ALLY'S POINT OF VIEW

Whoa. Austin loves me. Maybe he meant as a friend. Maybe he didn't. But all I know is I love him, too. He's silly, goofy, funny, adorable, kind and talented. He clearly cares about me. But I don't think I'm ready for anything like that.

AUSTIN'S POINT OF VIEW

Why did I just say that!? Why did I tell her I loved her? Did I do it because she might not make it? No, she'll make it.

I realize that telling Ally I loved her was my fear. I was afraid to express my real emotions with Ally because I was afraid she'd leave or be freaked out.

But I feel better now that I told her.

Ally, I love you.

I love you.

Wow, I'm shock with myself. Do I really love Ally? I mean, maybe. But I didn't even know I liked her. How is this going to affect her recovery?

I shake my head and walk back towards the waiting room. I tap Mr. Dawson's shoulder, almost like I was tagging him in to a wrestling match. I smile slightly and sit down in the chair. They're so comfy. I raise my forearms to my head and tilt it back to shield from the awful lighting.

I start to sing to myself quietly. "I know the struggle it is to be scared, I know how badly I want to believe, that some day I'll be free from my own fears, that I can let it all go and be so free. But chasing my fears is one thing, and letting them go is beyond me. I don't have a clue where to start, but, I know I'll be fine if you're with me."

I quickly doze off, able to rest easy now that I've spoken to Ally.

ALLY'S POINT OF VIEW

I'm so tired. And cold, I think. I'm mostly just shocked still. I'm quietly ranting to myself when my dad walks in. It's getting darker outside, therefore darker in my room. I stifle a shiver so my dad doesn't think it's because I'm cold. I just really don't like the dark.

He sits beside me. "How are you doing," Dad says.

"You know," I say nonchalantly. "I've had better days." I laugh.

He chuckles. "You know you scared me. You scared us." I nod. "I think you scared Austin the most, Ally. If you weren't feeling well, why didn't you say anything," he asks softly.

"I thought I was fine, Dad, really," I say.

"You were cold in the dead of the summer."

"I know."

"Are you scared?"

"Are you?"

"Yes," he admits.

I take his hand. "I'll be okay, Dad. Promise."

He nods. We sit there in silence.