The rest of the week was more of the same, but I didn’t have to meet with Dr. Rodriguez again, and I was glad for it. The medication seemed to be working because the spots on my face were fading and my eyes and cheeks had lost nearly all of their puffiness. The other spots on my body were starting to fade as well and the scaly patches were flaking away to smooth skin underneath. I still felt tired and weak, but I was trying to “focus on the positives” like Dr. Rodriguez advised.

When I saw Scott at meal times, he would say hi and I would say hi back if we happened to be close enough to hear each other. Then I’d get giddy for a minute or two, and then I’d beat myself up for even entertaining the idea that he might ever in a billion years be interested in me. But then I’d sneak a look at him across the dining hall and he’d be looking at me, and I’d have to work to beat down the butterflies in my stomach. Jane would tease me and I’d tell her to shut up, and that’s pretty much how it went for the first week. Then, Friday night after jambalaya soup, he came over to the reserved table as I was finishing my last bite.

“Hey, Abby,” he said, towering over us.

“Oh. Hi, Scott.”

Grace and Lester looked in his general direction. Barry fidgeted with his fork and knife, and Jane stared up at Scott like he was some kind of Greek god, which, let’s face it, he kind of was.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk with me? We get some free time after dinner tonight, so…That is, if you’re free. I mean, if you’re not busy. Or, are you done eating? I’m sorry, you’re not done yet, are you?”

Lester had his tongue jammed into the side of his cheek and Grace nodded, slow and sure. Jane kicked me under the table.

“Yeah. Yes. I’m done.” I stood up.

Lester cackled, not in an unfriendly way.

“Are you sure?” Scott said.

“Positive. Let’s go.” I was in such a hurry to go with him, that I left my dishes on the table instead of putting them away in their proper bins like we were supposed to.

“Cool,” he said.

“You kids have fun now!” Jane called after us. I could hear Grace giggling as we walked out of the mess hall.

“Where would you like to go?” Scott said.

“Oh, I don’t care. Doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Let’s just walk along the river for a while.”

“Great,” I said.

Neither of us talked for a minute, then we both started to say something at the same time. We laughed.

“You go ahead,” he said.

“I was just going to ask you where you’re from,” I said.

“Oklahoma.”

“Wow, a real live Okie.”

“Born and bred. How about you?”

“Texas,” I said.

“I figured.”

“How’d you figure?”

“All the prettiest girls are from Texas.”

I laughed. “And they know when they’re being fed a line.”

He turned away from me toward the river. It looked black and bottomless in the fading light. “Sorry,” he said, smiling. “That one usually works.”

Neither of us said anything for a while. The river rushed and burbled beside us, filling the night air with its hurried noises.

“So, you’re sick, huh?” Scott said.

“Nope. Thought I’d just hang out here for a while. Kind of a mini-vacay sort of thing…”

He raised his eyebrow.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Same thing,” he said. “Needed a little R&R, thought, why not try a boot camp? Those are relaxing, right?”

We laughed. An owl swooped over us and we watched it soar over the gnarled oak trees.

“Seriously, though,” Scott said. “That has to be rough.”

“Yep.” I nodded. “I actually can’t imagine how it could possibly be any worse.”

“Well, you could have not met me…That would be way worse.”

“Better get a rod and reel for all those lines you’re casting, Scott.”

He laughed.

“Now you,” I said.

“Me, what?”

“You tell me why you’re at a camp for juvenile delinquents.”

“I’m a bad man, Abby,” he said, grinning. “A very bad man.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The baddest. You should stay away from me, actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“What haven’t I done?”

“Are you going to tell me or what?”

“Or what.”

“So, that’s a no?”

He scratched his chin. “That’s a not now, maybe later.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Shoot.”

“Why did you talk to me?”

“Why not?” He shrugged.

“But, you know I’m sick. Doesn’t that freak you out?”

“No. Should it?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“I read about it online. It’s not that bad as long as you get treatment. And you started taking the pills already, right?”

“Yeah, last Sunday.”

“Yeah, so you’re not even contagious anymore.”

“But how can you be so cool about it? I mean, even my best friends weren’t…Okay, let’s just say, they were very un-cool about it. But you don’t even know me and—”

“Look, I wanted to talk to you, so I talked to you. What’s the big deal?”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Okay. You want to know the truth?”

“Yes!”

“It was your backflip.”

“My backflip?” I laughed.

“Yeah. I saw you do that flip and I thought, wow. I have to talk to that girl.” He shrugged. “That was it.”

“Huh. That’s…”

“Look, let’s just say I know how it feels to be treated like an outcast, okay? No one deserves that. Especially not a beautiful blonde gymnast.”

“Cheerleader.”

“Sorry. Beautiful blonde cheerleader.”

“I was a cheerleader. Not anymore, I guess.”

“Why not anymore?”

“Lost all my strength. Plus, I’m here for at least another three weeks, so I’ll be missing most of the spring season anyway. Pretty much guarantees I’m off the team.”

“That sucks.”

“It’s pretty much ruined my life,” I said.

“Wow. You’re really serious about cheerleading.” He laughed a little bit.

I told him about how it meant missing out on the USC scholarship. How I wouldn’t be able to afford university now or be able to study acting in California like I had been planning for longer than I can remember.

“Abby! You can’t let this slip through your fingers! There must be something you can do!”

“Scott. Calm down.”

“But—”

“It’s okay. It’s not going to happen. It’s my own stupid fault. I put all my eggs in one basket.”

“The cheerleading basket.”

I nodded. “Sometimes, your eggs get broken.”

“But…but, this is serious! This was your lifelong dream!”

“Lots of people have dreams,” I said. “Doesn’t mean everyone gets to live them.”

“I think you still have to try. Maybe your coach will make an exception or something. Say that you were part of the team anyway.”

“I doubt it.”

“You could ask though,” he said.

“You’re right. I could ask.”

There was a cool wind and I shivered as I wrapped my arms around myself.

“You cold?” Scott said.

“I’m okay.”

“Here.” He took off his sweater and placed it over my shoulders.

“Thanks.”

“So, you’ll ask, right? I mean, it’s the least you can do.”

“Okay, yeah. You’re right. I’ll ask her.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Then, when you get your first movie, you can make sure to thank me in the credits.”

“Alright.” I laughed.

He was kind of weird, but I liked him. Plus he was hot, so that always helps. He talked a little bit about his mom and dad (divorced); his older brother, Jesse (still living in his mom’s basement); and his golden retriever, Tinker Bell.

“Tinker Bell?”

“Tink for short,” he said.

“Did you name her?”

“Yeah! Don’t you think it’s a pretty name?”

I giggled.

“It’s one of my favorite girl’s names. If I ever have a daughter, I might name her Tinker Bell. Do you like it?”

I looked at him.

“I mean, I’m not asking you because of that or anything. Oh no. No. Don’t think that! I’m just asking you if you like the name.”

“I think I like it more for a dog than for a person,” I said.

“That’s fair, I guess.”

We walked along the riverside without saying anything for a few minutes. The early stars glinted above us. I pulled the sleeves of Scott’s sweater down over my hands. His sweater was gray and soft and smelled like a pumpkin spice latte. I looked up at him. He wore a half-smile and looked peaceful. How could he have done something bad enough to get sent here? He was so cute. He was so nice.

“Should we go back now?” he said. “Can I walk you home?”

“Sure. Okay.”

“But not home, home, to Texas. Just to the building you’re staying in here.”

“Right.”

We turned around and headed toward my apartment.

“You have your own room?” he said.

“Yeah. It’s a whole suite, actually.”

“Whoa. Lucky. I have to share with, like, twenty other guys.”

“Bunk beds?”

“Military issue.”

“Yuck.”

He nodded. “Total yuck.”

“When do you get to go home?” I said.

“Well, my mom said she’s done with me. So I guess, never?”

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said.

“And the day after that.”

“Okay.” I grinned back at him.

“Can I have a hug good night?”

“Are you sure you want to? You’re not afraid of—”

“Oh, shut up already with that.” He put his arms around me. I hesitated, then patted his back awkwardly. He was warm and I could feel his muscles through his shirt. My forehead rested against his sternum as he held me. It was nice. Really nice. If I let myself, I could imagine being his girlfriend. I could imagine falling in love with him. The engagement party. The beach wedding. The kids and the dog and the hammock in the yard, swinging gently in the breeze. I could imagine all of it. But I wouldn’t let myself. I counted my breaths instead. Finally, he let go. “Good night, Abby.”

“Good night, Scott.” I began to climb the stairs up to my suite, forgetting everything I’d learned that week about foot placement and proper alignment and stability while doing stairs. But I made it anyway. I waved to Scott as I unlocked the door to my room. And he waved back.

I was in my room only a few seconds when there was a tap on the door.

“Who is it?”

Jane poked her head in.

“Oh. Hi,” I said.

“Heyyy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Come in.”

She grabbed my hand and twirled me around. “Are you going to have his babies?”

“No! Stop!” I said, laughing.

“Oooh! He gave you his sweater!”

“Oh, shoot. I forgot to give it back.” I took it off and hung it on the back of the door.

“For-got.” Jane made air quotes with her fingers.

“I did!”

“Soon you’ll forget to take your tongue out of his mouth too. Or did you do that already?”

“No! Jane, please. Stop, okay? It’s not like that.”

“Umhm.” She nodded. “Just remember, honey. No glove, no love.”

“Aargh. Enough.” I pushed her toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“What?! You’re kicking me out? You’re not going to tell me about your date?”

“It wasn’t a date. And…yes.”

“Fine,” she said. “I was just leaving anyways.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good. Then.”

“Good night, Jane.”

She made a kissy-face at me, crossing her eyes.

“Jane!”

She turned around and did that thing with your hands rubbing up and down your body where it looks like you’re making out with someone.

“Bye,” I said, shoving her out of my room. I shut the door behind her and locked it. I could hear her laughing through the window and couldn’t help but smile. I sat on my bed and held my palms to my cheeks. I could tell I was blushing without even having to look in the mirror. I had an overwhelming impulse to text Marla and Liz. But I didn’t. I kicked off my shoes and flopped back on my bed and stared at the ceiling and wondered about all the people before me who had done the same thing in this very room. What had happened to them? What would happen to me?

The next morning, Jane and I had breakfast together. Lester and Grace liked to sleep late, apparently, and no one knew where Barry was. Jane was making googly-eyes and kissy-lips at me.

“The thing is, I don’t get it,” I said.

“Don’t get what?”

“Why would he hit on me? Why would he flirt with me? I’m not pretty right now. Look at me, I look like a strawberry pie that a horse stepped on. I’m gross.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad. Your face has already cleared up a lot since you got here. Besides, maybe he can see you’ve got potential.” She dug a hole in her oatmeal. “Or maybe he’s just bored.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again once I get out of here.”

“Never say never,” Jane said. “Lester and Grace met in here, and now look at them.” She leaned forward. “And, Grace already had a boyfriend when she met Lester.”

“I know,” I said.

“What do you know?”

“I knew about them getting married here.”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I saw them by the library the other day and they told me about it. How they were wild and crazy in love so they snuck out through the hole in the fence to go get married in Baton Rouge.”

“You see!” She pointed at me, her fingers in the shape of a gun. “The hole!”

“Yep. Just like you said.”

“Maybe the reason you got Hansen’s disease was so that you would come here and meet Steve.”

“Scott.”

“Close enough.”

“I don’t think—”

“Maybe that was God’s plan for you, for everything to happen just as it has because of a grand design that we can’t see or understand.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said.

“Well, maybe that doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. What’s the reason you got Hansen’s disease, then? What’s the grand design there?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

I took tiny bites of my oatmeal, trying not to gag on the sticky clumps.

“Maybe there’s more than one reason,” Jane said.

“Can you name one?”

“Well, I think it’s made me more compassionate toward other people, for sure. When before I’d just be, like, whatever, not my problem, now I feel like I can actually empathize with people who are sick or injured or have experienced a profound loss.”

“Big deal,” I said. “What does compassion get you? A bleeding heart, that’s all.”

“It’s about becoming more fully human, Abby.”

“Look at me.” I spread my arms. “I’m already a human. I’m not going to get any more human than this.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t. I don’t know what you mean at all.”

“Look,” Jane said. “All I’m saying is, we got Hansen’s disease for a reason. Now it’s up to us to figure out the reason.”

“There is no reason, Jane! It was just a freak thing. It was being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being in the five percent of the population that’s not immune to the bacteria!”

She shook her head sadly.

“The only reason you’re saying there has to be a reason for it is because it’s easier to think that. It’s more comforting to think that it’s all part of a greater plan that all makes sense to someone, somewhere, because it sure as shit doesn’t make any sense when you’re living it.”

“What do you want, Abby?”

“I want…I want to be allowed to be mad. And sad. And frigging…devastated. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, okay? And it doesn’t help me feel better for you to say that it happened for a reason. That’s, like, the opposite of helping me.”

“Okay…”

“Okay?”

“I won’t say it anymore if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t!”

“Are you talking to Rodriguez today?”

“I don’t know.”

“Might be a good idea.” Jane finished the last sip of her coffee and collected her dishes. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

I nodded as she left me alone at the table, staring into the abyss of my oatmeal.

With a morning like that, there’s not much hope for the rest of the day. It was Saturday so there was no bus to the clinic in Baton Rouge. I was trapped inside the 336 acres that was the National Hansen’s Disease Museum, a.k.a., Carville. Which, did I mention? Was ACTUALLY a prison in the late 1990s. I was irritable and restless. I wanted OUT! I wanted to go shopping, see my friends, go to a party. But I couldn’t do anything. Because I was a leper.

Scott wasn’t even around for me to have someone to talk to. The cadets had gone on a day trip to go feed orphans or something. I don’t know. They were all gone and the place was eerily quiet and empty without their green and khaki-ness filling it up. Dr. Rodriguez would come up to Carville to counsel us, but we had to book the appointment in advance, and I hadn’t. I was so desperate for something to do that I actually did schoolwork. I wasn’t sure if I was even going to pass my senior year or not, but I figured I might as well try. I had brought all my textbooks with me and a few assignments that had no real deadline. I was planning on taking my final exams, even if I had to do them from a hospital bed. High school is the kind of thing you only want to have to do once. Although, if Jane was right, I’d be doing it over and over again for the rest of my life.

I got through two chapters of my math textbook, had a long nap, and then woke up and finished one assignment for English. It was dinnertime by then, but I didn’t feel like eating. I wanted to go to sleep so I could wake up to a new day and leave this one behind me.

Sometimes I wake up in a bad mood and it just gets worse and worse as the day goes on. I don’t know why. It happened to me before I got leprosy too, obviously. But the bad moods seemed worse now that I was living with the black cloud of Hansen’s disease dumping a shit-storm on my head day in and day out. Like now when I was in a bad mood, it was really bad. I knew I was a total hag to be around. And no amount of chocolate or ice cream or America’s Next Top Model could shake me out of it. All I could do was go to bed and hope that when I woke up in the morning I would discover that it had all been a terrible dream. That I was still healthy. That I was still beautiful. That I had never heard of Hansen’s disease. Or sulfone therapy. Or Carville, Louisiana.

But that morning never came.

The next day was Sunday. Visitor’s day. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to see my parents. I cleaned my room, dressed up and did my hair in a French braid. When I opened the door to air out my room, Jane passed by. She wore a purple dress and gold sparkly sandals.

“Hey, Abby.”

“Hey, Jane.”

We stared at each other in the white sunlight.

“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was…”

She waved my words away. “You could be right,” she said. “It is easier to believe that there’s somebody who has a plan. Somebody who knows what’s going on with everything. With everybody.”

I nodded.

“Because I sure as hell don’t!”

We laughed.

“It might be easier,” she said. “But it’s what I believe.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

She looked me up and down. “You going to church?” she said.

“Me? No.”

“How come you’re all dressed up then?”

“My parents are coming.”

“Aw, that’s cute.”

I shrugged.

“Okay. I’m going to talk to God,” Jane said. “See you later.”

“Put in a good word for me.”

She winked at me, gave me a little finger-wave, then clacked down the stairs, the skirt of her dress flouncing as she went. Then Barry came out of his room, which was next to Jane’s. He wore a white T-shirt with a pink stain over the left nipple and gray sweatpants.

