensei’s distinctive bristle-cut hairstyle among them. I sidestepped a white belt warming up on the floor and headed in that direction.

“Sensei?” I called out.

The acoustics in the dojo left something to be desired; everything echoed underneath the high ceilings. My voice got lost in the commotion, and he went back outside without seeing me.

One of the black belts intercepted me.

“Welcome to Black Sands Dojo! Can I help you?” she said, flashing a gap-toothed smile. Her hair was longer now and pulled back into a messy ponytail, but I would have recognized those teeth anywhere.

“Darcy, it’s me. Casey.”

The smile flickered and then pasted itself back on with fervor. Darcy fastened her eyes to my face, deliberately looking anywhere but at my bald head. I was beginning to regret shaving it. Even the leper ’fro would have been better than this.

“Casey! I didn’t recognize you!” She gave me a one-armed hug that took me completely by surprise and nearly resulted in a face full of sword. We’d been training buddies for a couple of years, but we’d never hung out too much outside of the dojo because she went to Saint Joe’s and I went to Mackinaw Central. But inside the dojo, we’d been pretty inseparable, which is what happens when you start training about the same time and you’re both tiny junior high girls.

“It’s so good to see you!” she said, her voice high and breathless. “Are you coming back to training?”

“I was thinking about it,” I said. “Congrats on the black belt, by the way.”

“Thanks! I had to work pretty hard, but you know how that is. You should come to the white belt class first thing on Saturdays. That would be a great way to get back into things! Today we’re doing gogyo again.” Darcy brushed a hair out of her face. “But next Saturday? I could give you a ride, if you want? I’m teaching the class, so I’ve got to be here early.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s cool. Listen, I’ve got to get the rest of the gear for today, but I’ll catch up with you after training, okay? Bye!”

She leaned over and gave me a quick smooch on the cheek like we were long-lost BFFs. We’d never had a huggy kind of friendship before; she’d always been the shy and reserved type. By the time I got over the shock, she was out the door.

Maybe that hadn’t really been Darcy. It might have been an alien clone.

I took a seat at the back of the dojo, telling myself I wasn’t wussing out; I was just respecting the rule about senior students not training without a gi. The students organized themselves into meticulous rows behind Sensei and bowed to the kamidana to officially begin the class. He began to lead them through the gogyo, a series of moves representing the five elements. I had always loved gogyo; it was amazing how each move felt different, like the elements were actually channeling through me. I liked the flash and arc of fire and the heaviness of my feet in earth, the buoyancy of air and the liquid way the moves rippled into one another in water.

Void was the most difficult element to master; everyone said so. But this time, something clicked as I watched Sensei punch, toss an imaginary metsubishi, and kick. I stood up without even realizing it and pictured the man from the alleyway, struck him with one hand, threw a metsubishi into his eyes to obscure his vision, shifted to kick. The moves blended together so it felt like I was striking from all directions at once. Being everywhere. Being void.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. The familiar cadence of moves carried me out of myself; all conscious thought ceased. I forgot all the angsty emo crap for a while and just moved. When the hand fell on my shoulder, it was like coming back to earth.

“Yes!” Sensei said. “That’s exactly it.”

I stopped midkick and bowed to him hastily. “I’m very sorry, sir. I know I’m out of uniform. I’ll bring my gi next time.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’re not here.”

I looked down at myself, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“You’re everywhere and nowhere, right?” He punched me lightly on the shoulder, the way he used to when he made a joke, regardless of how dumb it was. “You’re void, right?”

Now I couldn’t keep from smiling. “Something like that.”

The flash of humor on his face was gone so fast, I almost thought I’d imagined it. “It is good to have you back, Kunoichi,” he said, bowing deeply.

Tears sprang to my eyes, sudden and surprising. But I kept my voice steady and returned the bow. “It’s good to be back, Sensei.”

He straightened and winked, mercurial as always. “Now sit down, or I’ll have to bust your butt for breaking my rules.”

I plopped back onto the bench, and he returned to the other students, moving among them, making jokes, correcting with a light touch of the arm or a potato smack to the head. Then they moved into some basic sword strikes, and it was so hard to sit when my muscles itched to move, ached to quit surviving and start living again. Finally I’d found something that hadn’t changed. If I could recapture ninjutsu, I could get everything else back too. Screw that theoretical brain tumor and the horse it rode in on. I was probably all freaked out over nothing. Heck, maybe I’d gotten roofied. Sad but true, that thought was reassuring. Here was a rational explanation that didn’t involve my dying at the end, and it was totally feasible! That was why I’d hallucinated. No relapse. No metastases. No need to panic.

