And then there’s Rowan. Poor girl. She never gets a break. I think of all the times she’s covered for me lately, and she doesn’t complain. I try to make her feel awesome. I wish Mom and Dad would go away for a while so I can just talk to her. Find out how her boyfriend is. See how she’s doing with everything.

Before they go home, my father, who’s been agitating over in the corner all alone, apparently feels like he just has to say something.

“Now that you’re feeling a little better,” he says, “I want to make sure you only let family in to see you. Nobody else. Okay? And soon you’ll be home.”

I see my mother flash him an annoyed look, and Rowan’s eyes go wide. I think about fighting him on it because it’s stupid, but I’m also really tired and ready to sleep. “Who else is there besides family?” I say. “Of course, Dad. I don’t want anybody else seeing me like this.”

“And then we’ll talk about why you would steal the food truck just to go see that hooligan.”

I nod. “Fine.”

He hesitates, then seems satisfied. I yawn, trying not to split my chest in half. “I’m really tired, guys,” I say. “They’re talking about sending me home Tuesday. I just want to get there. So I’m going to sleep now, okay? Please don’t stay. You need your rest too. I’ll sleep like a baby with these meds. I’m fine, okay?”

“Of course,” Mom says, and she stands up. I’m a little surprised she doesn’t argue, but she seems preoccupied. “Come on, Antonio,” she says to Dad. “We’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Her effervescent smile is as fake as they come.

• • •

In the morning, my task is to take a shower, and I actually see for the first time all the places I have cuts and contusions. My entire outer left thigh and butt cheek are so purple they’re almost black from the door smashing in on me. They said it was amazing I didn’t break my hip or leg. I’ve got stitches in my scalp, my chin, and one knee in addition to my stomach from surgery and my knuckle from the Crescent wrench. My black eye is less puffy but still purple with a hint of yellow.

After the shower a volunteer comes in and does my hair and makeup, which almost makes me cry because it’s so sweet. It feels good to not look like a total train wreck again. When I think of how I looked in the hospital bed, I know that Sawyer could have run away screaming, but he must really like me if he could stand to look at me that way. I feel a little extra energy today coming from inside—relief, or happiness, I guess.

Once I’m all fresh and clean, my next required task is to take a walk down the hallway. The day is full of challenges, isn’t it? Mom stops by before the restaurant opens to bring me one of her homemade bran muffins, which are amazingly delicious. She must have gotten up early to make them, and once again I feel a pain in my chest for her. She sits for a bit, and we just talk about our days, and avoid talking about anything that could get weird.

But ever since Mom told me that I wasn’t the first to have to say good-bye to an Angotti, I sense she wants to talk about something more. And for the first time, I actually think that’s a good idea. Maybe it’s because of what Sawyer told me about my father, so I feel sorry for her now or something. But maybe because I think she knows that I’m really in love with Sawyer, and she’s okay with it. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have her on my side.

But that talk doesn’t happen.

When she leaves, I have lunch and a nap, just killing time waiting and hoping for visitors after school. Hoping Sawyer comes back.

I wonder idly what happened to my cell phone in this whole ordeal. All I know is that I don’t have it. It’s probably smashed to bits.

• • •

Trey and Rowan come straight from school. “Trey’s a freaking hero,” Rowan says as they burst into the room. “Everybody loves him. He won’t stop talking about his own awesomeness.” She flops into the chair next to my bed, and I can hardly contain my delight. I missed my sibs. No matter how crowded the house can be, it’s still fun to be crowded with them.

“I’m not surprised,” I say. “He can’t ever get enough attention.”

“Hi. I’m right here,” he says.

“See?” says Rowan. “As if seeing him isn’t enough, he has to announce his presence.”

“It’s disgusting,” I say.

Trey’s jaw drops. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll just go hang out with my new BFF, Sawyer Angotti.”

“What??” both Rowan and I exclaim.

“We had lunch today in the caf,” Trey says.

“I hate you.”

“Me too!” Rowan says, and then turns to me. “Wait, why do we hate him?”

“Because we’re jealous, dumbhead.”

“I’m not jealous. I don’t get what you two see in him. He’s so . . . broody and dark and Italian.”

Trey thinks for a moment and says, “You know, Rowan’s right. I could go for a nice Scandinavian.”

Rowan agrees with a hearty nod and a secret smile at me. “Blonds are hot.”

“You know who’s hot?” Trey asks. “Jules Demarco. Amazing what a shower does for that girl.”

I sink back into my pillows with a grin, feeling like all is well in the world.

• • •

When they leave to get to the restaurant before the rush, there’s a knock at the door, and I know it’s him. I can feel it. “Come in,” I say.