“Hi, Barry,” I said.

“Good morning, Abigail,” he said.

I snorted a bit.

Barry looked at me.

“No, it’s nothing,” I said, waving my hand. “It’s just that no one has called me that in a long time,” I said. “Sometimes I forget that’s even my name.”

“I know what you mean,” he said.

I stared at him. The sun bounced off his bald spot and his glasses were dirty.

“Barry isn’t my given name either. It’s a short form,” he said.

“What’s it short for?”

He swallowed. “Bartholomew,” he said.

I nodded. “Well, then, good morning, Bartholomew.”

A smile flickered on his face for a moment and for a split second, I could almost see what he had looked like as a little boy. He nodded and passed by me, taking the steps slowly and deliberately, the way we’d been taught, holding onto the handrail with his mitten-hand.

I figured that Barry was one of those people who knew there was no reason for anything, and the unbearable desperation of that knowledge had taken its toll. For some reason I got the impression that getting Hansen’s disease wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to Barry. He had given up hope long ago.

I turned away from him and looked out over the field. Three people approached. I knew them by the way they walked. Mom and Dad had brought Dean with them, as a surprise, I guess. And I can tell you this for sure, I had never been so excited to see Dean before. I ran to them and hugged Dean first.

“Um,” he said, putting his arms around me woodenly. “Hi.”

“Dean! It’s okay! I’m not contagious anymore! I’m on the cell-phone drugs, see.”

“Okay,” he said, half-chuckling. “Good to know.”

I hugged Mom and Dad and thanked them for coming and told them how glad I was that they had made the trip.

“We drove up yesterday,” Dad said. “So we could spend the whole day with you today.”

I hugged him again, my eyes filling with tears.

When you’re seventeen, your parents can annoy the living buck out of you. But, if I’m honest with myself, they really are the best. They’re the only people you can count on to stick by you when things go sideways. And even though you treat them like sub-humans 90 percent of the time, they’ll still show up early on visitor’s day.

I don’t remember too much about what we said or did that day. We walked around a lot. It was a nice day. The sky was clear and blue. I was feeling pretty good. I showed them the hole in the fence. Dean was unusually quiet and didn’t even say anything jerky. Probably because Mom and Dad had threatened to run him over on the way out of the parking lot if he did.

We all had lunch together in the mess hall. Mom and Dad and Dean sat at the reserved table with me, Jane, Grace, Lester and Barry. It was like my real family and my leper family all dining together. Scott looked over at us, gave me a big smile and waved. I waved back.

Dean followed my gaze. “That your boyfriend?”

I shrugged. “Maybe one day.”

“Hm,” he said. “Cute.”

I grinned. Mom looked sidelong at Dean. Dad was in conversation with Lester so I don’t think he heard.

“What’s going on at school?” I said.

“The usual BS,” Dean said. He took a bite of his sandwich. “Carrie Nelson’s pregnant.”

“No!” I choked a little bit on my apple.

“Yup.”

“Holy crap! Is it…Jude’s?”

“Presumably.”

“Whoa. Is she going to keep it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shiiit.”

“Your old buddy Liz is dating that weird skater guy.”

“Nate Russell?”

“I guess.” Dean chewed his sandwich, talking out of the side of his mouth. “She’s gone kind of freaky too. Dyed her hair black and wears ripped-up clothes with safety pins stuck everywhere.” He took a sip of his milk. “She looks alright, though. If you like voodoo dolls.”

“What about Marla?”

“Same.”

I nodded. “Has anyone asked about me?”

“Yeah, a few people.”

I stared at him.

“Oh, who?”

“Yeah…”

“Um, let’s see. That kid who lives near us…”

“Dustin?”

“Yeah. Him.”

“Who else?”

“Uh…Coach Clayton. Let’s see. Um, Aaron asked about you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. Well, Rihanna Pilansky was there when Coach Clayton asked, but she didn’t ask about you herself, so, I don’t think she counted.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t know whether to be happy that Dustin had asked about me or depressed because Marla and Liz hadn’t. I was feeling both things at the same time. “And what did you tell them?”

“That you’re sick and you’ve gone out of state for treatment.” Dean shrugged.

“And do they…do they know what I’m sick with?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t told anybody.”

“Not even Aaron.”

“Nope.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

It was maybe the nicest thing Dean had ever done for me, not telling. I knew that it might get out eventually, but for now, no one outside my family knew, and I was comforted by that.

Grace and Lester and Jane said their goodbyes and nice-to-meet-yous and left the table. Barry nodded and shuffled off, back to his own private hell. But the four of us stayed at the table because Mom was still eating. My mom is the slowest eater in Texas and maybe even the whole world.

“Auntie Karen says hi,” Dad said.

“Oh, thanks. Hi back.”

“She wanted to send you some peanut butter brownies, but we didn’t know if they allowed outside food in.”

“Wait. Does Auntie Karen know why I’m here?”

Mom and Dad looked at each other.

I groaned. “She does, doesn’t she?”

“We had to tell her, honey,” Mom said. “She’s our family. She cares about you.”

“Who else did you tell?”

“That’s it,” Dad said. “The only people who know are us and Auntie Karen. And your doctors. But that’s all.”

“Swear to me you won’t tell anyone else. Please.”

“We won’t,” said Mom. “But you don’t need to be ashamed, Abby. It’s just a bacteria. You didn’t do anything wrong. This could happen to anyone.”

“Yeah. It happened to me. And I don’t want to advertise it, okay?”

Mom wrinkled her eyebrows at me.

“Please, Mom!”

Dad squeezed her shoulder.

“Okay.” She sighed. “Whatever you want.”

“No one. Not a living soul.”

“It’s our secret, Abby. You don’t have to worry about that,” Dad said.

“You especially.” I pointed at Dean.

He put his hands up.

“Swear on your life,” I said.

“I swear on my life,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a leper.”

“Hansen’s disease patient,” I said.

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

It wasn’t the same thing, I realized. It wasn’t the same at all.

After lunch, we played bocce with an ancient set that had probably been there since Grace and Lester’s early days. We all goofed around except for Mom, because she gets so serious about games and has to win everything.

“I really want to come home next weekend,” I said as they walked me back to my apartment.

“We know you do, sweetie. But you have to stay here until the four weeks are over,” Mom said.

“Just for a visit. Not to stay.”

“Oh,” Mom said. She looked at Dad.

“I really miss you guys,” I said. “And there are some things I need to take care of. With school. And cheerleading.”

“I don’t think you’ll be doing cheer anymore, honey, I’m sorry to say,” Dad said.

I explained to them about the USC scholarship. How getting it depended on my officially being part of the team. “Even if they could make me an assistant, a water girl, a mascot, anything, I’d still have a shot at USC for the fall.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other, wary.

“Please,” I said. “I have to try. And I have to speak to Coach Clayton about it in person.”

“Abby,” Dad said. “You have a very serious illness.”

“I know that, Dad.”

“Your health is the number one priority right now.”

“But—”

“Not high school graduation. Not this USC scholarship. And certainly not cheerleading.”

“But—”

“We have to face the fact that you may not even graduate this year, Abby,” Mom said gently.

“But I have to try.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other. Dean stared at his shoes, smudging the toe of one with the other foot. “She’s right,” Dean said, looking up. “You have to at least let her try.”

Dad sighed.

“We’ll have to get the okay from Dr. Mike first,” Mom said.

“Of course.”

“And you need to be home resting. Not going out with your friends all weekend.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I gave them both hugs around the neck and gave Dean a little thumbs-up. As nasty as he could be sometimes, he was there for me, my brother. When I needed him most, he had my back.

My family left not long after that to do the long drive home. Mom had brought me more homework assignments and a Shopaholic novel she had picked out for me from the used bookstore in our neighborhood, plus a new tube of lip gloss and a little bottle of pink nail polish, which meant more to me than she’ll ever know.

I could get used to feeling weak and I could get used to the numbness in my hands and feet, but the thing that I hadn’t gotten used to, and maybe never would, was not feeling pretty anymore. Maybe you think that’s incredibly vain, fine. But when your total net worth, I mean all of your social currency, is wrapped up in your appearance, the things it can get you, the things it can do for you, and then you lose that, what have you got? Buck-all, that’s what. Zero, zilch, nada. You’re ugly, worthless and desperate, just like the freaks and fatties at school that you used to make fun of, only they never had it in the first place so they don’t know how much it kills to lose it. And you wonder how you could have been such an unbelievable asshole to them just because of how they looked. On top of everything else, being on the other side makes you think about who you really were before. And let’s just say, I was not a good Samaritan.

On Monday morning when the bus arrived at the clinic, the first thing I did was book an appointment with Dr. Mike so I could get permission to go home for the weekend. When I saw him the following day he said he’d already talked to my mom and it should be fine as long as I took it easy and didn’t forget to take the pills and keep up with my exercises. I thanked him and went out into the hallway to call Mom at work. She’d already booked my Greyhound ticket. I would leave Friday afternoon at 4:00 p.m. from the bus depot in Baton Rouge and get in around midnight. The bus back to Carville left Sunday at noon. It was a lot of riding the bus for a short amount of time at home, but I didn’t care. I wanted out of Carville. Even if it was only for one day. Sometime Saturday or Sunday morning, I had to talk to Coach Clayton. I thanked my mom and told her I loved her and hung up.

My second week at Carville went by slower than the first. There was more physio: picking up towels with my toes, rolling out my feet on a foam roller, squeezing the stress ball until I wore the mouth off the happy face.

On Wednesday, I met with Dr. Rodriguez again. This time, she wanted to talk about the future. My future.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I said. “It’s all up in the air right now.”

“Ideally,” she said. “What would you like to see happen?”

I thought for a minute while I stared at the rocket-ship poster. “I’d like to go back in time and not eat armadillo meat,” I said.

“We can’t go back, Abby. Only forward.”

“Unless we have a time machine,” I said.

“That’s right,” she said. “But I’m guessing you don’t.”

I scuffed the toe of my shoe against the chair. “Right.”

“So, let’s talk about the next couple of months and the coming year. What do they hold for you, ideally?”

“I’d like to graduate,” I said. “I’d like to go to my grad ceremony. I know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell of being prom queen now, but, I’d like to at least go to my prom.”

She nodded. “Okay. Good. Anyone in particular you’d like to go to the prom with?”

I shook my head, shrugging miserably.

“You don’t have a—”

“No.”

“Okay,” she said. “That’s okay.”

“Everyone probably already has their date,” I said.

“Your prom’s in June?”

I nodded.

“That’s still months away, Abby. Lots of time.”

“Yeah, but I can’t even go if I don’t graduate. Plus, I don’t want to go looking like this.” I pointed to my face.

“There’s a good chance the spots on your face will be cleared up by then. They’re already looking better.”

“Really?”

“I can’t promise anything, but, like I said, there’s a good chance.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight. “That would be awesome.”

“And when do you expect to find out if you’re going to graduate?”

“Not until June.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “And you’ve been keeping up with your studies? Doing your homework and all of your assignments?”

“I’ve been trying,” I said.

“Good. So let’s suppose you do graduate, then what?”

“I’d been hoping to go to USC in Los Angeles to study acting, but I can’t go unless I get a full scholarship. It’s a cheerleading scholarship, so it’s contingent on me staying on the squad, and the coach writing me a letter of recommendation.”

“I see,” Dr. Rodriguez said.

“Except it looks like that’s not going to happen anymore because, well, obviously I can’t do stunts or really too much physically demanding activity right now. Maybe not ever again…”

“And have you talked to your coach about this?”

“Not yet. That’s why I’m going back to Texas this weekend. To talk to her in person.”

“That’s good, Abby,” Dr. Rodriguez said. “That shows real initiative.”

“Thanks.”

“But here’s my question: if you do get the cheerleading scholarship to USC, won’t you be expected to be a cheerleader for them?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“And if you can’t cheer for them, will you be able to keep attending the university?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“I see. So even if you do graduate, even if you do get the scholarship, you might not be able to keep studying at USC if you can’t cheer.”

I nodded. “Basically, I’m screwed. Whatever happens, I’m screwed. That’s the bottom line.”

“Not necessarily,” she said. “We just need to come up with a plan B.”

“THERE IS NO PLAN B!”

Dr. Rodriguez sat back in her chair, startled.

“This has been the plan for as long as I can remember and there’s nothing else I want to do and there’s nowhere else I want to go!”

She held up her hands. “Okay.”

“I don’t even like cheerleading! I just did it so I could get the stupid scholarship!” I laughed. “I’m such an idiot. All those hours of practice, the cheer camps, entire weekends…wasted. And for what?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t all a waste, Abby.”

“It will be if I can’t get into USC.” Tears blurred my vision.

Dr. Rodriguez drummed her fingertips against the desk. “I think we should speak to someone at the university to confirm. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they won’t require you to be on the squad there.”

“I really hope you’re wrong.” My voice was tiny and far away. The present sucked balls, and the future wasn’t looking any better.

The next day, Dr. Rodriguez helped me figure out who at USC could answer my question. She let me use the phone in her office and gave me some privacy. After waiting on hold for what felt like an hour, I finally got through to the right person. It turned out that if you get the scholarship, they expect you to cheer for them, just like Rodriguez had said. But all I could do was cling to the hope that I would somehow, some way be able to do it—in some capacity—but first I had to actually get the scholarship.

Scott and I went for a walk that night and I told him I was going home for a visit on the weekend.

“Lucky,” he said. “They don’t let us leave.”

“You went on that field trip.”

“Not the same.”

“How much longer are you here for?”

“Two more weeks,” he said, kicking a rock. “Then home to face the music.”

“Hey,” I said. “It could be worse. You could have leprosy.”

We laughed. “Well, when you put it that way…”

We walked through a grove of old, mossy oaks, their knotted limbs reached up to the sky like tentacles. An owl hooted above us, and Scott closed his hand around mine. I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, just stared straight ahead, hoping he couldn’t see the crimson blush creep over my face.

“Is this okay?” he said.

“Yep,” I said.

“Okay. Good.”

I smiled, looking at him from the corner of my eye.

“I like hanging out with you,” he said.

“Me too.”

“I can’t hang out with any of my old friends when I get back home,” he said.

“Why not?”

“For some of them, it’s part of their probation that they can’t hang out with me.”

“Oh.”

He ground his jaw. “They all have criminal records. Two of them have court dates coming up.”

“That’s rough,” I said.

“I wish you lived in Oklahoma City. Then at least I’d have one friend.”

“We could talk on the phone,” I said.

“Yeah…I’m not very good on the phone. It’s so…phony.”

I laughed. “Maybe we could visit each other,” I said. “Do you have a car?”

“No. But I could steal one.”

“Really?”

“No!”

I laughed. “Right. Yeah. Don’t do that. You wouldn’t want to end up in…”

“A place like this?”

“Exactly.”

He shrugged, gave me the side-eye. “It has its perks.”

“Besides,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be all reformed after this program?”

He smirked. “I guess we’ll find out in two weeks.”

We didn’t say anything for a while, just walked along, holding hands, and it was really, really nice.

“Are you going to your prom?” I asked.

“Oh hell no. I hate that shit.”

“Oh.”

“Why? Are you going to yours?”

I shrugged. “Probably not. I doubt anyone will ask me.”

“Couldn’t you go with a friend or something?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

I sighed. “My friends…turned out to be not such good friends,” I said.

“I hear that,” said Scott.

“When I needed them most, they stopped talking to me. Pretended I didn’t exist.”

“Do you want me to beat them up?” Scott asked.

I laughed. “Kind of.”

“Give me their addresses. It shall be done.”

“No.”

“You sure? It’s no problem.”

“Yeah.” I laughed. “It’s okay.”

“We could pull a Carrie at your prom. Dump pig’s blood all over everyone.”

“It wasn’t Carrie who did that. It was the mean kids who did it to her.”

“Oh yeah. Carrie burnt it all down.”

“Right.”

“Well, we could do that too.”

“I don’t really feel like getting charged with arson.”

“It’s no big deal,” he said. “Until you’re eighteen, nothing sticks anyways.”

“Scott?”

“Yeah, Tex?”

“How come you hate prom?”

