She moved her head up and down in a robotic kind of way but continued to stare at me with slightly parted lips and wide eyes. Finally, she said, “You want to transplant organs.”

“Yeah.” I furrowed my brow, wondering what was wrong with that.

Then her entire face bloomed into a sudden smile, telling me there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. “I think that’s amazing.” She began walking again before she bumped her elbow into mine. “And you say you’re in awe of my dream to be a writer. You want to save lives, Quinn. That’s impressive.”

She hadn’t said becoming a writer was her dream earlier. She’d said it was just a hobby she dabbled in, but I’m glad she let it slip now. I liked learning more about her.

I let her words settle in my head a bit before I said, “I may want to save lives, but art, like the stories you want to write...that’s the kind of stuff that makes life worth living.”

When Zoey looked at me this time, something powerful fisted into a knot at the base of my stomach. “What?” I asked softly, needing to know what she was thinking more than I needed my next breath.

She shook her head as if she wasn’t going to tell me, and then she murmured, “I was always scared to tell people about my writing. Everyone would say it’s silly and stupid and tell me to get a real dream, but…when you say things like that, it makes it feel…” She shrugged and glanced away with a far-off look. “Almost important.”

“But you are.” I wanted to touch her, shift the hair out of her face, slide my fingers up her cheek, and press my forehead to hers. My guts actually ached because I held myself back. But I was even too afraid to hold her hand, so I shoved my fists into my pockets. “We all have paranoid moments where we think everything we do is silly and stupid, or completely inconsequential. But stories are a way to connect with others and realize we’re not alone in our crazy, mixed-up thoughts. I think what you do is important. It keeps introverted people like me from going insane.”

Tears glistened in her eyes as she smiled up at me. But I didn’t hug her. No, I did not. And I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t grab her hand, yank her around the corner of the nearest building, or take her against the first wall we came across. No matter how insistent some of my urges were, I managed to hold back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Even though I didn’t do any of the things I craved, I still felt completely satisfied in that moment. Because I’d made Zoey smile.

The apartment was quiet when I let myself inside after class. I thought I was home alone until I heard a strange sound down the hall. Immediately apprehensive, I froze.

It took a couple seconds for my vocal chords to work up the courage and function before I could hesitantly call out. “Hello? Cora?”

“Back here,” I thought I heard her answer.

Unease prickled the back of my neck, so I dropped my book bag to the floor and hurried down the hall and into her room. I heard the vomiting from her bathroom as soon as I entered.

“Oh, no.” Dashing past her bed, I flew toward the opened doorway and skidded to a halt in the entrance of the bathroom.

Cora sat on her knees in front of the toilet, her back arched up with the force of her heaves as she emptied her stomach.

“Cora!” My knees weakened and I almost landed beside her on the cool tile. But I managed to sit on the edge of the bathtub so I could gather her hair out of her face. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

For a couple minutes, she was too busy to answer. I had to look away so I didn’t get sick myself, but the sound and the smell still turned my stomach, and I gagged more than once.

Tears were matted to Cora’s face as she came up for air. “I’m fine,” she finally said, wiping her cheeks clean. “It’s just nausea.”

Just nausea my butt. But I nodded and left her for a moment to fetch her a glass of water. When I returned, I watched her gulp the entire cup full.

“Could...” She had to pause to regain her voice before she asked, “Could you get my Nauzene in the bottom drawer next to my bed?”

She so rarely let me help her. Eager to do something, I stood up so fast I made the blood rush to my head. The dizziness blurred my vision for a moment before I could kneel beside her bottom drawer and pull it open.

I swear, the entire thing was filled with medicine, some prescriptions, some over the counter, and some vitamins. “My God,” I murmured, wondering how much of this she had to take every day.

Two minutes later, I still hadn’t found what she needed. She finally had to call, “The bottle’s in a white box, blue words.”