The wave of relief made me literally rock back in my seat; it hit me that hard. I was going to be okay, and I was going to train again. I didn’t have the stamina to pull off a ninety-minute class. Not yet, but I would.

After class was over, Darcy pounced before I could even stand up from my bench. She was practically squealing with excitement. I put my hands to my temples; I could feel the headache developing already.

“So are you allowed to go out?” she asked. “Because if you are, I could pick you up for the basics class on Saturday, and maybe we could go and get some coffee? Unless you don’t drink coffee? I can’t remember if you do or not. I love coffee. If I could drink it in my sleep, I totally would.”

“Of course I’m allowed. I went to the Halloween Bash on campus last night,” I said.

“Sweet! Did you dress up? I went as a ninja this year, which is so not creative, but it was all I had.”

“I wore my sister’s old roller derby uniform.”

“Ohmigod!” Darcy waved her hands in excitement, agitation, or some combination thereof. “Do you like derby? You’ve got to come to these tryouts with me in a couple weeks! Say you will; no one else wants to come, and I don’t want to go by myself.”

I reached out and grabbed her hands before she stuck a finger in my eye. “What tryouts?”

“You know the Apocalypsies, right? One of the junior derby teams? They’re looking for new skaters.” She squealed. “I’m so psyched!”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the derby type.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed since you were here last.” She tossed her hair. “So what do you say? I could really use a cheering section.”

“Sure, I’ll do it. But didn’t the season start already? My sister skated with the Hotsies before she went to Smithton, and I’m pretty sure they’d already started by this time last year.”

“Two of the Apocalypsies died in a car accident. Isn’t that the most horrible thing ever? Anyway, if they don’t fill their roster, they’ll have to forfeit the rest of their bouts.”

“That’s terrible.” I looked down at my legs. What I was about to say was stupid, but I had to do it. I had to ride the wave of my dojo triumph, if only to get my mind off the fact that I’d splatted on the pavement yesterday and then topped it off by getting beaten up. “I want to try out too.”

“B-but …,” Darcy started sputtering. “But you can’t do that. You didn’t go to skills camp. It’s a requirement.”

“Why?” I put my hands on my hips. “You want me to come to the tryout; I’ll come. But I’m skating. Skills camp is for people who don’t know the basics, but I used to practice with the Hotsies all the time. They would have taken me if I’d been old enough. I could probably still do all that stuff—T-stops, plow stops, booty blocking. You name it.”

“Well … okay. I mean, if it’s okay with them, it’s okay with me. Maybe we could each get a spot!” She almost visibly shook herself back into hyperactive peppiness. “I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go together. Isn’t that perfect? I can’t decide whether I’m excited or nervous! I’ve always wanted to be a rollergirl!”

A shiver ran down my back and out my toes. I wanted to try out, but the word “rollergirl” brought back that creepy feeling from yesterday. Even if it was totally irrational to be afraid now. It’s not like the crackhead from last night was following me; that was ridiculous.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s pretty sweet, all right.”

“Wheee!” Darcy clapped her hands and danced around in a circle. “I’m so excited!”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

After my dojo visit, I dorked around at home until Saturday-night dinner. Rachel got to the dining room right after me.

“When are you going back to the dorms?” I asked as I sat down. My chair was wrapped with orange and black gauze. At our house, Halloween decorations went up in early September and stayed until Christmas. Sometimes later.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said. I couldn’t keep the disappointment off my face, and she winced. “I know. But I’ve got an exam in Abnormal Psych this week, and I’ve got to make it to the study group or I’ll fail.”

“Maybe I’ll come up sometime soon. I could take the train.”

“That would be awesome.”

Mom and Dad squeezed through the doorway, nearly upending the massive sheet cake they were supporting between them. It overflowed with green frosting; plastic ninjas competed for space with at least two boxes of candles. One of the ninjas had toppled headfirst into a candle flame, and his head was dripping.

“Happy recovery to you!” they sang. Rachel warbled along out of tune. “Happy recovery to you! Happy recovery, dear Casey! Happy recovery to you!”

They set the cake down on the table, nearly upsetting it into my lap. Then Dad said, “Blow out the candles, honey.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Those poor ninjas.