“Because it’s stupid! Everyone spends way too much money on clothes they’ll never wear again, they drink too much, make fools of themselves, and make poor choices like driving drunk and having sex without a condom. Proms are just disasters waiting to happen. Plus all that king and queen bullshit. What is that? Oh, you’re so popular and gorgeous so I’m going to vote for you so that you can wear a stupid plastic crown on your already too-big head? Come on.”

“But…You only get one prom. Aren’t you afraid you might regret not going?”

“Not a chance. I’ve been to one. It was one too many.”

“Oh,” I said. I scratched the back of my neck, letting go of his hand.

“This girl I knew was in twelfth grade last year. She took me as her prom date. It was embarrassing. She made me wear this hideous baby-blue tux, hang out with all her annoying friends—”

“I see.”

“Look, it was a really fucked-up night, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“But I want to tell you. I feel like I should tell you.”

“Okay.”

He sighed. “She ended up getting really smashed that night. I mean, super drunk.”

I nodded.

“There were these guys at the party…They’re not my friends. I knew them, a few of them, but they weren’t my friends.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “They got her upstairs. I saw her going up there with them. I mean, she was still talking and walking and everything. She said she was okay.” He shrugged. “So I didn’t do anything. I didn’t stop her or anything. Just went back to playing beer pong like a total asshole.”

I bit my lip.

“So. Anyways. Long story short. Whatever happened upstairs got her so messed up that she killed herself two weeks later.”

“Holy shit.” My hand flew over my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Scott. That’s…that’s terrible.”

“Worst part is?” He pointed to his chest. “I could have stopped it.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said.

“But it kind of is though. Or close enough.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Everyone knew I was her prom date. That she was basically my responsibility that night. And did I ever fuck that up royally. After she died, people treated me like a total…”

“Leper?”

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I’m really sorry, Scott.”

He rubbed his hand over his face. “It is what it is. Maybe part of the reason I hate prom so much.”

We were quiet for a moment.

“Look, I don’t know why I told you that. I wasn’t going to tell you. It just kind of…came out. Please don’t hate me, Abby.”

“I don’t hate you,” I said.

“You don’t? You should. I’m a total fuck-head.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Yeah. You probably don’t.”

I laughed. “I think maybe the last five years of my life were a mistake. Maybe my whole life. Definitely all of high school.”

He smiled a tiny bit. “Thank you.” He took my hand again and squeezed it gently in his.

The moon was a silver teardrop shining down on us. We headed back to my apartment then, and I thought about how there are so many things that can go wrong in a life, so many things that are unfair, that are awful. And the older you get, the more sad things there are.

I gave Scott a long hug good night. We didn’t say anything, just held on tight like we were trying to keep each other from breaking apart.

When I got back to my room I started getting ready for bed, but I couldn’t get Carrie Nelson out of my mind. I lay awake half the night thinking about her. She was in twelfth grade and pregnant with Jude Mailer’s baby. What was she going to do? What were they going to do? I had assumed Carrie and Jude would be smart enough to use protection. But then, I hadn’t with Chad. That could’ve been me right now, pregnant. God. I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done. Luckily, that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. My life may have been completely screwed up, but my period was as regular as ever. Would I trade places with Carrie right now if I could? So she could have Hansen’s disease and I could be pregnant with Jude’s baby? I don’t know. I realized that Carrie wouldn’t be able to be on the cheer team this year either. It would be too risky; if she fell, the baby…But instead of feeling smug about that, I just felt bad for her. I knew Carrie loved cheerleading. Probably more than me, Marla and Liz combined, and now she wouldn’t get to cheer in her senior year. For a good long while after Jude dumped me, I hated Carrie. I mean, really hated her, wished bad things for her, scowled at her in the halls, called her awful names behind her back, all that. But now that I was at Carville, everything felt different. I didn’t hate her at all. Or wish anything bad for her. I felt sorry for her and I wished there was something I could do to help her. Maybe she and Jude would get married. Doubtful, but it could happen. I hoped that whatever happened, it would be the best-case scenario. For both of them. There was no great option, of course, but I hoped that whatever decision Carrie and Jude made, they wouldn’t hate each other for it, wouldn’t regret it for the rest of their lives.

Scott and I hung out the next day too. During his free period we went to the old canteen, which had been turned into a games room. There was a pool table, shuffle board and a bunch of ancient board games stacked along the walls.

He picked up a pool cue and surveyed the table. “Looks like this pool table has been here since the dinosaurs roamed the Earth.”

The green felt was all chewed up and the legs were scratched and gouged.

“Are you trying to find excuses before we start?” I said.

“Rack ’em up,” he said.

So I did.

We were tied two–two and then we had the rubber match. The last game was really close, but Scott ended up sinking the eight ball when he still had the six on the table.

“Nooooo!” he yelled and mimed flinging his cue against the wall.

“Victory is mine!” I held my cue in both hands and raised it over my head, turned a little circle.

“I bow to you, goddess of billiards.” He got down on one knee and lowered his head.

“As you must,” I said.

“Give me another chance tomorrow?” he said as he stood up, brushing the dust off his pants.

“If you’re good,” I said.

“I’m not good,” he said. “But I’m lucky.” He grinned at me.

“We’ll see about that.”

It was fun, being with him. For a short while, I could even forget where I was, and why I was there. But as soon as we stepped outside, the spell was broken.

Lester and Grace kept chickens and a Tom turkey behind their cottage and the turkey had gotten out. They were both chasing after him, their arms outstretched, stumbling around blindly. The bird seemed to know they couldn’t see him and would move just out of reach as they approached. Scott and I turned to each other. His mouth turned up at the corner and then we both burst out laughing.

“Don’t just stand there guffawing!” Lester yelled at us. “Help us get him back!”

When you get up close to a turkey, they’re actually kind of scary looking. Their skin is all bumpy and red. And they’re bigger than you’d think. They look kind of demonic. A turkey could probably really hurt you if it wanted to. Scott and I approached cautiously.

“What do you want us to do?” Scott called.

“Catch the darned thing before an alligator gets to it!” Grace said.

Scott lunged for the turkey and it flapped away. I laughed. He lunged for it again and it hopped out of reach. I laughed harder. He turned to me. “Don’t laugh! It’s hard!” He tried a third time and still the turkey got away. “How do you catch him?” he called to Lester.

“Grab his tail feathers!” Lester called.

“Get him by the legs!” Grace said.

He tried for a while longer while I covered my mouth with both hands so he couldn’t see me laughing. Finally, Scott got a hold of the turkey’s legs and was able to hold him.

“Oh good!” Grace said. “He’s got him.”

“How did you know that?” I asked her.

“The sound,” she said, pointing to her ear.

“What do you want me to do with him?” Scott said.

“Put him back behind the fence,” said Lester.

Scott heaved the turkey over the fence and it flapped to the ground, squawking.

“Thank you, son,” Lester said.

“Great job!” said Grace, chuckling.

“You’re welcome,” Scott said, wiping his brow. He turned to me, smiled. “Shall we?” he said.

I giggled and took his arm. We started back toward my apartment.

“That was amazing,” I said.

“Oh, yeah? You liked that?”

“You must be the best turkey catcher in all of Oklahoma,” I said. “Maybe the best in the Midwest.”

“I reckon it wasn’t too bad for my first time.”

“That was your first time? No! I don’t believe it. You’re a natural!”

“Hey now,” he said. “I didn’t see you going after that bird.”

“How could I have? I didn’t want to steal your thunder. Especially after beating you so badly at pool.”

“It was kind of fun, actually.”

“Maybe he’ll get out again tomorrow and you can do it all over again.”

“Here’s to hoping.”

I laughed.

“What are you doing now?” he said as we stood in front of the steps to my apartment.

I checked the time on my phone, stifled a yawn. “I should probably take a nap,” I said. “All that turkey catching and pool winning really took it out of me.”

“Okay,” Scott said. “Well, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Okay,” I said.

He gave me a little salute and walked away. I smiled all the way up to my room and was still smiling as I got into bed and pulled the covers over me.

Jane razzed me that night at dinner. “Carville,” she said. “Higher match-making success rate than Tinder.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Sooo, how was your date? Tell, tell, tell.” She squeezed my arm.

“It wasn’t a date, Jane. We’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

“Honey. You and I are friends. That boy is actively pursuing your ass.”

Barry looked over at us, his eyes wide and gooey behind his glasses.

“Shut up,” I whisper-yelled.

“Well, it’s true. Just look at him.”

We looked across the cafeteria to where Scott was sitting. Other guys surrounded him. They were all talking, laughing, being loud, joking around. But Scott just sat there quietly amongst them, staring at me.

“Oh no,” I said and put my face in my hands.

“Oh yes,” Jane said. “He’s got it bad for you.”

Barry craned his neck, trying to see Scott.

“I believe the word is…twitterpated,” Jane said. Then she let out one of her big rowdy laughs that seemed to shake the whole room.

“But how can he…? Why would he even…? I’m…”

“Don’t think too much, Abby. You might hurt yourself,” Jane said.

I gave her the finger and she laughed at me.

“No, but seriously, Jane. What am I going to do?”

She patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

When Friday finally came I was so excited. I was going home! Just for a day and a half, but still. Home! After I got back from the clinic, I packed my bag for the weekend and then looked around for Scott to say goodbye to him, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Jane walked me to the front gates where my cab was waiting.

“Be good,” she said, hugging me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I waved to her as the taxi drove away and she blew me a kiss.

There were a lot of people waiting at the bus station in Baton Rouge. A couple with two loud-mouthed little kids. An old guy with a white beard and icy blue eyes. A lady with a green sequined purse. A few of them eyed me warily as we lined up to get on the bus. I wondered if they could tell I was coming from Carville. If it was obvious. I got my makeup kit out of my bag and put on some lip gloss. Then the driver called out, “FIVE MINUTES!” and people started loading their luggage underneath. I put my makeup kit away and stood in line. The bus driver checked my ticket and asked for my ID. My heart leapt into my throat. Was I on a no-fly list? Was I not allowed to ride transit because of the disease? Would I be turned away once he saw the name on my ID? I pulled my license out of my wallet, my hands shaking. The bus driver glanced at it then looked back at me. “Welcome aboard,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. My shoulders relaxed. I climbed the steps up to the bus carefully, holding on to the rail with both hands. This was not the time to turn an ankle. Plus, how embarrassing would it be to fall getting on the bus?

Once I got to my seat I pulled up my hood and spread my bag and coat out on the seat beside me so no one would sit next to me. Probably if they thought I was coming from Carville, no one would have sat next to me anyway. It was a long ride but I slept for a lot of it, and I had tons of music and games on my phone so it wasn’t so bad.

Finally, we pulled into the      station. Dad was there waiting for me. He gave me a hug and then took my bag. We got in the car and drove home.

“How are you doing, Abby?” Dad said.

“I’ve been better.”

“Yeah.” He stared out the windshield. He looked so sad in that moment—I think the word is forlorn—I had to say something else, something to comfort him.

“I’m okay though. I’ve made a couple of friends.”

He looked over at me. “That’s great, sweetie. That’s really, really great.”

“Well,” I said, shrugging. “It helps, anyway.”

“I’m sure it does.”

We stopped at a red light and I could feel him looking at me. I wondered what he was thinking; I wondered if I grossed him out. I stared down at my hands. I pinched the end of each of my fingertips and felt nothing. Soon, we pulled into our driveway.

“Here we are,” Dad said.

“Home sweet home.”

He smiled at me and helped me into the house with my bags.

Dean was watching an old black and white movie on TV and Mom was knitting a yellow scarf. They both jumped off the couch when I walked in the door and came to hug me. It was already midnight so we didn’t stay up too late. Mom made me some toast and tea, and then I went to bed. It had never felt so good to sleep in my own bed. I lay awake for a long time listening to the familiar noises of my house. The water running in Mom and Dad’s bathroom as they got ready for bed, the click-clack of Dean’s keyboard, and the buzzes and hums of the heat and lights. I had never really noticed these sounds before. But that night, I savored them.

I had a weird dream that I was back on the bus and the other passengers were all the guys I had ever liked or kissed or anything: Scott; Chad; Jude; Dustin; Mr. Neal, our hot chemistry teacher; even Anthony, my fourth grade boyfriend, was there. I sat at the back of the bus and looked at the backs of their heads, then they all turned around and started booing me. Chad threw a plastic bag full of condoms at me and Jude threw a basketball at my head. Mr. Neal threw a petri dish. I ducked so none of it hit me, but I was so upset. I crawled under my seat, covered my head with my arms and started to cry. They kept throwing more things. Rotten fruit and underwear. A wad of gum on the bus floor got stuck to my face and I couldn’t get it off. I was tearing at my face, trying to rip the gum off, but ripping my skin off instead. Then a hand reached out and touched me on the shoulder. I looked up. It was Jane. She had purple hair but I knew it was her.

“Jane! Help me!”

“What’s wrong, Abby?”

“They hate me. They all hate me!”

“Why do they hate you?”

“Because…because I’m not pretty anymore. They hate that I’m so ugly.”

She pulled me up onto the seat. Things kept flying at us. Spiral notebooks and khaki pants. A bag of marbles. More fruit. A stuffed dog. Death metal played full blast out of the bus speakers. It was so loud and so awful. “Abby.” Jane turned my face toward hers, held my cheeks in both her hands. “There are more important things than being beautiful.”

I stared at her. “Oh,” I said. She nodded, took her hands away from my face. Then everything got quiet. The boys turned around. Stopped throwing things. Sunlight poured in the bus windows and caught little bits of dust and everything on the bus began to shimmer. I looked down at my hands. They were shimmering too. The bus driver whistled a tune I knew but couldn’t remember the name of. It was the only sound.

The next morning I woke up and stared at the ceiling for a long time, remembering my dream. I hummed a little part of the bus driver’s tune, trying to place it, but I still couldn’t remember what the song was called or how I knew it. Finally, I got out of bed and took a long shower, enjoying every second of it, because the water pressure at Carville sucked. Then I blow-dried my hair and straightened it and did my makeup. When I came downstairs, my parents had a huge breakfast going. Banana pancakes, bacon, fresh-squeezed orange juice, cinnamon buns, coffee. All my favorites.

“You should come home every weekend,” Dean said, crunching a piece of bacon.

“Aww, are you saying you miss me?”

“No. I miss bacon,” he said.

“Well, I’m only there for two more weeks. Then I’ll be back in your life again. Fulltime.”

“Can’t wait,” he said.

I gave him a sugary smile.

“Are you going back to school when you get back?” Dean asked.

I took a sip of my coffee, then set my mug down. “Yeah, for the last month and a bit I guess,” I said.

“Aren’t you going to be so screwed though?”

“It might be okay. As long as I pass all my finals, I should be able to graduate this year. I mean, I did pretty well on my SATs in the fall.”

“You certainly did, honey,” Mom said.

“No, I mean socially screwed,” Dean said. “Because, you know, you’re not really allowed to hang out with the beautiful people anymore.”

“Dean,” Dad said, grinding his jaw. “Please.”

I stared at Dean for a cold moment. “There are more important things than being beautiful,” I said.

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

“Dean!” Mom said.

I dug into my pancakes. He was right. I’d be bucked in the friend department for the rest of my senior year. But I was right too. Your priorities change when you get sick and when you get older. I was both.

We had a really fun day. Mom and Dad said we could do whatever I wanted to do. I picked bowling because I hadn’t done it in a long time and I remembered that it was an excellent feeling to knock down all the pins and hear them crack and smash against each other. Dad let Dean drive because my dad is a crazy person. Mom and I sat in the back of the car. She put her arm around me. “It’s so good to have you home,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “Maybe you should come home next weekend too.”

“I’ll see if I can,” I said.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you and Dean move out,” Mom said.

“You’re not going to trip over my shoes or find moldy plates in Dean’s room,” I said.

“Oh, I know,” she said. “But it’s coming so soon.”

“July first,” Dean said. “For me.”

“Dean, are you sure you’re going to be able to afford—”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Okay. It’s just that, you know, you don’t have a job, so…”

“I told you guys, I’ve been playing online poker for years. I have a lot of savings.” Dean cut his eyes at me in the rearview mirror.

“Is that legal?” Mom said.

“Of course it’s legal!” Dean said.

“But you’re not twenty-one,” Mom said.

“But it’s On. Line.”

