“Good evening, chaps!” I nod at two interns. They shoot each other looks but before they can call security, I’m blazing around the corner at warp speed.

“Bloody good weather we’re having!” I smile at a man sitting in his bed as I pass his open room. He cheerily returns my greeting with a resounding “Go to hell!”.

I round the next corner and come face-to-face with Naomi, my nurse. Her hair’s back in a strict bun, her face angry and worried and tired all at the same time.

“’Ello, love. Fancy a cuppa?”

“You’re not British, Isis,” Naomi says.

“I can be things,” I insist.

“Yes, well, unless those things include a person who is lying in bed recuperating, I don’t want to see them. And I especially don’t want to see them wheeling around the hospital like a madman.”

“The madman is back that way,” I jerk my thumb behind me. As if to prove it, a loud “FUCK!” reverberates. Naomi narrows her eyes and points at my room.

“Back in bed. Now.”

“Why you gotta be like that?” I sigh. “We can work this out. There can be bribes. Of the monetary kind. Or maybe not monetary. Do you like adventures? I’m full of those. I can give you at least nine adventures.”

“You’ve already given me one for the day. If you don’t get back in bed, I won’t let Sophia in after her check-up.”

I gasp. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would!”

I start to faint dramatically, but she catches me with her meaty arms and plops me in the wheelchair, pushing me back to my room. I grumble the entire way. In the doorway, I crawl out on my hands and knees and fake-sob, collapsing into bed.

“Oh, quiet, you drama queen.” Naomi chides, and closes the door behind her.

“Drama empress!” I yell. “I prefer the title empress!”

My room’s quiet. Too quiet. I huff and cross my arms and blow bangs out of my face. I need a haircut. And an escape plan. But looking fabulous while escaping is somewhat required, so I’m putting one before the other.

I grab my phone and text Sophia.

DEAD PROTEIN IS TRYING TO EAT MY EYES. BRING THE SHARP POINTY THING.

Her text comes seconds later;

You mean the thing you threatened that male nurse’s balls with?

I sigh contentedly at the reminder of my own past brilliance. I’m so lucky to be me.

Yes. That.

She sends one smiley face; :D

Sophia and I are the youngest people in this hospital, discounting the kid’s ward, and they don’t let you in there unless you’re a doctor or a parent or you have permission, which is really hard to get. Which is why I use the windows. I hate jello and it’s all they give you at meals so I hoard the jewel-like cups and give them to the kids like a gelatin-laden Santa and it’s a big hit. Not so much with the nurses. And security officers. Regardless, Sophia and I make sense. Since the day we met at lunch a few weeks ago and I gave her my apple, I’ve felt like I’ve known her forever. Being with her is like a massive, run-on déjà vu. When she first told me her name, I blurted; “Oh! You’re Sophia!” like it was a huge revelation. She asked me what I meant by that, and I searched long and hard in my own sizeable brain and couldn’t find a reason. I’d just said it, without thinking, and I didn’t really know why. I still don’t know why.

Besides that tiny bump in the road, she and I have been getting along famously. You can tell because A. she hasn’t run away crying yet and B. she always ends her texts to me with a smiley. Only people who like you do that. Or people who want to secretly murder you. But really, I don’t think someone as delicate and beautiful as Sophia would want to murder someone, unless she wanted to be like, beautiful and delicate and bloodthirsty, which, I’m not gonna lie, would add to her considerable mystique –

“Isis,” Sophia says from the doorway. “You’re thinking out loud again.”

I whirl to face her. She’s in a floral sundress, with a thick, cozy-looking sweater. Her platinum, white-blonde hair is kept thin and long, like strands of silver. Her milk-white skin practically glows. To offset all her paleness, her eyes are ocean-deep and navy-dark. In one hand she carries a book, and in the other –

“Scissors!” I crow. “Okay, okay, deep breaths everyone. Because I’m about to say something mildly life-changing.”

Sophia inhales and holds it. I point at her.

“You’re going to cut my bangs!”

She exhales and fist-pumps. “I’ll chop them all off.”

“Soph, soapy Soph soapbutt, we have only been together three weeks and I love you dearly, like a sister, like we are deer-sisters frolicking in the woods, but this is extremely vital to my well-being and I am trusting you with my life.”

“Ah, I see,” Sophia sits on my bed, giving me an understanding nod. “You keep all your vital organs in your bangs.”

“As well as all my future prospects with Johnny Depp. So you realize how important this is to me.”

“Obviously.”

“I am quite serious.”

“Deadly.”

“It’s not like you can make me look any less hot, since that is impossible, but generally speaking don’t f**k up.”

She runs her fingers through my wild bangs. “Straight across?”

“Uh, you’re the fashionable expert here. I just sort of throw on things that don’t have holes in them and hope for the best. I read a Cosmo once on the toilet. Does that count?”

“Depends on how long you were on the toilet.” Sophia brushes my bangs with her fingers experimentally.

“Years. They talked about face shapes. Like, do I have a square face? A heart-shaped face?”

“Definitely heart-shaped.”

“Really? Because I was thinking more that-one-unfortunately-misshapen-Skittle-in-the-bottom-of-the-box shape.”

Sophia laughs. “Just hold still, and close your eyes. I promise I won’t disfigure you for life.”

There are the soft sounds of snipping and Sophia’s gentle fingers, and then she tells me to open my eyes. I leap out of bed and dash into the bathroom. The age-stained hospital mirror reflects a short-banged girl, her slightly-faded purple streaks gracing her forehead. A single bandage wraps entirely around the base of her skull. She looks tired, old. Her face contains two volcanic eruptions on her chin, one on her nose, and bags under her eyes that’d make Coach jealous. And something’s wrong. Something deep inside the girl is wrong.

Ugly.

“What’s the matter? Don’t like it?” Sophia comes up behind me. In the mirror, she practically radiates pale, waifish beauty, and I’m…

“No, I love it. You did great. Fab. Baf. Nothing’s wrong! Absolutely zero. Absolute zero. It’s kind of chilly in here, isn’t it?”

I run back to the bed and burrito myself in the blankets. Sophia follows, sighing.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to lie.”

“No, I do! Shit, I really do. Sorry. It’s not that, it’s – other stuff. Stuff from before I came here.”

“Ah.” She settles on the foot of my bed. “The hard stuff. The stuff the hospitals can’t heal.”