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I didn't want him to leave feeling like however he now felt. I needed him to stay for just a little bit longer, so I blurted out, "Jacob's in a coma. They won't bring him out of it until he's doing better."

That stopped his backward movement again. "I'm sorry."

"His mom thinks I am the key to saving him."

"What do you mean?"

"She pretended I was his cousin and I sat by him and talked to him and she wants me to come back and do the same thing. Like I have some magic touch or something." I laughed nervously, surprised I had told him that. "It's no big deal, though. Maybe I can help."

"You don't have to go back, Addison."

My shoulders relaxed a notch. "I want to."

"I hope he gets better."

"Me too." I toed the corner of the doormat. "If you ever need a break . . . I have a car." When he didn't say anything I added, "You can borrow it or something." Maybe Joey didn't want to hang out with my friends, but we were still friends. He was still wearing the bracelet, after all. That had to mean something. And as his friend, I knew things about him, like the fact that he'd need some freedom from this place once in a while. A car helped with that.

"Borrow your car? I'm sure your parents would love that."

"They'd be cool with it." They would not be cool with it.

"I don't need your car, but thanks." He moved his hand up on the door, his expression seeming to ask if I was done with my outbursts yet.

I bit my lip. "Okay . . . well . . . good luck with everything."

"You too."

I took a step backward. "Bye, Joey."

"Bye."

He shut the door and that was it.

I started to leave but then hesitated, thinking I'd left something, my arms felt empty, but then I remembered it was just his sweatshirt so I hopped off the porch and drove away. Maybe that bracelet didn't mean anything, after all. Joey didn't need my friendship. He didn't need anything. Now that I saw that, I could stop worrying about him.

My dad was sitting on the couch matching socks when I came in the door. The television was on (which explained why the task was taking him so long) and he paused it to say, "How was the hospital?"

"I didn't end up going. I dropped off that sweatshirt instead." That wasn't a lie, even though I knew he would assume I went to the library.

"Oh good. Joey. His name is Joey." He searched the pile of socks on the coffee table for the right one.

"What?"

"The police told me who the boy who helped you was. I wrote him a letter that they said they'd send to him for us."

"That's great."

He held up a finger as if he just thought of an idea. "Did you want to add anything to it?"

"The letter?"

"Yes."

I smiled, thinking that could be funny. "Sure, Dad."

He swept the socks off his lap and onto the cushion next to him, then led the way into the kitchen, where he took a folded sheet of paper out of an envelope. I read through the words, which mainly talked about how grateful he was that Joey heard the alarm and came to help me. How this act let him know Joey had a strong character. I picked up the black pen on the counter and added the words, My hero then signed my name.

My dad read it, a crease forming between his brows. "That doesn't seem very sincere."

"It is."

He folded up the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope.

I wondered if I should've added more. My words were supposed to be funny, but they sounded bitter. I was still angry with him for getting caught, I realized, for brushing me off at the house, and at school for that matter, for being able to close the door so easily.

"I have some photo homework to do. Can I go down to the park for a little bit?"

"Sure."

In my room, I slung my camera bag over my shoulder, grabbed my jacket and scarf, and headed to the garage for my bike. When I was shooting outdoors, it was so much easier to travel on my bike than in the car.

I stopped at the park up the street. Even with snow still on the ground, it was full of bundled-up kids. I dropped my bike by the racks, traipsed through the slush, and found a group of bare trees.

As I brought my camera up to my eye, I let out a sigh. It had been too long since I'd looked at the world through the lens. It helped clarify things for me, straighten out my thinking. Looking at the harsh angles of the bare tree, its background bleak, I knew I was letting my life get blurry. I needed to focus on what mattered—Jacob.

Luna didn't go to the hospital with me this time, and as I walked into the lobby I wondered if it was a mistake to go alone. It was too late to change my mind now—Mrs. Matson had just caught my eye across the room. She jumped up faster than I thought possible, stopping mid-sentence with the lady next to her to race toward me.

"Addison! I'm so happy you're back. The best thing happened after you left the other day! He squeezed my hand."

"He's awake?"

"No, not awake yet, but that's the first time there was a sign that there is that possibility."

"That's great."

"It was you."

I stared at her for a long moment before I said, "No. It was your hand he squeezed. I'm sure it was you. He didn't move at all for me."

"I'd been here days and nothing. You were here minutes and . . ." She trailed off and hugged me. "You are like a miracle. You came back from the dead and now you're here to share the good karma."

"I wasn't dead."

She ignored my statement. "They're going to stop the medicine that's keeping him under now. See if he'll wake up."

"They are? That's amazing."

"When he wakes up they'll be able to assess things more. See the extent of his injuries. Come on. You need to see him."

His eyes were less swollen today, although now that the swelling was down I could see the discoloration around them more clearly. Just like the other day, she left me in the room with him. I sat down, and it was like my body remembered exactly how it was supposed to act in here because it was immediately back on high alert. Stop it, I told my body. You're fine. Look where he is.

"Hey, Jacob. What have you been up to?" I smiled. "I know, my jokes are getting lamer." I put my hand on his arm again. "I bet you're so bored. I mean, if you are aware at all. I should read to you or something. Is that what is customary when a friend is in your situation? It seems like that always happens in the movies. What would you even like to read? I don't think I know that about you." If I were honest, I didn't know that many meaningful things about Jacob. I mean, I knew the same things everyone else who hung out with him knew—he liked baseball and practical jokes and was very smart—but it wasn't like we'd ever had a deep conversation.

"Maybe I should ask your mom if you have a journal. I could read that to you. Unless you want to object. No?" I sighed. "Sorry, they really are getting lamer."

I looked back over my shoulder, toward the door. It had been a couple of minutes. I was surprised his mom hadn't come in to tell me that time was up yet. This was all the time I had gotten before. Maybe longer visits had been approved in the last forty-eight hours. Because he squeezed a hand. I stared at his hand for a moment and then placed my palm beneath it. "Jacob? Can you hear me?" I closed my hand around his, then held my breath as I waited to feel something back.

Nothing.