Mom whipped out a knife and started cutting the cake into dinner-plate-sized slices. I got the first piece. It had a lot of ninjas on it, including the damaged one. A puddle of head goo encased his feet. Poor guy; I scooped him out reverentially and laid him to rest on my napkin.

“Uh, guys?” Rachel asked, taking her plate. “Isn’t it customary to have dinner first? You know, vegetables, meats, that kind of thing?”

“Reverse dinner. Duh,” I said.

My parents were big on themed meals. They did reverse dinners, where dessert was served first and appetizers last; alphabet meals, where every food item began with the same letter; and no-utensils nights, where they served things like chicken and noodles with no forks and lots of napkins. This kind of thing was one of the many reasons why I never invited anyone except Kyle over for dinner.

“Nope.” Mom laughed. “Good guess, though.”

“Just wait and see,” added Dad, forking a piece of red velvet cake approximately the size of a baseball into his mouth.

“Whatever.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “So how was the dojo thing, Sis?”

“I think it’s great that you’re getting out and about again, Casey,” boomed our father. “And only one day after your traumatic experience. I’m proud of your bravery, kiddo.”

I had to give my parents some credit; they were pretty chill. They had to be, with me as a daughter. I’d come home sprained, broken, or abraded more often than not. They’d clamped down pretty hard when I’d first gotten diagnosed, but I’d liked the fact that they’d been at the hospital every day. Mom would give me foot rubs, and Dad would debate with the doctors about experimental techniques he’d read about on the Internet. They were weird and embarrassing a lot of the time, but they’d known exactly what to do when I’d needed them. And, just as important, they’d known when to back off.

“There’s not much to tell,” I said, shrugging. “One of the girls invited me to try out for a roller derby team. Will one of you sign the release form? I called Dr. Rutherford’s office, and he said it was okay. I’m allowed to go back to the dojo too.”

Of course, when I’d spoken to my doctor, I’d failed to mention the hallucinations. And I might have downplayed the derby thing. In fact, I might have lied outright and told him I was going to be a mascot.

“How is Phil Rutherford these days?” Dad asked. “I keep leaving him messages about community theater tryouts, but he never shows. Pity, because the guy’s got a natural stage presence.”

“Not bad.” I took a deep breath. “He said Little Casey’s back on the floor. He thought I might want to know.”

Little Casey had been my children’s hospital fourth-floor neighbor for months. She’d had acute lymphoblastic leukemia; I’d had acute myelogenous leukemia. She’d been nine at diagnosis. I’d been just shy of sixteen. But the nurses had called us the Casey twins anyway. It was the only time I’ve ever been called big.

I hadn’t spoken to her since I’d been discharged. I missed her, but she was a reminder of all the things I really would have preferred to leave behind.

“You should call her,” Dad said. “Or go to visit. Take her some of this cake.”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied noncommittally, earning myself a disapproving look from everyone else at the table. They didn’t get it. And while Little Casey probably missed me as much as I missed her, I bet she understood the urge to leave and never look back. “So about that permission slip …”

“As long as Dr. Rutherford is okay with it,” Mom said. “I don’t want you to push too hard too fast. Especially after yesterday.”

“Anybody can get mugged, Mom. That has nothing to do with my overall health. Dr. Rutherford said it would be good for me to be more active. Get my strength up.” I kept my face straight. My parents had overactive BS detectors. It came with the theater-prof territory; they could spot a poor performance from a mile away. Either I was better at acting than I thought or they wanted to believe as much as I did that my health problems were over, because neither of them gave me a second look.

“Roller derby? Awesome! You’ll be the star of the team. There will be blood on the pavement!” Dad gestured with his fork like it was a sword. Not like swords and roller derby had anything to do with each other; he just took any excuse to pretend to sword fight. “But it shall not be yours! Not this day, or any other!”

“You need medication,” Rachel said.

Dad put the fork down. “I’ve been told that before.”

“I think the tryouts are a great idea, honey.” Mom sipped her wine. “You aren’t happy just sitting around the house. Just promise me you’ll be careful, yes?”

“Of course I will,” I said dutifully.

“You’ll need a fully defined character, though, won’t you? Those derby girls always have great characters. I’ll help if you like.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I said it with a straight face, but no way was I going to take her up on it. I wasn’t letting them turn my derby audition into one of their theater productions. They’d make me into Ophelia on skates. And I was not down with being O-wheelie-a. Not one bit.

