A/N: A long chapter this time! And, well, I don't wanna ruin the fun, but. . . a little birdie told me that there was a surprise at the end of this chapter.

CHAPTER 3: Considering the Circumstance

Dr. Stevens was the school therapist – a figure that everybody thought was just a myth, like unicorns and aliens. There really was no explaining why the school had needed a therapist all this time except that maybe they had some extra money to blow off and wanted to give the students the option of being emotionally stabilized by a so-so doctor with an I Like to Read poster and a penchant for goatees. Another plausible reason was that the school administration thought their kids were seriously disturbed and needed some major calming down.

This was my third meeting with him, and he was late. I'd been sitting in the stuffy leather seat for about ten minutes, waiting and looking around. I even took a peek at his CD collection – he had two Michael Bolton albums, fairly scratched. Pretty dismal CD collection, but I doubt he spent his free time browsing new music. He had a cramped bookshelf of self-help books, which didn't bode all that well for anyone.

"Ms. Berenson," he said, finally coming in. He closed the door behind him. "Sorry about the wait. I was out getting a Diet Coke."

"No problem," I said. "I understand the hankering for caffeinated diet beverages."

He sat down at his desk, setting his Diet Coke aside. "So. How is your day so far?"

I pressed my lips together. We always started out with the butt-numbing small talk.

"Fine. Aced a quiz in biology. Broke a pencil in calculus. I even managed to snag the window seat in English, so I'd say – a better day than most, minus the pencil. Sometimes there are casualties in a better-than-most day. The pencil died for a good cause."

He made a slight impression with his eyebrows. He then transitioned into the other questions. "How's your mother?"

"She's fine. Motherly."

"You told me before that she's been cooking more often than she ever used to. Why do you think this is?"

"I can only assume it's because she's tired of take-out, or she's vying for Martha Stewart's job. The other day I think I caught her weaving baskets."

Dr. Stevens had impressed me during our second meeting, silently bearing and putting up with my sarcastic quips far longer than any respectable adult. Then again, maybe this was all telling him something: that I was a repressed teenager with a lot of bitterness and resentment.

Granted, I wasn't doing this to make things difficult for him. I know how it's like to have people make things difficult for you when things are already hard. I said these things to keep myself amused, and it kept my sharp tongue preoccupied. It wasn't fun having strangers who were taught to look at you as an emotional cupboard they could pilfer through and make conclusions about prod through your life, stomping their big heavy shoes everywhere and then write it all down in their reports.

"If you want to ask me about what happened," I said, "just ask. Though I doubt I can tell you much. You'd be stuck in the same place as Dr. Laura, and if you've got control issues like she does, then I suggest we avoid it and break out the board games."

"What happened to you isn't what's relevant here, Rachel," he said. He scratched a patch in his goatee. "It's how it could have possibly affected you – mentally, emotionally. Many victims who go through traumatic instances, though they don't remember much, still suffer some sort of mental consequences. I'm here to help you."

"You're here to dissect me," I said pointedly. "That's your job. Break me open, find out what's wrong, and maybe fix me up with a few passages from Chicken Soup for the Soul and a self-motivational talk involving a mirror and the phrase 'I am here, and I am strong' fifty times."

He sighed. "You're a very headstrong girl. And very resistant to authority."

"Now how'd you figure that?"

"I understand this may have something to do with your peers' treatment of you ever since you returned to school. They've been staring, yes?" He looked at me, his face pulled down into a serious expression. "Look, Ms. Berenson. Sometimes we don't remember things because we subconsciously don't want to remember them – and this isn't our fault. When terrible things happen, the mind does what it can to protect us, and sometimes that means to bury it deep, deep inside. This is fairly common."

"If this is common, then why aren't there queues of students waiting outside your office? I've heard some pretty scary stories about kids' encounters with the lunch meat."

He smiled a small smile. "Not every student goes missing for two weeks and wakes up in the woods." He took a sip of his Diet Coke. "Now, I am simply here to make sure you're emotionally stable. I'm not here to poke you a stick and see if you come up and bite."

"Oh, I'm stable," I said, getting up. "Stable as can be. Stable as a table. Can I leave? I've got a lot of homework to get to, not to mention run to the store to buy another pencil."

He nodded, signaling the end of another useless meeting. "I'll see you next week."