“But don’t you still have to be—”

“It’s all on the up and up, Mom. Don’t even worry about that. Just worry about what you guys are going to do when you’re bored empty-nesters and don’t have me around for free entertainment.”

“You were never free, honey,” Mom said.

We all laughed.

“Reasonably priced entertainment,” Dean said.

“Mm, that’s a stretch,” she said.

We laughed again.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley. I rented a pair of baby-blue bowling shoes that I loved wearing because

1) They were so pretty, and

2) They weren’t my leper shoes

I bowled the best game of my life but didn’t come close to winning. Mom kicked all of our asses by a mile because she’s twinkle toes and doesn’t know how to lose. Afterwards we went out for pizza and wings. Mom and Dad got a pitcher of beer and let Dean and I have half a glass each. It was a really good night. The best night I’ve had in a long, long time. For a few seconds there, I even forgot I had leprosy.

Before I went to bed, I knocked on Dean’s door. I could hear him shuffling around inside.

“Just a minute,” he called. More shuffling. Some drawers banged shut.

I cleared my throat.

“Okay,” he said. “What is it?”

I opened the door a crack. “Hi,” I said.

“Hey, Abby. Uh, what’s up?”

I stepped inside his room. “I just wanted to say good night,” I said.

“Okay. Yeah. Good night.” His computer monitor was off but he kept glancing at it.

“Are you still doing the…?” I pointed to the computer.

“Yeah. Yep. Same old, same old.” He laughed, nervous.

“And it’s…okay? I mean, you’re good with everything?”

“Oh, you know, it can get a little hairy.”

I laughed.

“But, yeah, no. It’s fine. For the most part…”

I nodded. “How’s Aaron?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. We haven’t hung out since he started dating that stupid Canadian chick.”

“I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“No, she’s actually really smart. If he doesn’t flunk senior year, it’ll be because of her.”

“Still sucks, though. Losing a friend like that.”

“Well.” He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “I guess that makes two of us.”

“Yeah.” I looked down at the carpet. It was worn and gray from years of abuse.

“You doing okay?”

I sighed. “I think so. Mostly. You know, all things considered…”

He nodded. “That’s good.”

“I guess…”

“Abby, I know I never thanked you properly…for saving my life that day.”

I shrugged.

“Thank you,” he said.

I nodded. Stared at a stain on the carpet. “You would’ve done the same for me,” I said.

“I don’t think I could have,” he said. “I never learned CPR.”

“Well, you’re welcome then.”

“And thanks for not telling Mom and Dad about it.”

“Okay. Well…Good night, Dean.”

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Good night.” He smiled his lopsided grin at me and I smiled back. Then I closed his door softly behind me. It wasn’t exactly “I love you,” but it was the closest we ever got.

After another luxurious morning shower, I went downstairs. Mom and Dad had made another massive breakfast: scrambled eggs, sausages, waffles, fruit salad and cranberry muffins.

“Dean!” Mom shouted up the stairwell. “Breakfast!”

No response.

“Oh well,” she said. “He’ll be down in a minute. It’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”

Dad dished out eggs onto everyone’s plates. I poured myself a coffee and refilled Mom’s coffee.

“Dean!” Dad yelled. “Your eggs are getting cold!”

“Will you go see what’s taking him, Abby?” Mom said. “You might need to wake him up.”

“Sure.” I went upstairs and banged on Dean’s door. “Breakfast time!” I waited a moment, then opened the door and stepped into his room.

His bed was made up neatly, which was not like him at all. And his backpack was gone. Oh, Christ. Was my brother enough of an idiot that he would go meet some stranger off the Internet? Yes, yes, he was. I turned on his computer. He had deleted his browser history, nothing was open, and I couldn’t hack into his email. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I got a leaden feeling in my stomach. In my seventeen years of knowing him, Dean had never once made his bed. Something was very wrong with this picture.

“Abby! Dean!” Mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

I took out my phone and dialed Dean’s number. Straight to voice mail. I hung up. Shook my head. “What a dumbass,” I said under my breath. I went downstairs and took my seat at the table.

“Dean’s bed is made and his backpack is gone. Looks like he’s gone off somewhere.”

“Hm. That’s odd,” Dad said. “His bed was made?”

“I don’t think that’s ever happened,” Mom said. “Did he have any plans that you know of?”

“Nope.” I stabbed into a sausage.

“Strange,” Mom said. “He didn’t mention going anywhere this weekend.”

“He’s been acting queer lately,” Dad said, chewing thoughtfully.

I choked a little bit on my sausage.

“There’s something going on with him,” Dad said.

“He has been pretty quiet lately,” Mom said.

“Dean? Quiet? There must be something very wrong, then,” I said.

They both looked at me. I chewed my food and stared at my plate. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but I kept eating so I’d have something to do with my hands.

“What time is your meeting with your coach?” Mom asked.

“About an hour,” I said.

“Need a ride?” Dad asked.

“I can drive. If I can borrow your car?”

“Are you sure?” Mom said.

“Yeah, I can still drive, Mom. I may have leprosy, but I can still drive.”

They looked at each other. Dad nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“It is.”

We finished breakfast and I helped Dad do the dishes. He didn’t say much, but he ground his jaw the way he does when he’s anxious about something.

“I’ll see you later on, okay?” I said when it was time for me to go.

“Alright, kid. Hope it goes well.” He gave me a small smile and drained the sink.

Both of their cars were in the garage, so wherever Dean had gone, he hadn’t driven there. I cranked the radio on the way to meet Coach Clayton and tried to pump myself up by singing along, but there was no good music on any of the stations.

I met Coach Clayton at the coffee shop near our school. She sat at a small table near the window sipping a latte.

“Abby!” She beamed at me. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, Coach. How are you?”

“Good, good.” She nodded. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll just grab a drink first,” I said.

“Sure, sure.”

I ordered an iced cappuccino and sat down across from Coach Clayton.

“So I understand you’ve had some medical issues lately,” she said, eyeing the flaky red skin around my hairline.

“Yeah, um. That’s what I have to talk to you about.”

“Okay.”

“So…because of my, um, medical issues, I’m not in the same physical shape as I was before…”

“I see.”

“But I still really want to be on the squad.”

“Um hm.”

“I mean, I need to be on the squad, Coach.”

“You need to be?”

“Yes!”

She sat back a little. “And why is that?”

I sighed. “Because I put all my eggs in one basket.”

She took a sip of her coffee and waited for me to continue.

“If I’m not on the squad this year, I can’t apply for the cheering scholarship at USC, which is the only school I want to go to. I want to study acting there and I don’t have any other…I don’t have a plan B.”

Coach Clayton looked at me. I saw pity in her green eyes. “Abby—”

“I just wanted to talk to you to find out if I could be on the squad in some other capacity, water girl or…or mascot.” I winced. “Something. Just while I’m recovering. Until I can get back to cheering.”

“Abby, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that scholarship is very, very competitive. Out of the hundreds of girls I know who have applied, not one of them has ever gotten it.”

“But—”

“It would be pretty much impossible to get it if you weren’t actually cheering. There’s a video component.”

“Oh.” Tears bristled in my eyes.

“I think it’s time you came up with a plan B,” she said gently.

I wiped my eyes on the back of my sleeve. My heart weighed a thousand pounds. I nodded. Coach Clayton nodded back.

I knew she was right. But that had been my goal for so long it was hard to see any other possibilities. If I didn’t go to USC, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. I knew I didn’t want to stay in Texas, but I didn’t know how to get out, either.

I took the bus back to Carville at noon. I tried calling Dean a bunch more times—straight to voice mail. Except the robot voice came on the third or fourth time I called and said the voice-mailbox was full. Mom and Dad had probably been leaving him messages. I texted him: call home ASAP.

What a moron, I thought, and stared out the window as the landscape got more and more soggy. I’m sure he’s fine though, I tried to console myself. He’s probably just…with friends. But what friends? I had no idea where he might’ve gone. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I just wanted to know that he was okay. I picked at my nails. I thought about telling Mom and Dad about his webcam thing. But I figured he’d probably get home any minute and everything would be fine. I decided to wait to tell them. I don’t know why.

I pushed thoughts of Dean and all the terrible things that could be happening to him out of my head. I had to think about my future. After Carville. After graduation. What was I going to do with my life?

I rested my forehead on the seat in front of me. It was too big a question. And I had no answers. No ideas even. Plus every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dean being hacked to pieces by one of his hairy creep-o Internet clients. I started to feel really bad for my parents. Their daughter had leprosy and their son might be murdered by an Internet psycho. And what had they ever done to deserve it? Nothing.

I tried calling Dean again. When voice mail picked up, I hung up, turned my phone off and put it away. I needed to think. I needed to come up with a plan B. What did I even want for my life? I wanted to be famous. I wanted to be a household name. To be sought after. Asked for my autograph. But why? Why did I want that? What would it even prove? That I was beautiful? That I was talented? That I was a good person? And did any of that even matter anymore? All I really wanted at that moment was to regain my health, to go back to how I was before I got Hansen’s disease and to see my brother alive again.

When I got back to Carville it was late and the grounds were a ghost town. The cadets were all squared away and no one else was around. The only movement came from the pecan trees swaying gently in the wind. The quiet was unnerving. Goose pimples rushed along my arms. I wanted to knock on Jane’s door but I figured she was already asleep and I didn’t want to wake her up. I went into my apartment. It smelled like donkey butt, so I opened the window and left the door propped open. As soon as I turned my phone on, it rang.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, honey. Did you get in okay?”

“Yep. I’m here.”

“That’s good. The bus ride was alright?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great. Hey, Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you heard anything from Dean? He’s not back yet.”

“No.”

“No texts? Nothing?”

“No. Sorry, Mom.”

“Okay. Well. Do me a favor?”

“Yep.”

“Let us know right away if you hear from him.”

“I will,” I said. “And you too. Let me know if you hear from him.”

“Are you worried about him?” I could hear her throat constrict.

“No, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a big boy,” I said.

“He’s just never done anything like this before. I know he’s technically an adult, but it’s—”

“It’ll be okay, Mom.” I didn’t know for sure, but what else could I say?

“Yeah.” I could hear the tears caught in her voice. “Well, you’re probably tired. I’ll let you go.”

“Okay. Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, sweetheart. Love you.”

As soon as I hung up with her, I dialed Dean. Still straight to voice mail. Still a full mailbox. I hung up and got in the shower. I turned the water as hot as it would go and let it scald my shoulders and back.

When I got out of the shower, I watched in the mirror as the steam rose off my body. It looked like I was made entirely of mist and dissolving one water particle at a time. I combed my hair and brushed my teeth and got into bed. I left my phone on and charging beside the bed in case Dean tried to call.

I slept terribly and had dreams with blood and chains and dildos in them. When my alarm went off at 6:45 a.m., I was actually glad. I grabbed my phone. No texts. No missed calls. I got up and started to get ready. I carefully did my makeup and hair. I was excited to see Scott again. I hadn’t realized it until that morning, but I had missed him.

I met Jane coming out of her apartment.

“Hey! Welcome back!” she gave me a hug.

“Thanks.”

“How was it?”

“Good. Weird.”

“Yeah, it always is.”

I nodded.

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

We walked to the mess hall together, arms linked.

“What did I miss?” I said.

“Well, let’s see…Grace gave me a rug-hooking lesson.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it was. Barry and I played checkers. Barry won.”

“Wow, you must have been desperate for company.”

“I was.”

“Did he try to kiss you?”

“Ew! No!” She laughed. “No, he’s actually a pretty interesting dude. Once he warms up to you.”

“I’m not sure I want him to warm up to me,” I said.

Jane shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“But I—”

“Look, you don’t get to pick your family, right?”

“Right…”

“Well, you don’t get to pick your Carville family either.”

I picked a piece of lint off my sweater.

“We’re all stuck here together for who knows how long. You might as well get to know the other people in your same predicament.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like I said before, Abby, we’re not all that different.”

“Yeah. You and Barry are practically the same person.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, go on with your snobbery.”

I laughed.

On our way to our table, I saw Scott seated with the other cadets and my stomach floated up into my throat. I stopped near his table.

“I’ll save your spot,” Jane said, winking at me.

“Hey,” he said, coming up to me.

“Hi.”

“How was Texas?”

“Um…”

“That good, huh?”

“Do you have any free time today?”

“Yeah, right after breakfast.”

“Can we…?”

“Sure. I just finished eating. I’ll wait for you by the lake.”

“Okay.”

He smiled at me. “See you in a bit.”

“Yep.” I nodded. I could feel myself blush. I don’t know why I was blushing. It was embarrassing. I lowered my head and walked to the counter to pick up my food. I got cereal with fruit, orange juice and a coffee. I sat down beside Jane. Barry sat across from us. He nodded at us but didn’t talk. He was reading an issue of Scientific American.

I rushed through my breakfast so that I could go meet Scott.

“Don’t they feed you at home?” Jane said.

“I’m meeting Scott after this,” I said.

She snorted. “Good thing he’s not here to see you eat like this. He probably wouldn’t want to be your boyfriend anymore.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He is so. He’s your Carville boyfriend,” she said.

I gulped down my coffee, narrowed my eyes at her.

“She’s right,” Barry said.

We both stared at Barry.

“He’s your Carville boyfriend.” He flipped a page of his magazine, nonchalant. “It happens.”

“Okay. Well…I guess that’s settled then,” I said.

Jane gave me bug eyes. I could tell she wanted to laugh but was holding it in.

“I’ll see you later.” I squeezed Jane’s shoulder on my way past her. “Bye, Barry.”

“Yep.” He waved but didn’t look up from his magazine.

On my way to the lake I got a text from Mom:

Any word from Dean?

I texted her back right away. First I typed No but then I erased it, tried to sound more optimistic:

Not yet.

I found Scott beside the lake. He stared into it like he was trying to see to the bottom.

“Hey.” I tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh.” He gave a little start. “Hey.” He hugged me quick then stood back. “How was your time at home?”

“Not great.”

“Why? What happened?”

I sighed. “I talked to my coach. She basically told me there’s no hope in hell of me ever getting the USC scholarship, so I can kiss that dream goodbye. And my brother—” Without warning, I began to cry. I didn’t even know that I was going to cry. It just burst out. “Shit. Sorry.” I wiped my eyes.

“It’s okay,” Scott said. “What about your brother?”

I laughed the kind of weird little laugh that happens in the middle of crying. “My brother has gone AWOL.”

Scott raised his eyebrows.

“My parents haven’t heard from him, he’s not answering his phone, he’s just…gone.”

“Jeez…”

“Yeah.”

“Did you call his friends? Ask if anyone’s seen him?”

I bit my lip. Shook my head. “I should do that,” I whispered.

He shrugged. “I would.”

“You’re a good person. You think of things like that.” I had to work hard not to cry again. “I’m not.”

“Abby, come on.”

“I think about myself too much. I don’t—” I couldn’t stop the tears. They came hard and fast.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He put his arms around me. “I’m sure your brother is fine. He probably just needed a break.”

I pushed his arms away. “But how can you know that? How can you be so sure?”

He stepped back. “I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s just…the most likely scenario.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve taken off a few times before without telling anyone where I was.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. A couple of days.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing much. Bummed around with some street kids downtown. Went to the skate park. Drank some beer. I just didn’t want to go home…so I didn’t.”

“This is different,” I said.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Dean is…he has a webcam business,” I said.

“Like…selling webcams?”

“No. Like, webcam webcam.”

“Oh,” he said, scratching his chin. “Hm.”

“Yeah.”

“So…you think he went to meet someone from…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

“I think you should call around. Ask some people. Someone probably knows something.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m going to do that.”

He nodded, gave me a little smile. “I’m sorry but we have this drill thing. I have to be there. See you at lunch?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” He put his hands in his pockets and began to walk away.

“Hey, Scott?”

He turned back to me.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, once, and continued walking.

I sat down beside the lake and took out my phone. I scrolled through my phonebook and stopped on Dustin Lorimer. He wasn’t really Dean’s friend, but he was Aaron’s friend and would have Aaron’s number. I had never called Dustin before. But I should have. Who cared if he was vanilla? My finger hovered above the screen for a moment. Then I pushed call. He answered right away.

“Hey, Dustin. It’s Abby. Abby Furlowe.”