“You’ll need to explore her motivations,” she continued dreamily. “Her aspirations. Her fears …”

I finished the cake, but she snapped out of her reverie before I could move, swiping up the dishes and dashing back into the kitchen. Stereotypical Mom behavior, veering wildly between frenetic energy and complete crazeballs.

Moments later, she was back with parfait glasses full of some unidentifiable brown stuff.

“Oh God,” Rachel said. “What is that?”

“Mousse!” Mom exclaimed. “Casey loves sweets, and it’s her special celebration, so we have five courses of dessert tonight. Isn’t that just the coolest idea?”

My parents looked at me with identical expressions of excitement and glee, and I smiled despite my roiling stomach. It still wasn’t the same after all those months of chemo and hospital food. At the words “five courses of dessert,” it felt like my stomach tried to jump out of my body and run for safety.

But I did love dessert. I shoveled a big bite of mousse into my mouth.

“This is really amazing,” I said. “Did you make it?”

“Well, yes.” Mom blushed. “I’m not much of a cook, but I know how much you love chocolate, so I got the recipe from Cherise. You remember her, don’t you? She does the costumes for the theater. This is actually my third attempt; the first two were inedible.”

“Completely inedible,” Dad interjected, smiling fondly at her.

I couldn’t keep from smiling too. “Thanks, Mom.”

After the mousse course was over, she produced a big bowl brimming with apple crisp. It was heavenly. Or it would have been if I hadn’t had a pound of dessert in me already. But I was still determined to eat it.

“I’m sorry.” Rachel stood up. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“What?” Mom asked.

“You’re going to make her sick. The dessert thing is a fun idea, but you don’t stop to think things through. She’s been eating like a bird ever since she got out of the hospital. How do you think her system is going to handle all this crap?”

“If Casey doesn’t want the dessert, we’ll make her a sandwich,” Dad said mildly, but Rachel didn’t back down. She grunted and shoved her plate away. “So what are you really upset about?” he continued. “I don’t think this is about the cake.”

“I’m just sick of it. You guys do this stuff all the time. Like the derby thing.” She turned to me. Her face was all splotchy, the way it always got when she was upset. “I love you, Casey, but you haven’t been out of the hospital for long, and you just got hurt yesterday. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking painkillers. Derby tryouts aren’t a good idea for you right now, but our parents aren’t going to say that because they’re nuts. You know I love derby. I think it’s totally awesome. But it’s too dangerous for you, and the whole idea makes me sick to my stomach. We almost lost you once. I don’t want to go through that again.”

“Rachel,” Dad said, glowering, “sit down right now. You’re making Casey feel bad.”

“I’m making her feel bad by telling her I care about her well-being? I’m making a mistake by being concerned because she got mugged, and now she’s having hallucinations—”

“Rachel!” I yelled. She wasn’t supposed to tell our parents about that. It had been bad enough having to tell them about the attack in the first place.

“Hallucinations?” Mom blinked, looking at me.

“It’s nothing, Mom.” I forced a smile. “Rachel’s not thinking clearly right now because she’s upset.”

“No, Casey. I’m thinking just fine. You’re the one who’s a little confused,” Rachel said. “I don’t mean to nag, but you really need to tell—”

“Shut up!” I snapped. Sometimes it felt like I’d suffocate under the weight of all the protection. I appreciated that they cared; really I did. But I’d survived. Plenty of kids from the cancer ward hadn’t. And now it felt like everyone wanted me to just be satisfied with survival—they wouldn’t allow me to live. My frustration over it all came out in a long, uncontrollable burst. “Can’t you chill out and be happy that I’ve found something I want to do instead of sitting around on the couch by myself all the time? This is supposed to be my big celebration, don’t you remember? It’s like you don’t give a crap what I want; you’re too busy trying to smother out all the life I’ve got left!”

I threw my fork down; it skittered across the table and landed on the rug. Mom went pale and dashed into the kitchen, and after shooting a disapproving look in my direction, Dad followed.

Rachel and I stared at each other across the table. The silence got uncomfortable fast.

“That’s not fair,” she said quietly, standing up from the table and turning her back on me.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very fair of you to decide what I ought to be doing without even asking me. I’m not stupid, Rachel.”

“Could have fooled me.”

She shoved the door open and stalked away down the hall. I knew I should run after her and apologize, but I was still pissed. She of all people should have known how much I hated being railroaded. So I got up, picked the fork up off the floor, and waited in lonely silence for my parents to bring in the next dessert.