I headed out, making it out just a few minutes before the bell rang. I was just stuffing my things into my locker when I dropped my broken pencil, rolling out onto the floor.

Cassie picked it up. "Yours? There are teeth marks on it."

I snatched it away from her, tossing it in my locker. "It's had a rough day. It's not easy being a skinny piece of wood and constantly overused by long, boring lectures."

"How was the meeting with Dr. Stevens?" she asked.

"Informational," I said, closing my locker. "He listens to Michael Bolton and reads self-help books, namely with the title 'If I Believe, I Can Do Everything I've Always Wanted to' with several variations."

Afterschool, Cassie and I met up with Jake and Marco. Since her parents were using the barn with some colleagues, we settled in my house, where Marco comfortably settled with two bags of chips and several cans of soda.

"I gotta tell you, Rach," he said, nuzzling a bag of Doritos, "ever since you came back, your pantry has been full. It's like it refills itself every day. It's miraculous. You've got an entirely whole new box of twinkies today."

Just then, something flickered through my mind. I braced myself for another one of my memory flashes, shutting my eyes tight, as I saw something. . . blue. And furry. It clouded over my brain and the kitchen became distant. . .

"Rachel?" Jake said, worried. "What is it?"

I opened my eyes, wide. I struggled to find the word. "Ax."

Their reactions were simultaneous. Their faces became stricken with horror and shock, not to mention confusion. The chip Marco had placed in his mouth fell into his lap. It was a long moment, terse and heavy, before I swallowed hard and finally spoke up.

"So I take it. . . you guys didn't—"

"No, not until – not until you mentioned it," said Jake, suddenly upset, getting up to pace around the kitchen. "How could we possibly forget about him? After everything strange that's been happening, and with Tobias disappearing, and with you reappearing, it's just not possible that Ax—"

"Where'd he go?" said Marco. "Did the missing member of the Blue Man Group with four legs run away?"

"No," said Cassie. Her expression was grave. "He's disappeared. He's not here anymore, remember? Everything's back to the way things used to be. That means. . . Ax wouldn't be on earth."

"So where would he be?"

"I don't know. But he's not here." Cassie pursed her lips. "I don't think we forgot about him. I just think we weren't supposed to remember him."

"Oh," said Marco. He numbly reached for the fallen chip and put it back in his mouth, letting out a loud crunch. "So this is what it feels like to step into Bizarro World."

"But Rachel," said Jake, "how'd you remember? I mean, all of us clearly forgot him enough to never even realize his nonexistence these past three weeks, and your memory isn't even fully restored yet."

"I don't know. All I know is, Marco mentioned twinkies, and there it was. A memory flash of something blue and furry and embarrassingly awkward as a human. It took me a while to remember exactly who it was. . . just like the three of you. The looks on your faces. . ."

Jake sat down. "This is weird. Too weird."

"And that changes our lives how?" said Marco. "Think about it, our lives have always been on the cusp of flying monkeys and the Land of Oz."

"So, what?" I asked, looking at Jake and Cassie. "Is this bad or good?"

"Too early to tell," answered Cassie. "It is weird, but Marco's got a point."

"That's it," I said, sitting back down. "The world is ending. Marco finally has a point, and the apocalypse is here."

"Ha, ha," Marco said, throwing a chip at me. "I'll have you know, the apocalypse happened some time ago, and we narrowly managed to avoid it. Unless it's come back all dressed up, I believe apocalypse is absent and thus we are only left with—"

"Marco, shut up."

- - - - -

When I turned thirteen, my mom gave me the talk. No, not that talk. The "Don't ever wait by the phone for a boy to call" talk – that's the one. And she told it to me with such unbelievable and whimsical passion that I had no choice but to be a firm believer in it. Not that I'd waited around for boys to call much before, but it taught me a little secret about the way the world of blossoming adolescent attractiveness worked: the ones that waited were rarely the ones that got called.

It was pathetic, but you could say I was waiting for a boy to call. Very subtly, of course, with as less visible pain and impatience as possible – but nevertheless, I was waiting. Not so much for a call, though – or, hold that thought, maybe. How was I supposed to know how he'd choose to communicate with me? I didn't even know whether he was a human or a bird. So I watched both my window and the phone.

I had never reached such a low for a boy. True, I loved him, but Tobias's extremely antisocial change of pace was really starting to piss me off.