“Oh, hey, Abby. How are you doing?”

“Um, okay. Thanks. How about you?”

“Pretty good. Pretty good.”

“Sorry to bother you so early.”

“It’s no problem,” he said.

“Thing is, Dean, my brother—” I choked up.

“Yeah?”

I held the phone away, coughed and cleared my throat. “Um, Dean’s kind of gone AWOL and, so, I was just wondering if you had heard anything, where he might be, or I thought maybe Aaron would know, and I was hoping you could give me Aaron’s number?”

“Hm. How long has he been gone for?”

“Uh, well, we saw him Saturday night. That was the last time…”

“Yeah, I haven’t heard anything. I’m pretty sure he was at school on Friday. That’s the last time I would’ve seen him.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Are you worried?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Sorry. Of course you’re worried. I don’t know why I asked that.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Do you have Aaron’s number?”

“Yeah. For sure. I’ll text it to you.”

“Okay, thanks, Dustin.”

“Hey, Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“When are you coming back to school?”

“As soon as I can,” I said.

“Alright. Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

“Take care, Abby. I hope everything’s okay with Dean.”

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, Dustin.”

I hung up. He had already texted me Aaron’s number. I called Aaron. It rang for a while then went to his voice mail but the mailbox was full. My heart sped up. Dean’s mailbox was full; Aaron’s mailbox was full—that must be a sign, right? Maybe they were together. Or at least Aaron would know where Dean was. I got excited and started to dial Mom to tell her the good news: I had cracked the case, I’d found him. But then my brain started working again and I felt like a supreme idiot. Because Aaron’s voice mail was probably just full because he never checked his messages; it probably had nothing to do with Dean. I hung up and lay back in the grass. I watched dark clouds pass over the sun and wondered who I should call next.

I called my mom next. She was a total mess. My parents had filed a missing person’s report but it sounded like there wasn’t too much the police could do besides “be on the lookout,” whatever that meant. Plus Dean was eighteen and technically an adult, so he didn’t get the AMBER alert played all over the TV and radio like a child would have. I tried to stay calm so my mom would calm down. I thought about telling her about the webcam stuff, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. It just didn’t seem like it would help anything.

Throughout the day I ended up calling pretty much everyone in my phonebook who went to our school or knew Dean in some capacity. I even called Marla and Liz, who were not one bit of help, but at least answered their phones, so that was something. I realized that Dean didn’t actually have that many friends. Most of the people I called were only acquaintances or knew him by reputation or had been to one of our parties. They didn’t really know him. Maybe none of us did. I called Aaron about twelve more times and finally got him right before I went to bed.

“Aaron. It’s Abby, Dean’s sister.”

“Oh. Hey. What’s up?”

“Dean’s been missing for almost two days. Do you have any idea where he is?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen Dean in a while.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Nope. Not in a long time.”

“Gotten any texts from him?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“Not a clue.”

“Did he ever talk about going away? On a trip or to visit…a friend?” I could hear straining noises in the background, like Aaron was trying to open something that was stuck.

“Uh, let’s see…Ah! Got it!”

“What?”

“Oh, no, sorry…Just…got this jar lid off.”

“Did he talk about going somewhere else?”

“Like, outside of Texas?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh,” Aaron said. “Hm, let me think.”

More shuffling and weird noises came through the phone.

“Aaron?”

“Yeah?”

“Dean.”

“Right, yeah. He talked about San Francisco sometimes.”

“San Francisco?”

“Yeah. There was one time…I remember he said something like…he thought he could be happy there.”

“Does he have any friends there? Does he know anyone there?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Okay. Thanks, Aaron.”

“So, he just took off? You guys haven’t heard from him?”

“No. He hasn’t called or texted anyone.”

“Hm,” Aaron said.

“Can you call me if you think of anything else? Or if he tries to get in touch with you? My parents are literally losing their minds.”

“I will for sure.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, could you text me? Like, once you hear from him or once he’s back or whatever. Just so…you know…”

“Okay,” I said. “I will.”

“Cool. Okay. I’m sure he’s okay.”

“Yeah…”

“I gotta jet.”

“Alright. Thanks, Aaron.”

“See ya later. Good luck.” He hung up.

It was not much, but it was something. It was the only real information anyone had given me all day that was possibly of any use. I wrote SAN FRANCISCO across my mirror in pink lipstick so I wouldn’t forget in the morning. Then I fell into bed and had a fitful sleep full of dreams where I was drowning or else trying to save someone from drowning, or both.

I called Mom first thing the next morning and told her what Aaron had said about San Francisco.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll let the police know.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks, Abby.” She hung up.

I tried Dean’s cell again. Same thing. If he would just check his stupid voice mail and there became room in the mailbox again, then at least I would know he was alive. But the mailbox was full, and it remained that way.

The next day was Wednesday, and it was a long day. I felt weaker than usual, nauseous, and Scott had to do laundry during his free period so we couldn’t hang out. Jane and I played cards after we got back from the clinic, but I couldn’t concentrate and lost every hand.

“Yo, Earth to Abby,” she said. “Are you even here right now?”

“Sorry. I’m…having a hard time focusing.”

“Yeah, I noticed. What’s up with you, girl?”

I sighed. I told her about Dean disappearing and not being in contact with anyone for nearly four days.

“He’ll come back,” she said. “He’s just out sowing his wild oats.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” I said.

“Sowing your oats?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone’s got wild oats to sow. You’ll sow yours one day too.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“Look, I’m sure he’s fine. Try to relax. You’re just at the start of your recovery. It’s important that you minimize stress right now,” Jane said, shuffling the deck.

“Easy for you to say! Your brother’s not missing!”

“Okay. You gotta chill out.” She set the pile of cards aside. “Why don’t you go take a hot bath?”

“I don’t have a bathtub.” I began to cry. “I hate it here! I don’t want to be here anymore, and I don’t even have a bathtub,” I sobbed.

“Abby,” Jane said softly, “none of us want to be here.”

I looked into her dark eyes, shining with hurt. She was right, of course. “I’m sorry,” I said, ashamed of myself.

She bit her lip, nodded.

My phone rang then. It was Mom. “I have to take this,” I said. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yep.” Jane turned away from me as I answered the phone. I left her apartment and went down the hall to mine.

“Mom? What’s up?”

“I’ve booked you a ticket on the overnight bus. You’re coming home tonight.”

“Okay…?”

“The police want to talk to you. We want to talk to you.”

“Okay.” My hands started to shake. She knew. I could tell from her voice.

“It leaves at 8:40 p.m.”

“And you cleared it with Dr. Mike and everyone?”

“Yes,” she said. “Family emergency.”

“So…?”

“Dad will pick you up in the morning. Try to get some sleep on the bus.”

“Okay.”

“See you tomorrow.” She hung up.

The bus ride was terrible and seemed to last forever. I couldn’t sleep. Obviously. Can anyone sleep on an overnight bus? As the hours ticked by, I felt worse and worse. My skin got hot and rashy. I felt weak and sick and gross. The bus stank like dirty diapers and I wanted to vomit for most of the ride.

I got into the station at six a.m. Dad was there, looking like he’d been on an overnight bus himself. He gave me a hug and took my bag.

“So what’s going on?” I said when we were in the car, headed home.

He looked over at me then back to the road. He sighed. “We’ll talk about it later. After you’ve had a rest and something to eat.”

I closed my eyes. I was dizzy. When I opened them again we were in the driveway and Dad was opening my door. We went inside. He made me scrambled eggs and toast and juice and sat with me at the kitchen table while I ate. He gazed out the window. A crow hopped on the power line in front of our house. A garbage truck drove past.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Sleeping. She was up most of the night.”

I nodded. Pushed my plate away.

“Finished?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you go up to your room and rest for a few hours? The police will be here at nine.”

“Dad?” I said, my voice shaking.

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me what all this is about?”

He looked down at the table and worried a spot in the wood with his thumbnail. “You remember James who I work with?”

“The computer whiz guy?”

“That’s right.”

“Yeah, I remember him.”

“Well, we had James do some looking around on Dean’s computer to see if we could get any insight into where he might be, and who he might be with.”

“Oh.”

My dad rubbed his eyes. They were red and watery.

I stared at him. I wanted to cry. I know he did too.

“Anyway,” he said. “We can talk about this later. Go sleep for a bit.”

“Okay.” I went upstairs, took off my clothes and got into bed. I didn’t think I’d be able to get to sleep but I was wrong.

When I woke up, Mom stood over my bed, watching me. It was a little freaky.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, pulling up my covers.

“Get dressed and come downstairs please. The police are here.”

“Okay.”

She kept standing there for a moment. I looked around the room, toward the door. “Okay,” she said, and left the room.

Two police officers stood in our living room. A man and a woman. They introduced themselves to me. Officer Santiago, that was the man, and Officer Boylan, the woman. I shook their hands and we all sat down. Dad brought everyone coffee, and after that, they pretty much got right to the point.

“We’ve come to understand that Dean was operating a webcam business out of this house,” Officer Santiago said.

I looked at the carpet, feeling everyone’s eyes on me.

“For the purpose of conducting sex acts in exchange for money,” he continued.

Dad cleared his throat.

“Did you know about this, Abby?” Mom said.

I nodded, staring down at my hands.

“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell SOMEONE?” Mom screamed at me, her face scarlet. “YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD US, ABBY! You should have TOLD US!”

Dad shushed her and pulled her close and she crumpled against his chest, convulsing with sobs, her throat hoarse from already crying so much.

The worst part was, I didn’t know how to answer her. Maybe I never will.

“How long have you been aware of the existence of your brother’s webcam business?” Officer Santiago said.

“Not long,” I said. “A few weeks?”

“Do you know how long your brother has been conducting his business for?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“TWO YEARS, ABBY!” my mom screamed at me. “OVER TWO YEARS! That means he was a child selling sex to adults. To…to pedophiles! My child.” She broke down again, her body wracked with sobs.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered.

There are things I’ve done that I’m ashamed of. There are things I’ve done that I regret. But I knew not telling anyone about Dean was bigger than all of those things combined. And that if anything had happened to him, I would never forgive myself.

The police asked me more questions while Mom and Dad sat on the couch, glaring at me. Did I know any of the clients? Did I know the names or locations of any of the clients? Did Dean talk about any of his clients in particular? Did he ever talk about meeting any of them in person? Did he get offers to meet them in person? Was I involved in the webcam business in any way? And more and more and more questions.

I answered all of them as best as I could, but really, I didn’t know anything. I told them what Aaron had told me. That Dean thought he could be happy in San Francisco. Officer Boylan nodded and wrote in her notepad. They told us that they were going to seize Dean’s hard drive and all of his computer equipment and turn it over to the FBI. The FBI would work on getting the transaction history from before Dean turned eighteen so they could try to build a case to prosecute all of his clients during that time.

“If or when Dean returns home,” Officer Boylan said, “we’re going to want him to testify against the clients he had as a minor.”

“When,” Mom said, gritting her teeth. “Not if.”

Officer Boylan nodded once, and looked at Officer Santiago. Then Officer Santiago drilled me with another round of questions.

When they were finally done, I felt more exhausted than I ever had in my life. Dad walked them to the door. Mom stared at me, hard, while I pulled my legs up to my chest and tried not to fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She shook her head. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She hated me. I could tell.

I felt cold and shaky and nauseous. My head hurt. Everything hurt.

“Go back to bed, Abby,” she said. “You look like hell.”

I got up again in the late afternoon. The three of us ordered a pizza and watched TV while we ate it. I could barely eat, I felt so weak. I knew they both hated me, and I didn’t blame them. I had a bath, because I could, and went back to bed. I slept without dreaming and woke up in a cold sweat, shivering and blistering and wanting to die.

I didn’t want to go back to Carville the next day, but I had to, because I’d had a reaction. A reaction happens because the drugs are killing all of the leprosy bacteria (which is a good thing) and your body is allergic to the dead bacteria floating around in your system. All your joints hurt so bad that it’s painful to stand or walk or sit or even be in bed. You get massive headaches, your skin puffs up and you get more lesions and basically look and feel like a pile of crap. Nobody knows exactly what brings on reactions (not everyone gets them), but it probably has something to do with stress.

So Mom and Dad drove their leprous daughter back to the clinic in Louisiana, not knowing if they had lost their only son. I curled up in the back seat because it hurt too much to sit up. We didn’t talk, we didn’t listen to music, we didn’t eat sunflower seeds or M&M’s. We just sat together in the car for seven hours, bearing the impossible weight of our sadness.

As soon as I got back, they started me on a new steroid treatment that was supposed to calm down the reaction. I slept for the rest of the day and all through the night and woke up Saturday, hoping with everything in me that while I’d been sleeping Dean had come home, or they had at least heard from him.

There was no news.

I got a muffin and juice from the kitchen then went for a little walk. Dr. Mike had told me that getting a bit of exercise would increase my circulation and help my body to heal faster. I was determined to walk for at least twenty minutes, even though I was super weak and exhausted. I found Scott, reading under a pecan tree by the lake.

“Hey, Tex!” He stood up when he saw me. He moved in to give me a hug.

“Better not,” I said, backing away. “I’m really sore today.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where have you been? I missed you.”

“My brother’s still missing, and the police wanted to talk to me, so I went home.”

“Oh no. Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“Yeah.”

“How long has he been gone for now?”

“Gone? You make it sound like he’s dead.”

“That’s not what I meant, Abby. Come on.”

“Okay. Whatever.” I took a deep breath. “I’m just…yeah. Today will be the sixth day.”

“Oh, man. That’s…”

“Yeah, look, I should go,” I said as tears pricked my eyes.

“Do you have to? I was just going to take the rowboat out for a spin.”

We both looked over at the old rowboat. It looked like a rickety hunk of junk.

“Good luck with that,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you at dinner then?”

“Okay.” I turned away from him and walked back to my apartment as fast as I could. I wanted to be away from everyone in a dark cool room where I could breathe. And cry.

Why was Scott so nice to me anyway? It didn’t make sense. Sometimes I wanted to scream at him, “GET AWAY FROM ME! I’M A LEPER!”

There had to be something seriously wrong with that guy for him to like me.

I tried to nap, but it was so uncomfortable to have my body touching the sheets that I couldn’t stay in bed for very long. I took a long, hot shower and felt a little better. I wanted to do something but not with people around. I decided to visit the Carville library. I thought maybe I could find a really good book that could take my mind off everything, or at least help me relax a little bit. If that failed, I hoped they would at least have some old issues of Cosmo kicking around. Dr. Mike had said the same thing Jane had, that I needed to eliminate stress from my life, as much as possible, if I wanted my body to calm down and for the disease to go away. Which I did, obviously. But with Dean MIA (and quite possibly hacked up into little pieces inside someone’s freezer) and the dead leprosy bugs floating around inside me, I was finding it difficult to eliminate stress from my life.

On my way to the library I saw Lester and Grace.

“Hello,” Grace said. She didn’t know who I was, only that someone was passing them in the long corridor.

“Hi, guys,” I said.

Lester grinned. “That’s our girl. Where you been, honey? You missed Mardi Gras!”

“Yeah,” I said. “My brother’s missing, so I had to go home.”

“Oh, Lord.” Lester’s hand flew to his heart. “We are so sorry to hear that.”

Grace shook her head. “That’s terrible news, Abby.”

“Yep,” I said. “Pretty much.”

“Listen,” Grace said. “We were just on our way home to have some tea and cookies. Why don’t you join us?”

“I really shouldn’t. I have to—”

“Come on,” Lester said. “They’re chocolate chip, your favorite!”

“How did you know that’s my favorite?”

“Because that’s everybody’s favorite!” Lester laughed.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really feel like talking right now. No offense.”

“Tell you what, you do the seeing, we’ll do the talking,” Lester said.

I smiled.

“Deal?”

“Okay, deal,” I said.

I followed them to their little cottage. The hens and the turkey clucked around in the backyard. Lester and Grace said hello to the fowl and checked that they were all inside the fence, then we went inside. Grace made the tea and set a blue teapot on the table. Then she took a plate of cookies out of a cupboard and set that on the table. Lester brought over three teacups and saucers. All three had different flowers on them. He arranged each cup so that it matched the flowers on its saucer. I have no idea how he did that. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe there were tiny chips and bumps on each cup, like a Braille code, so that he would know which one matched which saucer. I didn’t ask, because sometimes things like that are better left unknown.

We each had a cookie. The chocolate chunks were big and gooey and still warm.

“These are really good,” I said.

“Grace made them special,” Lester said.

“Oh. Is it a special occasion?”

“It’s Saturday!” Grace said, then laughed.

“That’s as good a reason as any, I guess,” I said.

I took a sip of my tea. The flowers on my cup were magnolias, the state flower of Louisiana. I don’t know why or how I knew that, but I did. I set the cup down and turned it in its saucer. It was strange being with Grace and Lester. People I would have never met, never talked to or even given a second glance. It was weird to think of all the events that had led up to me being in that moment with them, sitting at their kitchen table, starting with the church barbecue, nearly seven years ago. If a magnolia tree had been planted the day I ate the armadillo, it would only just be blooming for the first time.

“Abby?” Lester said. “Did you hear what Grace said?”

I looked up. “No.” I coughed into my hand. “Sorry. What?”

“I had a brother who died, too,” Grace said.

“My brother’s not dead,” I said. “He’s missing.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said, flustered. “I got mixed up.”

“I mean, I guess he could be dead…” I swallowed my tea and choked on it a little. Saying it felt so wrong. Like it would somehow make it true. I knocked on the wooden table, wishing I hadn’t said it out loud.

She nodded, slow. “It was a long time ago now, but, I still miss him…”

Lester reached out to touch her shoulder. She placed her hand on top of his and patted it.

“I had ten brothers and sisters,” Grace said.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was the oldest girl. My brother, the one who died, was the only one older than me. He was one year older.”

“Mine too,” I said.

Grace nodded. “My mama died delivering the eleventh child, Cordelia, then after that it was up to me to look after everybody. Nine kids, a newborn, and my daddy too.”

“Wow. That’s…”

“It was a lot of work. I wanted to go to school, but I couldn’t. Had too many kids to look after!”

Lester reached for another cookie and Grace slapped his hand away. Maybe she could see a little bit, I don’t know. Maybe she felt his hand move.

“Oh, I did have some fun though. Had me a boyfriend. Sweet little thing.”

Lester clucked his tongue and shook his head.

“We’d go out dancing in New Orleans, go to the picture shows, and we had a marvelous time together. He was studying to be a doctor.”

Lester whistled through his teeth.

“So when I started getting the numbness in my hands, you know?”

“Yep,” I said.

“Well, I told him about it, my boyfriend. I showed him this little pink spot that I had on my foot. We’d been dating over a year by this time, so I thought I could trust him, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“And he said to me, ‘I’m sure you’re fine, sugar-beet. I’m sure you’s just fine.’ So I put my socks back on and I thought that was that.”

“Right.”

“Next day, wouldn’t you know it, the Health Authority is knocking at my door. My boyfriend reported me to them. My own sweetheart turned me in.”

“Good for nothing bum!” Lester said.

Grace gave him a gentle smile. “So they told my daddy I have to go to Carville and does he want to take me or should they?”

I took a drink of my tea, nodding pointlessly.

“So, he borrowed our neighbor’s car and drove me up here hisself the next morning.”

“That’s rough,” I said.

“Oh, it was sad. I had to say goodbye to all them kids. I raised those kids. And I didn’t see any of them again. Not until my brother’s funeral five years later. They didn’t even write to tell me he had passed. Had to read about it in the paper. I saw it in the obituaries. He’d been killed in a car accident, and I said, that’s my brother. I’m going to pay my last respects. So I went through the hole in the fence, because we weren’t allowed out in those days, not even if our own kin had passed away. I found a ride back to New Orleans and went straight to the church. Well, I found out at my brother’s funeral that my family had told everyone I had died! Didn’t they get some surprise when I walked into the church in my Sunday best, alive and well!”

We all laughed.

“Even some of my little brothers and sisters who were too young to remember thought I was dead, because that was the story they’d been told. I said, no wonder I’ve never gotten any letters from any of my old friends or my aunties or cousins, they all think I’m dead!” She chuckled, shook her head, then sipped from her teacup. “That broke my heart, though. Broke it wide open.” She sighed deeply. “I paid my respects to my brother and I said goodbye to my family and came back to Carville. When I got back, everybody said, ‘How was your trip home?’ And I said, ‘This is my home now.’”

“Mmhm,” Lester said.

“And that was that. I never saw anyone from my family ever again.”

“That’s so sad,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” said Grace. “But no one ever promised there wouldn’t be sadness in this life.”

Lester reached his hand across the table until it found Grace’s. They smiled at each other. Somehow, they each knew that the other one was smiling.

“I’ve been very blessed though,” Grace said. “Even though I’ve had this disease, I’ve been very lucky. I’ve met all kinds of wonderful people. People that I would have never met if I didn’t get this disease.”

“Like me!” Lester said.

“That’s right, lemon-drop,” Grace said, turning her face toward him. “And Abby.” She smiled in my general direction.

I sat with them a while longer. We all had another cookie and another cup of tea.

“When they found out I had the gazeek,” Lester said, “my mama sent me away the very same day.”

“The gazeek?”

“It’s another name for the disease,” Grace said, nodding.

“Oh,” I said. “Huh.”

“I was ten years old,” Lester said, cradling his gibbled hands one inside the other. “Mama said, ‘I might not see you again, but I want you to know that you’re a good boy. You didn’t do nothing wrong. And I’ll always love you no matter what. Even if we’re not together anymore.’ She gave me a hug and a kiss, then the police put chains around my hands and feet and put me in the back of an old horse trailer and hauled me up here. That was it. I never did see Mama again. Or my daddy. Or any of my five brothers and sisters. My daddy owned a store, see? So if the town had found out I had the disease, the store would’ve gone bankrupt. My family would’ve starved.” He coughed, then cleared his throat. “I can see the sense in it now, but it sure did sting at the time. Wooowee!”

“How long have you been here?” I said.

“Eighty-one years this May,” Lester said.

“Seventy-four years,” Grace said.

“Holy sh—”

“Mmhm. Some people do say this place is holy,” Lester said.

“The nuns certainly used to think so,” said Grace.

“I thought that getting this disease, the…gazeek?” I said.

“Mmhm,” Lester said, grinning.

“I thought that it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me,” I said. “But, it wasn’t.”

Grace and Lester waited expectantly.

“Dean disappearing was.”

They nodded.

“I don’t know where he is or if he’s even alive.” I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. “If I could just be certain that he was alive, then I feel like it would be okay. I wouldn’t even need to know where he is but…I don’t know.” I pressed my palms into my eyes. “I’m sorry, I…”

“That’s alright, honey,” Grace said. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

Lester pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I blew my nose into it, hard.

What if Dean was dead? It would be my fault. I should’ve told someone about the webcam stuff. I should’ve known. But he couldn’t die. He couldn’t. He was my brother. Nobody knew me like Dean did. No one ever would.

Grace reached for my hand and squeezed it, placing her other gnarled palm on top and patting my hand gently. “It’s a very hard life, Abby,” she said. “All we can do is get through it the best way we know how.”

“Yeah,” I said, blowing my nose again.

“You should go rest now, Abby. We’ve talked your ear off for long enough,” Lester said. “People lose ears all the time around here.”

We laughed. I wiped my tears with the handkerchief and then held it out to give it back to Lester. He didn’t see it, of course. “Um, what should I do with this?”

“Keep it,” he said. “Might bring you luck.” He grinned.

“Okay. Um, thanks.” That was the first time I had ever used a handkerchief. Normally stuff like that grossed me out. But after you get a disease like leprosy, I guess your gross-tolerance significantly increases. I thanked them and walked back to my apartment. I took small steps and deep breaths, and even though I hurt all over, I felt a tiny bit better than I had before. I got into bed and lay awake thinking about Grace’s story. About how it would feel to be considered dead when you were still alive. I decided I wouldn’t let that happen to Dean. No matter how long he was missing for, no matter how much time passed without hearing from him, until we had indisputable evidence, I would never consider him to be dead. I wouldn’t let other people talk about him that way either. For now, he was just…somewhere else. He had to be.

The next day was Sunday. It had been a week since the last time I’d seen Dean. I slept through breakfast, got up, showered, then walked around in a daze, thinking dark thoughts. For years Dean had been doing this webcam shit. But no one had any idea. How had none of us known? And what else didn’t we know?

I called his phone a couple of dozen times, just in case. Nothing. I felt weak and sick and awful but I tried to walk around as much as I could. I stared out toward the lake; the sunlight sparkled on the water. A beautiful boy with shaggy brown hair sat under a pecan tree, reading. My heart sped up as I walked toward him.

My shadow fell over him, and he squinted up at me and grinned. “Hey, Tex.”

“Hey, Okie.” I glanced down at his book. The cover was blue with an image of a bird on it. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, it’s…well, you might have heard of it. Jonathan Livingston Seagull?”

I shook my head. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about a seagull.”

I half-laughed.

“He’s an outcast because he wants to fly…”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t know. It’s about more than that, but it’s kind of hard to explain right now. I’m only partway through. It’s pretty cool so far. I think you’d like it.”

“Sounds like it’s for the birds.”

Scott laughed. “Yeah, maybe.” He smiled at me, his pale green eyes crinkling at the edges. “Any word on your brother?”

“No, nothing.” I checked my phone. “Yep. Still nothing.”

He patted the grass beside him for me to sit down. I sat next to him with my knees bent and rested my forehead on my knees. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” He rubbed my shoulder gently. I flinched and leaned away. He sighed.

“I don’t get this,” I said.

“Get what?”

“This. What is this?” I gestured to his arm. My shoulder. The two of us.

He shrugged. “I like you, Abby.”

“But, I mean, why?”

“Why?” he laughed.

“Yeah. Why? Look at me; I’m hideous. I’m in a leprosy treatment center for fuck’s sake. What is there to like about that?”

He stared out at the lake.

I followed his gaze. “I used to be pretty,” I whispered. “But not anymore. Now I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster.”

“I feel like a monster. I feel so disgusting, Scott, I don’t even know how you can stand to look at me.” I buried my face in my arms.

“Hey, hey…Come on now.”

“I can’t,” I said, still hiding my face from him.

“Listen,” he said. “What’s the most important thing you’ve ever done? The thing you’re the most proud of?”

“I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes against my forearms.

“Come on, think about it.”

“I’m not proud of anything I’ve done. I’ve led a vain and shallow existence.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said.

“Well, you should. It’s the truth.”

“What’s the most important thing, then? The thing that if you hadn’t done it, the whole world would be different?”

“I’m not…I don’t…”

“C’mon, Abby.”

I looked up at him. “I saved my brother’s life once.”

“You see!”

“He had alcohol poisoning. Stopped breathing. Heart stopped. Everything. I gave him CPR. I cracked a few of his ribs, but the paramedics said I saved his life.”

“You see, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You.”

“What do you mean?”

“That was you, Abby. It had nothing to do with the way you look or your hair or clothes or anything like that.”

“My clothes? What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong with your clothes, okay? Will you please just listen to me?”

“Okay…”

“When I say I like you, that’s the you I mean. The you that saved your brother. The you that comes from there. That place.” He tapped on his chest, over his heart.

“Oh.”

“Do you…? Do you like me?”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. Then buried my head in my arms again. “Yes! A lot!”

He laughed. “Well, okay then. That’s settled.”

“I just don’t know what the point is though. I mean, you’re leaving soon. We’ll probably never see each other again.”

“I don’t see why we wouldn’t.”

I looked up at him. “Really?”

“There are roads that connect Texas and Oklahoma, aren’t there?”

“Yeah.”

“So, then, it won’t be that hard.”

“But seriously though? Because I don’t want to say that we’re going to see each other again and then not actually do it. If we’re not going to, then I’d rather just say we’re not going to and be done with it.”

“I, Scott Avery, will do everything in my power to see you, Abby…What’s your last name?”

“Furlowe.”

“I, Scott Avery, will do everything in my power to see you, Abby Furlowe, again after we leave this place known as Carville, Louisiana, located in the United States of America.”

I giggled.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Me too.” He smiled at me.

I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn’t. Not when my face was all puffy and I had sores on my neck. When I was better, when the disease was gone and my face had cleared, then I would kiss him. And it would be great. Even though it might be a long time coming, I believed him when he said we would see each other again. I don’t know why, but I believed him.

“What are you doing now?” Scott asked.

I covered a big yawn. “I guess I should go back to my room and have a nap,” I said. “I’m supposed to try to get as much rest as possible.”

“Okay. I’ll walk you back.” He stood up and extended his hand to help me up.

When I reached to grab his hand he pulled it back and ran it through his hair. “Psych!” He laughed. “No, just kidding. Here.” He reached his hand down again. I grabbed for it and he reached around in his back pocket to check his phone. He laughed silently while he swiped the screen. “Okay, okay, for real this time.” He put his phone away and gave me his hand. I took it and stood up.

“Jerk.” I punched him lightly on the shoulder. I laughed and so did he.

We walked awhile without saying anything. The sun felt warm on the back of my neck.

“It will be nice,” I said, looking up at him.

“What will?”

“Seeing you. Outside of here. It will be good.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It will be.” He glanced at me, then reached for my hand. We held hands all the way back to my apartment. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” he said, not letting go of my hand.

“Okay,” I said.

“Are you accepting hugs today?”

I nodded and he hugged me as if I were made of glass and he was afraid to break me. “Have a good nap,” he said into my ear, still holding me against him.

“Thanks.” I began to pull away but he didn’t let me go. After a moment he did.

“Okay,” he said. “See you soon.”

“Bye.”

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, feeling his eyes on me. I glanced back and he still stood there, looking up at me. He gave me a goofy wave. That kid is so weird, I thought. And yet…and yet…

I went into my room and set my alarm for dinner. I undressed and got into bed. I lay awake for a while thinking about Scott. I wondered if I would love him. If I were falling in love with him. My stomach did a series of roller-coaster loops. Maybe. I wished that I had saved my virginity for someone I actually cared about. Someone who cared for me. For anyone other than Chad Bennett. I ran my hand along the edge of my panties. Maybe I could be one of those born-again virgins. Not the surgery, but just, like, reclaiming my virginity until someone worthy came along, or until I got married. Or at least until I turned eighteen. Whichever came first. I rolled over and laughed into my pillow. Right, Abby.

Soon, I fell into a feverish sleep. I dreamt I could see all the way down inside myself. And I was not beautiful.

After dinner that night, Jane came back to my room with a tub of rocky road ice cream she had pilfered from the staff kitchen. We sat on my bed eating it and flipping through old copies of Vanity Fair.

“You would look so fly in this dress,” she said, showing me a photo of a black-and-yellow cut-out dress.

“You think?” I said. “Those are our school colors.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have to be those colors. Just the style I think would really suit your body type.”

“Cool. Yeah. I like it. I don’t have anything like that.”

She took the magazine back, looking pleased with herself.

“Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you, you would look really great with purple hair.”

She laughed. “What?”

“Yeah, I had this dream. It was weird, I won’t bore you with the details, but you were in it, you had purple hair and it looked really good on you.”

“Huh,” she said. She threw the magazine on the bed and got up to examine herself in the mirror. She touched her hair, her face, moved her head from side to side. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Totally,” I said.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Jane said. “I saved you this.” She pulled a large gold coin out of her pocket and tossed it to me.

I grabbed it out of the air. “What is it?”

“It’s a Carville doubloon. They’re minted here and they throw them out at the Mardi Gras parade.” She pouted at me. “It’s really too bad you missed Mardi Gras, Abby. It’s only, like, the funnest night of the whole entire year.”

“Yeah, I had some other stuff going on.”

“I know. Maybe next time,” she said. “You’d love it. I promise.”

I was hoping there wouldn’t be a next time. I turned the coin over in my hand. “There’s an armadillo on it.”

“Yeah. It’s the mascot here.”

“Why?”

“Because they used armadillos for testing, and that’s how they discovered that the sulfone drugs worked. So the armadillo’s like a symbol of hope. You know, that the disease can be cured.”

“But it’s also the reason some of us are here…”

“Well,” Jane said, shrugging. “It’s a two-sided coin.”