So much so that it began to leak out of my usually well-kept charade. It was a shame, really – and I thought I was doing so well.

"Geez, Rachel, look at your face," said Marco. "I think you need a little private date with two men named Ben and Jerry tonight."

I swore at him. I was in a foul mood.

He whistled, while Cassie sent me a look and Jake kept his eyes straight ahead. Seeing Jake's intentional avoidance to talk or deal with Tobias's disappearance was really starting to grate on my nerves, and Cassie was well aware of it. She could feel my frustration, and I could tell she was a little exasperated with Jake as well.

"Tell you what," said Marco. "For your birthday, I'll get you a stress ball and a gallon of rocky road ice cream."

"Or you could offer yourself up as a punching bag," I growled.

He laughed. "I love you, Rach, but not that much." He put on an innocent face. "By the way, your birthday – speaking of that momentous little occasion, it's coming up. Any plans?"

"My mom booked the café," I muttered, not in the mood to discuss anything celebratory.

"Great!" said Marco. "Is there going to be cake? What kind? I hope it's that fudge chocolate kind. That's my favorite. You don't think you could pass that along to your mom, do you?"

"I'll tell you what," I said. "You don't show up, and I will personally bake you that cake and send it through the mail."

He feigned a look of hurt. "Ouch, Rach. Your broken heart is starting to give me a broken ego."

Cassie looked sympathetic. "Look, Rachel, I'm sure it won't be long. I'm sure Tobias—"

"No you aren't," I said, feebly trying to round the sharp edge of my words. "Cassie, Tobias is – he's—" I couldn't go on. The words clustered up around the middle of my throat into a stubborn, painful lump. I hated feeling this desperate – I wasn't used to this. In all of our years of a silent war, I'd never felt this way, like I wanted so badly to reach out at something only to grasp air. I was getting worried, and I was losing sleep. I didn't know where he was and I was starting to think that maybe – he'd never come back.

It was scary how much that terrified me.

"You're going to be all right," she assured me. "And Tobias is fine. He can survive on his own."

Words gurgled up my throat, threatening to spill out – but I locked my jaw and held them back. But what about me? How am I supposed to survive?

"I need to get something from my locker. I'll see you guys later," I said, a little tersely, walking in the other direction without waiting for a reply.

I went to the bathroom, splashing some water on my face, trying to calm myself down. I had another meeting with Dr. Stevens and I couldn't afford to get all unraveled. So I got a drink of water and headed towards my locker to get my books.

"Rachel." I looked up. It was Elliot, the boy from the library.

I tried to give him a smile. Hopefully it didn't look as lame as it felt. "Hey."

He cleared his throat, looking a little shy. "I was hoping you'd come back to the library."

"Oh," I said, shutting my locker. "Did I forget something?"

"No," he said, laughing under his breath at a joke I wasn't sure I caught. "You didn't forget anything. Look, I promise you I'm not just some freak that sits around an empty library. I have a free period, so I help out. And, you know, nobody really all that interesting ever comes in."

I looked at him, really looked at him. I felt a little flush across my cheeks when I finally saw where he was going with this.

". . .Enter, me," I said, hesitantly.

"Yeah," he said, giving me a nervous smile. "Enter you."

I silently sighed. "Look, I get the whole interest factor, okay? I went missing for two weeks, and then I turned up. There's a theory going around that I was abducted by aliens or I joined a cult and wimped out at the last minute. But I assure you, the theories are far more interesting than I am. You don't have to woo me to get the story. I don't even know what the story is."

He looked a little confused. "I'm not here because I wanted to know what happened to you, Rachel. I'm here because," he said, tentative, and giving a little smile, "I want to see you. Some place other than the library. Preferably somewhere even outside of school, like at the café."

I blinked. Well, this was new. "I assume what you're cryptically talking about," I said slowly, "is a date."

"Yeah. Cryptically. A date."

I bit my lip. "And I assume I just came off as a really big jerk."

"Not a really big one. Just a small one. Moderate-sized. Not enough to scare me away, at least." He stood there, hopeful. "So what about it? Friday night?"

"Look," I said. "Elliot, I'm sure you're a nice guy – not just nice, what a crappy adjective, right? You're a great guy. You're a magnificent guy. But I'm going to have to think about it. Is that okay?"

His face faltered, but he kept up the smile. "Of course. You called me magnificent. That's worth waiting for, right?"

It was a horrible thing. Now there were two people playing the waiting game. He was waiting for me to say yes, and I was waiting for a little birdie to come back home. The only question was: who was willing to wait longer?

- - - - -

I had dreams. Wishful dreams. Dreams where I turned into a hawk and rode the thermals and looked for him. Dreams where I actually found him, and brought him back home.

There were other dreams, too. Girly dreams that I was sure were just a spin-off from another one of the painful fantasies I'd conjure up during English while Brutus verbosely schemed to kill Caesar. There was one where he'd just show up in the middle of the night – through my window, of course, which seemed to be the most popular method of getting into my house.

While Elliot was one of the lesser pressing matters on my mind, it still forced its way to the front; every time Elliot would see me in the hall, he would give me a little hopeful smile. Avoiding the subject got increasingly harder as the days went by and he waited for an answer.

"What's up with Elliot?" asked Cassie, catching his little smile and wave to me at the hall. "Seems to me like he's gotten it in his mind to get really friendly with you."

I worked the combination on my lock. "He asked me out," I said lowly.

"Elliot? Elliot asked you out?" After the initial shock wore off (though on some level I should have been insulted that she was so shocked), Cassie was thoughtful. "You know – and I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Rachel, but maybe. . . maybe you should give it a try. I'm not saying give him the boyfriend plaque already, but just to give it a try. See if it clicks."

I felt a little sting inside, even though I knew she was right – on some level.

"It's been a month and a half," said Cassie. "I know it's still early, but how long are you going to wait for him, Rachel? I know you still love him, but it wouldn't hurt to start taking baby steps forward. Not now. But soon."

"You're wrong," I said. "It would. It does, just thinking about it." I paused, trying not to let this sink into my chest. I hated the feeling of guilt and betrayal. It was too heavy. "But I told Elliot I would think about it."

"Oh. Good. That's a good start. Maybe you can invite him to your party."

I nodded. Cassie opened her mouth, before closing it again, hesitating.

"Rachel, I'm not – I mean, I hope you know—"

"I know," I said.

"It's just, you know. It's what would be healthy for you."

It's funny that now Cassie was treating me like another one of her wounded animals. I couldn't get too angry with her, though. It wasn't her fault – Jake wasn't exactly treating her like she was the world's best sweetheart, either.

"Yeah, sure. Healthy," I muttered. "Like Brussels sprouts."

- - - - - -

My mom was over the moon about my birthday. She even took off the whole day to make sure everything was prepped and ready. She picked me up from school and brought me home to get ready while she picked up the cake and the rest of the things she'd ordered. Once she got home, however, she raved on and on about it. Apparently, a lot of people were coming. Even people I didn't know. My mom's coworkers, Sara's friends, Jordan's friends, and some second cousins from some place I'd never even heard of – and I liked to think I paid attention to at least half of the geography unit in my history class.

"Now, don't peek at your cake," she said, putting the box in the refrigerator. If the box was any indication, it was going to be the biggest cake I'd ever seen. "Oh, and your dad's coming."

I froze. "Dad? Dad's coming?"

"Of course. He left this morning. He should be on time, if his flight goes accordingly. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, honey, but he wanted it to be a surprise. He really wanted to take a trip down here, especially when. . ." She cleared her throat. "But things were a little too complicated. The station's been real tight on him. Anyway, he said he couldn't miss your birthday."

For once, I was actually grateful that my dad was coming down. It was a good distraction – and at least one more person I'd know in the sea of people I didn't.

After finishing my homework, we headed over to the café – and boy, when my mom sets her mind on something, she really does a hell of a job. The café was done up with streamers and balloons, not to mention a large, colorful banner with the words, HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL! reaching across the room. I felt a little awkward. I felt a little embarrassed. It would take some time getting used to, this whole having-a-big-shindig business.

The owner of the café, Bert, greeted me a happy birthday. Technically, it wasn't my birthday yet – it was tomorrow – but I just nodded along and smiled. I sat down with him and helped him with the party favors.

"Your mom really went all out this year," he said, wrapping one of the candy bars in gift tissue. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Yeah," I said. "But at least I'm spending it here. That'll be of some comfort when my party guests arrive – only a quarter of whom I actually know."

"I heard about that," he said, nodding. "Your mother's friends."