“Huh.” I flipped it over. It was the same on the other side. “Thanks.” I set it on my nightstand.

“Listen,” Jane said, “I wasn’t going to tell you this because I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”

“What is it?”

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

“I don’t know. Tell me first, and then I’ll tell you if I’m mad or not.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m going back to New York.”

“Tomorrow?” My eyes began to well up. “And you weren’t even going to tell me?”

“See. You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m…just…” I shook my head, fanning my face. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

Jane sat down on the bed beside me and gave me a hug. “Oh! Don’t cry! Okay, you can cry if you want. But don’t get any snot on my blouse. It’s dry clean only.”

I half-laughed, half-cried as she hugged me and rocked me. I hadn’t realized it until she’d said she was leaving, but Jane was my best friend.

“You can’t leave tomorrow,” I said.

“Why not? Did we have plans tomorrow?”

“No. It’s just…it’s too soon.”

“I’ve been here six weeks, Abby. I’m ready to get back to my life.”

“But—”

“Things to see. People to do.” She clicked her tongue twice, gave me a wink.

“But, I need you here. What am I going to do without you?” I said.

She shrugged. “Play checkers with Barry?”

We laughed.

“He’s actually pretty good,” she said.

I cried harder.

“Oh, honey, you’ll be fine.”

“No. I won’t be.”

“We can write! You write to me first and I’ll write you back. Promise. It’ll be fun. It’ll be like in the olden days when people actually wrote letters to each other.”

I sniffled. “Okay,” I said, wiping my nose on the back of my hand.

“Yeah?” She handed me a tissue.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Okay.” I blew my nose.

“Cool.”

I smiled at her through my tears. She gave me another hug and smoothed my hair. “You’re going to be alright,” Jane said. “Everything is going to be alright.”

It was hard to believe, but I wanted so badly for her to be right.

Saying goodbye to Jane the next morning was really hard. I wanted her to go back to her life in New York and have fun and eat cheesecake, but I also wanted her to stay at Carville and be my friend. I was pretty lacking in the friend department, and I was going to miss her.

As Jane waved to me through the window of her taxi, I got the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time I saw her. Maybe I’d visit her in New York. Maybe she’d visit me in California, or wherever the hell I ended up. There are people who come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime, or whatever bullshit Jane would say. I guess she was one of those people. I just didn’t know which one yet. She blew me a kiss and I caught it and tucked it away in my back pocket for safekeeping. Whatever little bits of my heart Marla and Liz had left intact broke away then, as Jane’s taxi blew up dust clouds along the only road out of town.

I stayed in the parking lot after her taxi was gone, kicking rocks and feeling sorry for myself, wondering if I’d ever hear her laugh again and trying not to cry. After a few minutes, this little purple truck pulled in, blasting hard techno. Pink fuzzy dice dangled from the rearview mirror. Two young guys got out and slammed their doors shut. One of them was slender and blond and the other one…the other one was Dean.

My knees buckled as I gaped at him. He had dyed the tips of his hair hot pink and pierced both of his ears. I think he was wearing eyeliner. He was grinning as he walked toward me, arms spread wide.

“Hey, sis,” he said, as he folded me into a hug.

“You asshole.” I sobbed into his neck. “You fucking asshole.”

“Nice to see you too.” He stepped back.

I glanced at the other guy.

“This is Kyle,” Dean said. “Kyle, Abby.”

“Hi.” Kyle shook my hand, smiling. He wore a rhinestone pinkie ring. “I love your hair,” he said. “It’s so pretty.”

“Kyle’s a photographer,” Dean said.

I touched my hair. Jane had braided it for me the night before and I’d slept on it wet so it was all wavy and volumized. “Thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome!”

I turned back to Dean. “Why didn’t you call? Or text someone? Do you know how worried we’ve all been? You’re a missing person, Dean. Police are looking for you. Mom and Dad—”

“My phone was stolen,” he said.

“And, so what? There are no other phones on planet Earth you could’ve used?” I gestured at Kyle. “He doesn’t have a phone you could’ve borrowed?”

“Look, Abby. I needed some time, okay.”

“Time for what? Time to make us think you had been kidnapped? Tortured? Murdered? Because that’s what we thought, Dean. I thought I was never going to see you again.”

Kyle gave me a sad pouty face and looked over at Dean.

Dean sighed. “I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t mean to…I just…I really needed some time to figure things out. Time where I didn’t talk to anyone from home.”

“But you could’ve just texted! Just texted or emailed to let us know you were alright!” I yelled at him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was selfish,” he said.

“Pfff, that’s the understatement of the year,” I said.

“Look, do you have anything to drink? We’ve been driving for hours and we’re really thirsty.”

I sighed and spun around, leading them back to my apartment.

I got them some water and they sat at the little table and I sat on the bed, staring at them.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to forgive you for this,” I said.

“Okay,” Dean said. Like it didn’t really matter one way or the other.

“Have you seen Mom and Dad yet?” I said.

Dean shook his head. “I wanted to see you first.”

“So they don’t know you’re alive?”

Dean shrugged.

I pulled out my phone.

“Just wait,” he said.

“What? I have to tell them.”

“Just wait a little while. We’re heading there after this anyway.”

I set my phone down beside me. “They know everything, Dean. The FBI seized your hard drive. You’re in some serious shit.”

He nodded slowly, scratching his thumbnail against a groove in the table.

I eyed Kyle. “Is he…? Is this…? Who is he?”

Kyle grinned at me. “Ever heard of the Kyle High Club?”

“Uh, no.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Dean said.

“Look where we are,” I said, glancing around the room. “Do you think I’m going anywhere soon?”

“Okay, well. Thing is…” Dean fiddled with the rim of his water glass.

“Just tell her,” Kyle said.

Dean shrugged. “Kyle and I are both webcam boys,” Dean said.

“Were,” Kyle said, touching Dean’s hand.

“Right. Were.”

“Okay…” I said.

“We both got into it around the same time,” Dean said.

“And we were always in competition!” Kyle said. “We were always trash-talking each other to steal customers.”

Dean blushed. “Yeah, so, we ended up having a lot of the same clients, and we’d chat about which ones were good and which ones to block and, you know, basically helped each other figure stuff out.”

“And then…?” Kyle said.

“And then, Kyle had the idea that we should join forces. Like, create a joint site so that we could maximize our profits.”

Kyle nodded. “What can I say? I’m an upwardly mobile twink!”

Dean gazed at him, puppy-dog eyed. “But I told him if we were actually going to do it, I wanted to meet in person, so I could tell if he was legit or not and see if we’d actually be able to work together,” Dean said.

“Turns out, we work very well together.” Kyle winked at me.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “So, where have you been all this time?”

“Have you ever heard of the Castro?” Dean said.

“No,” I said.

Kyle gasped.

“You mean, like, Fidel Castro?”

“Oh, honey,” Kyle said. “You haven’t lived.”

I glared at him.

“The Castro is this neighborhood in San Francisco,” Dean said.

I nodded. So Aaron had been right.

“It’s a magical place,” Kyle said.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“There’s just so much history there. It’s really, really a special place. An important place.”

“It was one of the first gay neighborhoods in the U.S.,” Dean said.

“And it fucking rocks,” said Kyle.

They grinned at each other. “Kyle has an apartment there,” Dean said.

“I see.”

“So, long story short, I helped your brother come out of the closet this week, and he helped me realize that I don’t want to be a web-whore anymore.”

“I’m quitting too,” Dean said. “It was good money while it lasted, but I’m over it.”

“Plus, I’d be way too jealous,” Kyle said.

They both laughed.

“So you weren’t kidnapped and locked in a basement. You were never hurt by anyone,” I said.

“No,” Dean said. “I was figuring out my life.”

“So…what now?”

“Now, we’re going to see Mom and Dad.”

“He’s going to come out to your parents,” Kyle said, squeezing Dean’s hand.

“Yep,” Dean said, taking a deep breath, nodding. “Then, we’re going to pack up all my stuff and drive back to California and…I’m moving in with Kyle.”

Kyle’s face looked like a jack-o’-lantern, he was smiling so big.

“Whoa. What? You’re moving to San Francisco?”

He nodded, looking happier than I’d ever seen him.

“What about graduating from high school?”

“I can finish over there. All I have to do is write my finals anyway.”

“What about…your life?”

“My life sucked.” He shrugged. “I’m getting a new one.”

“So…?”

“So, I wanted to come say goodbye to you before I left.”

“Oh.” I looked down at my hands.

“Don’t look so sad. You’ve wanted me gone for years.”

“Not really though,” I said in a small voice. “Not that far away.”

“You can come visit anytime,” Dean said. “There’s even a pull-out couch for you to sleep on.”

“Oh, my friends will adore you! You have to come,” Kyle said. “Please? Please? Please?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Yay!” He clapped his hands.

Dean smiled. The three of us sat quiet for a moment. Kyle and Dean gazed at each other, their eyes shining.

“Well,” I said, “I’m just glad you’re alright. I was…it was really scary, okay? You don’t even know.”

Dean nodded. “I know it was a jerk move,” he said. “Not calling.”

“Total jerk move.”

He nodded again.

“You aged Mom ten years. At least ten. Maybe twenty.”

“Shit.”

“Dad didn’t really care though. He always liked me best anyway.”

“Shut up.” He play-punched me in the shoulder.

I laughed.

“Well.” Dean cleared his throat. “I guess we’d better get going. We want to make it to Texas tonight.”

“Ooh! I’m so excited to see Texas,” Kyle said. “I’ve never been.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Is it true that everything’s bigger in Texas?” he asked Dean.

Dean’s face flushed as he laughed, shaking his head.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” Kyle said.

Dean stood up and tucked in his chair, so did Kyle.

“I’ll walk you back,” I said, standing.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” Dean said.

“I want to.”

He nodded and we all headed out the door and down the stairs.

On the way back to the parking lot, Kyle and Dean held hands. I walked along beside them, and for the first time in ages, felt something like peace.

“Dean?” I said, as we approached the shiny purple truck.

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy for you,” I said. “I really am. For both of you.”

“Thanks, Abs.”

Kyle flashed me a megawatt smile. Even his teeth were shiny. “It was so great to meet you!” He hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks. “And you are welcome to come visit us anytime! Come sooner than later!” He got in the truck and started it up, then fiddled with the stereo.

I stared at Dean. “He just kissed me,” I said.

“Yup.”

“But…does he know what this is? Why I’m in here?”

“Yup.”

“What the—?”

Dean shrugged. “That’s just Kyle.”

“He’s…”

“Yup.” Dean laughed, then hugged me. “Bye, Abby.”

“Hey, thanks for coming up here. I…it really means a lot to me that you came.”

He nodded and opened the passenger door of the truck.

“Bye, Dean.”

“See ya later, sister.”

I waved as they pulled out of the parking lot. Kyle honked the horn and they both waved to me, techno music blasting the bass of a heartbeat.

On the way back to my apartment I texted my mom: Dean’s okay. He’s on his way to see you. Just left here. New friend in tow.

She replied right away: Thank God!!! Who’s this friend?

I typed: His name is Kyle.

I touched my cheek where Kyle had kissed me, then added: I think you’ll like him.

I slept well that night for the first time since Dean had left home. I didn’t have any nightmares. I didn’t have any night sweats. When my alarm went off in the morning, I could actually get out of bed. I felt a sharp icicle stab into the center of my chest when I remembered that Jane was gone. And then ten more icicles pierced me when I realized that she would be gone tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after that. But I didn’t cry. I hurried to get ready and hustled to breakfast so that I would have time to catch the bus to the clinic in Baton Rouge. I wanted to talk to Dr. Rodriguez. I knew I had to talk to somebody, because I had a lot of feelings swimming around inside me that I didn’t know how to sort out or what to do with, and I didn’t want to keep them all inside. It felt like they could boil over and explode at any moment. I’m not sure what that would look like, but I knew it would be messy.

We sat in Dr. Rodriguez’s new office. It was much bigger and painted sky blue, and the sun shone through the blinds, making all the dust particles in the air sparkle.

“I like your new office,” I said.

“Me too,” she said.

“The posters are gone.”

“Yes,” she said.

“That’s good,” I said.

“Why is that good?”

“I hated the posters.”

She folded her hands together and studied me. “Hate is a very strong word, Abby.”

“Well, I strongly disliked the posters,” I said. “Maybe even hated them. Let me think. Yep, I hated them.”

“Any particular reason the posters elicited such strong emotions from you?”

I picked at my nails for a while.

“Abby?”

“I found them insulting,” I said, looking up at her. “Like they were rubbing it in my face.”

“Rubbing what in your face?”

“With the figure skating and the mountain climbing.”

She looked at me, her mouth a tight, thin line.

“Because I won’t be able to do any of those things anymore. I won’t be able to ‘reach for the stars’ or ‘live my dreams’ or any of that crap.”

“Because of your injuries?”

“I can’t even cheer anymore,” I said. “I’m basically an invalid.”

“I’d say that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“That’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one who—”

She crinkled her face at me. Her eyebrows knit together into one perfect fuzzy unit.

“Oh forget it,” I said. “Never mind.”

“I’m here to help you, Abby. What can we talk about today that would best help you? Is it the posters? It can be anything you want. You can say anything you want in here. You don’t need to censor yourself. I’m not going to get angry with you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So…?”

“What I really want to know is, why?”

“Why?”

“Why did this happen to me?”

She sighed. “Abby, for some questions, there are no answers.”

I rubbed my eyes and held my head in my hands. Suddenly, it was too heavy to hold up.

“How are you feeling these days?” she asked.

“I…I have a lot of feelings.”

She nodded. “That’s perfectly normal.”

I raised my head. “Yeah, but…I want to get them out,” I said, pushing my palms away from me.

Dr. Rodriguez gave me a small smile. She suggested that I start writing. I could write anything I wanted, my life story, whatever. “Many patients find it very therapeutic to write about their experience with Hansen’s disease,” she said. “Some of them have even gone on to publish their books.”

“Really?”

“Yes, their books are all in the library here. You can check them out.”

“Do I need a card or…?”

“No. We just ask that you return the books once you’ve finished with them.”

“Cool.”

“And don’t read in the bathtub.”

I laughed. “That shouldn’t be a problem since I don’t have a bathtub.”

“Don’t read in the lake either.”

“Do people actually swim in that lake?”

“Some do, yes.”

“What about alligators?”

“They’ve been known to swim in there also.”

“Isn’t that, like…super dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“I guess people gotta get their kicks somehow.”

“Indeed.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a red spiral notebook. “I’ll give you this to get started,” she said, handing it to me.

“Thanks.”

She smiled.

I gazed down at the shiny new notebook. “Maybe I’ll write a book, and it’ll get published, and someone will want to turn it into a movie, and they’ll ask me to play myself in the movie.”

“Maybe,” Dr. Rodriguez said.

“That would be awesome.”

“It certainly would be,” she said.

I started writing my book that day and it felt really good to get it all out in words, to see them all there on the lined pages in front of me, so I kept working on it. Even though what had happened to me didn’t make any sense, and I knew there was no real reason for any of it, at least I could put it into sentences and paragraphs that made sense on the page. It was something I could do. Something I had control over. When I filled up the first notebook, I asked Dr. Rodriguez for another one. She pulled her desk drawer open and handed me a new notebook. Same as the last. She didn’t say anything, just smiled at me as if to say, See? I told you so.

Scott and I were spending a lot of time together, neither one of us talking about the fact that he was leaving at the end of the week. Mostly we hung out by the lake because it was cooler down there and no one was around to bother us. He would read and I’d write in my notebook. One day he asked me to read him what I’d written.

“No,” I said. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know why,” I said. “I just can’t.”

“I won’t laugh.”

I looked down at my notebook. The pages fluttered in the breeze.

“Unless it’s funny,” he said. “Then I might laugh.”

“It’s not funny,” I said. “It’s tragic.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I love tragedies.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Come on!” He tossed his book aside.

“I don’t know, Scott. What if—”

“What do I have to do? Get down on my knees and beg?”

I looked up. There was a magnolia tree above us, bursting with pink and white flowers. It was so pretty. It smelled like almonds and vanilla. I looked back at Scott.

He was down on one knee, his hands clasped together. “Please?!”

“Okay. Fine.” I laughed.