"It's no big deal. She planned this, she can invite whoever she wants, just as long as nobody cakes me – and clowns. No clowns. Clowns are deal-breakers."

Around seven, people began to arrive. Cassie, Jake and Marco were one of the first. Marco never disappointed my expectations and immediately wanted to know what kind of cake I had, while Jake was actually making an effort to seem friendly and sociable since. . . well, since the war. It was no secret now: Jake had changed. But at least he was making an effort. Sometimes it was tough to tell with Jake these days – he could be even more distant than Tobias was, and Tobias had grown up with lousy aunts and uncles that played Hot Potato with him, not to mention the fact that he never really had any friends, pre-scary glowing alien cube. Things had been tough on Jake, but sometimes I found it hard to sympathize. Jake and I, even though we shared some part of the same gene pool, never really saw eye-to-eye. We had different priorities. Especially when it came to Tobias.

I tried hard to forget how I died – really, I did. Because Jake was right. It was tough reliving it every night and remembering that he'd sent me even though he knew that I would get off'ed by some polar bear Yeerk. But the thing was, I knew his thinking, and I knew why he did what he did. I was the only one who could guarantee to get the job done; it came with the whole fearless bravado thing. It'd be pathetic to say that when I went in for the mission, I felt the danger tingling in every part of my body, but it never occurred to me that I would die. The option was always there, of course – but it was always overlooked. It calmed the nerves, but it also made me vulnerable to, well, death.

"Happy birthday, Rachel," he said, handing me a gift. It was nicely wrapped. I could tell he'd asked Cassie to wrap it for him.

"Thanks."

A few of my classmates showed up – even Melissa, who used to be my best friend before we'd grown apart, partially because her father was a controller. The other part was due to the fact that, well, she'd morphed as well. Into a form uncannily similar to that of a coldhearted bitch. But we were in Like-It-Never-Happened universe, so that all changed. At least, as far as I could tell.

Bert put on my favorite CD, and I had the sneaking suspicion that my mom had taken it from my room. But as I stood there, watching the people mingling over the food and having a good time – even Marco had started chatting up a group of girls from my calculus class – I realized how different everything had been. Friend-wise and people-wise, at least. As the Yeerks had slimed their way into more and more people's ears, our social status had started on a downward slope. And it wasn't long, of course, until we were too suspicious and engrossed in the whole morph business that our group of "friends" had shrunk down to the six of us: Cassie, Jake, Tobias, Ax, Marco and I. I'd forgotten how it felt to be surrounded by people and trust them – at least, in a basic sense. In that whole innocent-until-proven-guilty sense. It made me feel all. . . warm and fuzzy inside. A little happy.

"Rachel?"

It was Elliot, clutching a little gift in his arm.

"Hey," I greeted. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Right. Because I had dozens of parties that I was invited to, uncannily scheduled on the same Saturday as your birthday, plus my uncle from the Alps came down for a very momentous occasion to shave his beard – I spent the entire week trying to decide which function to attend," he said dryly, before ruffling his hair and laughing. "Happy birthday. I was honored to be invited. Here." He handed me the gift. "I'll give you a clue: it's not a really lame sweater my mom helped me pick out."

I shrugged. "Sometimes moms have good taste."

"Looks like it," he said, looking around. "I heard your mom planned this whole thing. Pretty impressive. My mom still thinks I should have my birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese."

"It isn't so bad once you get used to the play-place smelling like vomit."

He nodded. "I barely even notice it after the first hour. And the sticky questionable substances on the slides just make the ride even more enjoyable. It's an adventure for all five senses."

At the party, everybody seemed to be having a good time. I'd made the rounds like my mom asked and even made some small talk with her coworkers (a few of which had daughters that were giving Marco googly eyes when he performed stand-up for five minutes before I kicked him off). Those second cousins I talked about? They were from some place in Alabama and looked like they had just stepped into a foreign, alien land. And – they had never had a cappuccino.

My dad showed up – a little late, but showed up nonetheless. Apparently his flight had gotten delayed due to some last-minute engine inspection.

"I'm sorry I'm late, honey," he said, as he crushed me into a big, familiar bear hug. This time it was a long, sentimental and heartfelt hug. I usually wasn't one for those, but I could forgive it this time around, considering the circumstances. "Happy birthday."

"I can forgive you smelling like airplane," I said, getting a little choked up. I'd forgotten how much I missed my dad. If I'd taken after anyone, I'd taken after him, minus the long blond hair. "I'm just glad you're here."

For the cutting of the cake, the elephant-sized cake was revealed – and from my favorite bakery, no less. A few of the boys I'd invited – Bert's nephews that often played at the café as a band every Friday night – got up onstage and began to play the birthday song while everybody sung along. A little embarrassing, but it was. . . it felt normal. For the first time, I knew how normal felt. I felt all warm inside, and as I looked at Cassie, Jake, and Marco. . . I could tell they felt the same way. Just with how their eyes were shining and their faces were glowing. They were just about as happy as I was.

It felt good.

Marco had to leave early (he took a good helping of the cake home "for his dad"), but Cassie, Jake and Elliot stayed back to help clean up. While Cassie and Jake took down the banner, Elliot and I took care of the trash, dumping plates and tossing the pile of torn gift-wrapping.

"I have to admit," he said as we cleared the confetti off the tables, "that was the best birthday party I've been to in a while. Since Larry Appleton's birthday party in the sixth grade, in fact. It was fun. We played Dungeons and Dragons the whole night until our moms came to pick us up."

I laughed. "And what? The parties after that were considerably less captivating because it was seriously lacking in the Dungeons and Dragons department?"

"No," he admitted. "I just. . . haven't gotten invited to any birthday parties since then."

I looked up at him. "Well, just call me your salvation," I said, faux-haughtily.

"The credit is duly noted, believe me," he said. He looked up at the clock, before setting down the trash bag. "It's ten. I've gotta go. My brother's picking me up, and he's very concise about the time." He sighed, smiling. I tried to ignore the feeling that – maybe, just maybe, I was warming up to this guy. "I had a great time, Rachel. Thanks for inviting me, and – I made sure to put the gift receipt in the box so you can exchange it and buy yourself something pretty."

"I'm sure whatever your mom picked is fine," I assured him. His birthday party story was a little heartbreaking.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Obviously you've never met my mom." He turned to go, before he hesitated, turning back around again. "Happy birthday, Rachel."

After he headed out the door, Cassie joined me, the banner all neatly folded up. She set it on the table with the rest of the stuff. She had a look on her face, a very un-Cassie look, but I knew the Cassie part of her was holding back what she wanted to say.

"Go ahead," I said dryly. "Say it."

"He's a good guy," she said, settling for the meek version instead. "He makes you laugh."

"Oh yeah. He's chock full of the funny."

Cassie pursed her lips, giving me a weak smile. "You looked happy today, Rachel."

"I felt happy," I said, a little apprehensive about using the word. "I mean, as happy as I could be – given the circumstance." I didn't have to tell her exactly what that circumstance was. The truth was, I felt a little guilty. I felt so close to being happy, and Tobias wasn't here. It felt uncomfortable, and even a little wrong.

"Good," said Cassie. "It's your birthday. You deserve to be happy."

After we dropped my dad off at his hotel, we headed on home. With one last hug and birthday wish, I lugged up the gift bags and boxes to my room, shoving the door open with my shoulder.

The first thing I should have noticed was that the light was on – which I rarely ever forgot to turn off. (I was a stickler for wasted electricity.) Another thing was that my things were scattered everywhere: my sheets had been pulled off, and my bookshelf had obviously been messed with. But no, what I was instead immediately focused on was the figure in my room – a very shocking, though familiar, figure. One that sent my once dormant, sick heart ricocheting off every possible rib and inner lining.

The boxes and bags tumbled out of my hands, dropping all over the floor.

The figure looked up, alarmed.

That was when I saw it. The face. The face that I'd been dreaming about, the face that sent me into feverish, sweaty fits when I thought about never seeing it again. The last face I ever saw before I died – and I had never wanted it any other way.

The tension and shock was palpable; you could cut the air with a butter knife. He stood there, frozen and still, while I felt as if my entire motor coordination had left me, dashing for the window and jumping out into the night. Parts me had gone rigid from surprise and other parts had gone into a fit, a dance, a frenzy. The thoughts that clogged into my brain, like people cramming into an already cramped subway – didn't make sense. I felt feverish. So very feverish. And I even started to get a little choked up – which wasn't normal, but fine. Considering the circumstance.

I swallowed hard, almost forgetting how to get my mouth to form words.

"Tobias?"

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