“Yes! Finally!”

“From the beginning?”

“Wherever you want.”

I flipped back to the first page of my notebook and began to read to him: “They think I got it from an armadillo.”

He lay back in the grass, folded his hands behind his head and gazed up at the sky. Magnolia petals drifted down around us as I read. At one point, Scott reached up and gently plucked out a petal that had landed in my hair. I looked down at him and smiled. He smiled back.

“Keep going,” he said. “Don’t stop.”

I read to him until the dinner bell rang. Then we walked to the mess hall together holding hands.

“That was really good, Abby. You’re a good writer.”

“You’re just saying that,” I said.

“No way. I wouldn’t just say that.”

“Okay. Well, thanks, I guess.”

“Maybe if the acting thing doesn’t work out, you could be a writer.”

“You think?”

“You could probably get that published, what you’re writing now. It’s a really interesting story.”

“It’s not a story,” I said. “It’s my life. It’s what happened.”

He grinned. “Even better.”

Eventually the day came, Scott’s last day of the Youth Challenge Program. I woke up with a lead weight inside my chest, knowing he was leaving before sunrise the next morning. He had a lot of cadet crap to do that day, closing ceremonies and packing and whatever, so I didn’t see him for more than fifteen minutes all day. It sucked. At dinner he came up behind me in line.

“Hey,” he said, touching my shoulder.

I turned around. “Oh. Hey.”

He leaned toward me. “Leave your door unlocked tonight,” he said in a half-whisper.

“Okay,” I said, feeling a hot blush rise into my face.

“Okay.” He smiled. “I have to go now. But I’ll see you later.”

I nodded.

That night, Scott snuck out of his barracks and came to my apartment. That’s what I loved most about Scott; he wasn’t afraid of anything.

“Hey.” He stood just inside my door, silhouetted in the low light.

“Hey,” I said. I rubbed my eyes, looked at my phone. It was after one in the morning. I lifted the bedcovers and shifted over to make room for him. He slid down his jeans and pulled off his shirt and got into bed beside me. He rolled on his side to face me.

“Hey,” he said. His eyes shone in the dark.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, softly, looking at my lips.

“Hey,” I whispered.

We kissed. Then we kissed some more. No one had ever kissed me like that before. I can’t say exactly how it was different. There was…feeling behind it. It was more than just kissing. It was…communicating. At the risk of sounding super cheesy, it was…magical.

He ran his hands down the length of my body. I liked it, but I was still sore, and I guess he could tell I was uncomfortable. He pulled his face away from mine. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s not you…it’s me.”

He laughed.

“No, but for real though.”

“What’s the matter?”

I moaned and flopped on my back. “I still feel so gross.”

“You’re not gross, Abby. I promise you. You’re not.” He kissed me on the cheek.

“Thanks,” I whispered. I could feel tears collecting at the corners of my eyes.

“Can I just hold you?”

I nodded.

“Roll over.”

So I did. He slipped his arms around me and held me close. I could feel his warmth envelop me. It was the nicest thing I’ve felt.

“Is this okay?” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “This is very okay.”

He closed his hand around mine. “Good.”

We stayed like that for a while until I was almost asleep. Then Scott said, “Okay, my turn.” And he flipped onto his other side so that I could spoon him.

I curled my body around his and put my hand on his chest. I could feel his heart beating. It was strong and steady and sounded reassuring. I let out a sigh.

“What is it?” he said.

“Nothing. It’s just…”

“What?”

“I was just hoping that this isn’t the last time we’ll get to do this.”

“It won’t be,” he said.

I could hear him smile in the dark.

When I opened my eyes to the bright light of day, he was gone. His dog-eared copy of Jonathan Livingston Seagull lay on the pillow beside me.

I turned toward the wall, fighting the wave of misery that threatened to crash over me. I reached for the book. He had written his phone number inside the front cover, an x and his name below. I pressed the book to my chest and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if it was too soon to call him.

I had to stay at Carville for another month to get my body calmed down from the reaction and make sure everything was back on track. Since Jane and Scott were gone, I ended up writing a lot. I filled three more red notebooks and still had more to say about what it felt like to be a real, live leper. I spent a lot of time in the library. I learned a ton about the other people who had lived (and died) at Carville. Their stories were so, so sad, but reading them made me feel less alone. I was like them; they were like me. I was just lucky to be born when I was, when there was a drug treatment that killed the bacteria. I wouldn’t have to have any limbs amputated, I wouldn’t die as a result of the disease and my family wouldn’t tell people that I had died because they were so ashamed of me. Reading their stories made me feel like I was part of something, and it was something that had been going on for a long, long time. They were brave, all of them. And maybe I was too.

One of the autobiographies I read was by a man named Stanley Stein. He was a pharmacist who started a newspaper from Carville and advocated for the rights of the patients. He was the person who started the movement to change the name of the disease to Hansen’s disease and to stop using the word leper. There was this one quote in his book that I copied out and taped to my mirror so that I would see it every day. It said:

It is not what we have lost that matters most, but what we choose to do with what we have left.

It made sense to me, and I decided to believe in it. Like, instead of getting depressed that I couldn’t cheer anymore and wouldn’t get the scholarship and wouldn’t be able to go to USC for acting, I could get serious about my writing and try to keep getting better at that, and maybe someday someone would want to publish something I had written. It was about not wallowing in the past, but getting on with it and having hope for the future. It wasn’t a religion or anything, but I think Jane would have approved.

Scott didn’t talk on the phone too much, like he said, but we texted a lot. Pretty much every day. When my eyes got tired and I couldn’t read or write anymore, I played checkers or pool with Barry. He always beat me at checkers and I always beat him at pool. I felt bad about the things I’d thought about Barry when I first got to Carville, because he was actually a real sweetheart. Socially awkward as hell, but sweet. He knew a lot about space and stars and planets and asteroids, that type of stuff. He would always let me know what was going to happen that night in the sky. He called them “celestial events.” It made me feel like I was invited to a fancy party. One day when we were playing pool, I told Barry about the book I was working on, my story.

“Sounds interesting,” he said.

“I don’t know if anyone would ever want to read it, or if I could get it published or whatever, but…I think I’d like to try.” I took my shot. The six ball bounced off the corner. Nothing went down.

Barry looked at me, waiting for more.

“I found something I actually really like to do. And I think…I mean, I hope, I might even be good at it. Or at least not totally suck at it.”

“Writing?”

I nodded.

“Like, books?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know I’ll have to work on it for a few years, and it’s not like I know the first thing about how to become a professional writer or what to do when I actually finish it, but, that’s the cool thing, I want to work on it. Even if nothing happens. I mean, if it never gets published or whatever. That’s, like, not the point. The writing itself is the point.”

Barry nodded slowly.

“Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Barry said. He gazed out the window. “I have a cousin,” Barry said. He took the square of chalk from the edge of the table and ground it into the tip of his cue. He studied me without looking at me. His bug eyes flicking around my hair, my jeans.

“Yeah…?”

“Yeah.” Barry set down the chalk and lined up his shot. The ball went in. He lined up for the next shot. He held his tongue between his teeth, concentrating.

I waited.

He missed.

I lined up and sunk the six in the side pocket. “So what about your cousin?” I said.

“Oh, yeah, well.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “She teaches in the creative writing department at Columbia. Maybe she could give you some tips. Point you in the right direction.”

“Columbia. That’s in New York, right?”

“Yes.”

I thought of Jane’s theory about the two kinds of people. Maybe I was a New York person after all.

“If you want, I could ask her to take a look at your book. Once you’ve finished it and everything.”

“Seriously? You’d do that for me?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Why not?”

I took my shot. The seven rocketed into the corner pocket. “That would be awesome,” I said. I smiled at him and shot my next ball. The five went into the side pocket with a clatter.

“I, for one, can’t wait to read it,” he said.

“Thanks, Barry.” I gently tapped the eight ball into the side pocket and won the game.

“Here, I’ll give you my email. And I’ll get in touch with my cousin and let her know you’ll be contacting her.” He took a pencil and a scrap of paper out of his breast pocket and wrote his email address out. He handed me the paper.

And just like that, I had a plan B. I looked up at Barry, blinking in the light. He smiled sheepishly, scratched the stubble on his chin. I knew that once I left Carville, I wouldn’t be able to judge people based on their looks anymore. I’d learned too much.

I worked hard at my physical therapy and made sure I was getting lots of rest and good nutrition; I kept writing in my red notebooks, going for walks around the lake, reading, doing schoolwork. I hung out with Barry quite a bit and had tea and cookies with Grace and Lester every Saturday, and then one day, it was my last day at Carville and I was allowed to go home—for good.

The week I got home, I got a letter from my school that pretty much said that if I wrote my final exams, I was going to pass twelfth grade and I was in good shape to be on the honor roll. Even though I had missed so much school, I had still, inexplicably, done very well. Maybe even better than I would have if I had actually been attending school, since I didn’t get distracted by all the high school drama. I mean, the letter didn’t say that last part, but that’s what I figured. I put the letter down on the table and breathed a sigh of relief. I would tell Mom and Dad when they got home from work and they would be so happy. The sunlight blasted through the kitchen windows and our house was quiet and bright. In a few weeks, I would be walking across the stage to accept a diploma at my graduation ceremony, and, if I wanted to, going to prom.

My heart fluttered. I didn’t want to think about it for too long because I didn’t want to chicken out. I fired off a text to Scott: Will you go to my prom with me?

I held my phone and my breath, watching the ellipses appear as he typed his reply.

As long as I don’t have to wear a baby-blue tux.

I laughed. Typed: You can wear whatever you want.

In the weeks leading up to my prom, Scott and I devised an elaborate plan. He would buy (not steal—buy) a car, or maybe a van, with the money he had saved up from his job working construction. Then he would drive down to Texas, come with me to prom, and we would leave the next day to visit Dean and Kyle in San Francisco. We’d take a few days to do the drive, take in the sights, camp along the way, or maybe sleep in the car, depending on what kind of car he got. I was so excited I could barely sleep at night. I studied maps and roadside diners on the Internet and vaguely wondered if I would lose my (born-again) virginity somewhere along the side of the road in California.

Mom took me shopping for my prom dress and I chose a coral cut-out dress that came to just above the ankle. Coral because, let’s face it, everyone looks good in coral, especially blondes. Cut-out because Jane had said that style would look good on me and, turns out, she was right. It was really elegant; it showed off my neckline and collarbones so I had to find the perfect jewelry to go with it.

With Dean gone, the house was eerily quiet, and it seemed to stay clean and tidy all on its own. I went in to school to write my final exams but didn’t go back for classes. I didn’t really see the point. I worked on my book instead.

Although Mom and Dad would never admit it, I think they really missed Dean. And I would never tell him this in a million years, but so did I.

Dad didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He was spending a lot of time in the garage. Fiddling with things and fixing things that didn’t necessarily need to be fixed. One night I went out to the garage to visit him. I clutched the gold armadillo coin in my fist.

“Hey, Dad. How’s it going out here?”

“Oh, hi, Abby.” He looked up from his workbench where he was gluing a broken picture frame together. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you would be able to make a hole in this.” I held out the coin.

He took it from me and turned it over and over in the palm of his hand. “This is pretty neat, hey?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get this from…?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, I should be able to drill a hole through it, no problem.”

“Cool. How long do you think it will take?”

He stood up. “I can do it right now.”

I watched as he put the coin in his vise and clamped it, then got out his drill and turned it on. The metal shrieked as he drilled into it, but then it was done, it was over. He took the coin out and blew on it, then handed it back to me, smiling. “There you go, sweetie.”

The coin was hot in my hand. I held it up to examine the hole winking in the center of the armadillo.

Scott and I didn’t take a limo to prom or anything fancy like that. We drove in the van he had bought two days before, a 1962 Volkswagen camper van, eggplant purple, that he had bought off a couple of hippies for a song.

“It’ll be perfect for our trip!” he said, as he showed me the van. “Look at all this room!”

I had to admit, the van was pretty sweet. It even had little tie-dye curtains and matching pillows that someone had made especially for it. There was a tiny sink and a mini-fridge in the back. There was a table built into the side that you could flip up into the wall when you wanted more room. “Look,” Scott said, putting the table down. “We can sit here and play cards.” He grinned.

My mom was smitten over the van, and maybe with Scott a little, too. His hair had gotten longer, and he had gotten stronger and leaner working construction in the months since he’d left Louisiana.

“I would have loved something like this when I was your age,” Mom gushed, running her hand over a headlight. “You’re so lucky, Abby. You’re going to have such a great trip. What an adventure!”

So we arrived in style to the prom. Scott wore dark jeans, a white dress shirt and a black pin-stripe jacket. He parked the van and I sat quietly in the passenger seat with my hands in my lap.

“You ready for this?” he said.

I grabbed onto my left hand to stop it from shaking. “I guess I’m a little nervous,” I said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been around all these people and…things are so different now. I’m different.”

“You want to bail and just keep driving? Because we could do that.”

I breathed in. Breathed out. “No,” I said. “I want to do this.”

“Okay then,” Scott said. “Let’s do this!” He got out and slammed his door, then came around to my side and opened the door for me and helped me out. “And did I mention how absolutely fabulous you look tonight, Miss Furlowe?”

I laughed. “Thanks. You’re looking pretty fabulous yourself.”

“Well, I did comb my hair for the occasion.”

I laughed.

“Oh no! Wait! I almost forgot. Hang on.” He unlocked the van and climbed into the back. I could see him through the windows, getting something out of the mini-fridge.

I took my compact out of my purse and checked my makeup. “Okay,” I said under my breath. “You’re okay.” When Scott came back, I clicked my compact shut and slid it back into my purse.

“Here,” he said. “Give me your wrist.” He held a wrist corsage with a white magnolia in the center of it.

“Oh my goodness,” I said. “Thank you! It’s beautiful.”

He carefully fastened it around my wrist. “My mom helped me pick it out,” he said, shrugging.

“Aw, that’s so cute,” I said. “I really like it.”

“I’m glad.”

I admired the corsage, breathing in its scent. “It reminds me of the magnolias at Carville.”

“Me too,” he said. Then he offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

I took his arm and we went into the banquet hall.

We had time to cruise around for a while before the dinner started. The dance followed the dinner and then they would announce the prom king and queen. We got some punch and I hoped that someone had spiked it. Everyone was dressed to the nines. It was pretty cool checking everyone out. Some people cleaned up so well I barely recognized them. Dustin came over and said hi. Aaron came over and said hi. Marla ran up to us while we were on our second round at the punch table. “Oh my God, Abby?!” She wore an emerald green tea-length dress and had her hair in an up-do. She squealed, hugged me. “Abby you look so good!”

“Thanks,” I said. “I feel good. That’s the important part.” I glanced at Scott. He smiled at me. I introduced them. I could tell Marla thought he was hot. Obviously.

“Where’s Liz?” I said.

Marla shook her head. “Nate doesn’t do prom. You know…so…she didn’t come.”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “She’s only been talking about it for three years.”

“Yeah, well,” Marla said. “She’ll regret it. One day.”

Marla leaned closer to me. “I love your necklace,” she said. “Is that an armadillo?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“So cool! Where did you get it?”

“Well,” I said, glancing at Scott. “It’s kind of a long story.”

She nodded. Took a sip of her punch. “We probably have a few minutes before dinner starts,” she said.

“Maybe some other time,” I said.

“Oh. Okay, well…I should check on my date, I guess,” she said, glancing behind her. “It was so good to see you, Abby. You look so great. You really do.”

“Thanks.”

“And nice to meet you, Scott.”

“Likewise,” he said.

She gave us a little wave and went away.

“Friend of yours?” Scott said.

“Best friend,” I said. “Used to be.”

“She doesn’t know, does she?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to tell her ever, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just send her a copy of my book instead.”

“A signed copy,” he said.

I shrugged. “If she’s lucky.”

“Whew! Don’t mess with Texas!” He laughed.

Then they made the announcement that dinner was about to be served and we made our way back to our table and sat down. The other people at our table came to take their seats. I said hello to them. Scott took my hand and held it on his knee. I gazed out over the balloons and streamers and sparkly decorations. I knew that I wasn’t going to be crowned prom queen, and I didn’t care one bit. I was happy.

^*Not my real name