Infinite Dolls.

Emalynne Wilder.

For those with an invisible tether of hope, starry-eyes, and a rubber band heart.

For Mommy, the one who taught me to sing the song of my heart.

The Revival of Broken Beats.

Part One.

SOME DON'T BELIEVE IN FALLING SKIES.

Callum Trovatto.

The third year of medical school is said to carry the highest percentage of drop-outs, but I couldn't have prepared for that year no matter how hard I studied. The greatest lessons I learned had very little to do with science, and everything to do with coincidence wrestling with faith.

When Everly Anne entered room 221 of Weill Cornell, one of the most prestigious medical schools in the country, a shift occurred in the paradigm of many lives. At first her influence bled slow, affecting negligible parts of human composition such as remaining calm in unsure circumstances.

"Do you think we're finally performing an autopsy?" The guy next seat over asked.

"We did one last year," I reminded him. "Cats, remember?"

"Yeah, but I picked Cornell because not only do they allow cadaver dissection but they actually encourage us to perform them. It has to be a human; too much buzz this morning for it not to be human."

I looked at him. He was a stump with boxy shoulders like his white coat was too tight. Head like a block. Bug-eyed with brown hair combed slickly to his scalp. "You seem way too excited about this possibility."

I prayed it was not cadaver dissection.

He looked even creepier when he laughed. "If blood and guts turns you off maybe you should reconsider your profession, Trovatto."

"How do you know my name?" In a sea of a hundred other students I certainly hadn't remembered his.

"Everyone knows your name. Well, your father's name."

True enough-once upon a time, Andrew Trovatto was a force to be reckoned with in the medical world.

He knew this truth as we stared at each other.

If only it were possible to burn holes through someone by looking at them long enough.

His face brightened as he turned toward the sound of the door closing. "Oh, sweet Jesus."

As soon as she sat in front of the class, the room fell silent, only to quickly ignite with hushed speculation-rightfully so- as our attending Dr. Timothy Brighton wasn't a man who entertained theatrics, much less provided them. Presenting Everly Anne unexpectedly as the center of attention with her bright flame of peach-colored hair, and a blank patient board was bound to unearth theoretical drama.

I couldn't see her face. She never once looked up. That didn't seem to bother the guy next to me, as he leaned over and snickered, "Now there's a body I wouldn't mind examining."

My eyes stayed on the girl. "Keep shit-talking during class and Brighton will be serving you up as the autopsy."

Dr. Brighton stood behind her as he spoke to the class. "I won't be telling you anything about our patient for this differential. Each of you will have five minutes with her every day until the end of the semester - which conveniently is exactly the amount of time you have to diagnose her before she dies. I emailed a patient log you all must follow. I will be grading this log in addition to a final group differential, so I expect impeccable notes."

I raised my hand. "Why aren't we doing this in the clinic?"

He shrugged at my question. "Do you need to be in the clinic to diagnose a person? Do pretty nurses standing nearby help with your process?"

"I meant why aren't we diagnosing patients with real illnesses?"

"What she has is real. You're up first, Trovatto. Your five minutes will begin as soon as you take your seat." He motioned to the chair positioned across from her.

I had dealt with patients all semester, this should have been easy, but as I sat down I felt strangely nervous. I finally saw her face as I reached the desk. She looked up and I knew I had been here before. Some might have called it dej vu, but that's only because some have never witnessed a falling sky before. At the time I hadn't either, but this was what the setting of one looked like.

I've seen her. I know her. Impossible.

Shaky hands are not impressive.

Who cares if I impress her? She's just a patient. Just a girl.

And in reality it was all true. She was just a girl. I was just doing my assignment. The questions on the patient log were just elementary. But while I hadn't experienced a falling sky yet, I had discovered there was this thing about the word just-it always led to doom.

Just found me several times throughout my life, like, when I was fourteen and my Pop shoved money in my pocket and told me to, "Just go down to Mrs. Rossinburg's store and tell her Dr. Trovatto needs a bottle of Vodka to treat someone with the shakes."

"Just" is a corruptor and coconspirator.

Or when my mother just needed to rest and she'd be better.

"Just" is a liar and a life stealer.

So maybe my nerves knew from experience these questions were anything but just questions. Or maybe the falling skies of life are built with "just" forming the constellations.

"Your name?" I asked.

"Everly."

"Full name. You're my patient, so answer as if I was a real doctor, okay?"

"You are a doctor."

"Sort of."

"You cut me off too soon," she corrected, "I was about to say, you are a doctor, so if we were in the hospital they would ask for my full name, date of birth, and last four of my social. That's how real doctors and nurses do it. The Joint Commission isn't really big on sending bronchitis patients up to the O. R. to have a leg amputated."

I kept my eyes on the laptop screen. "You must spend a lot of time in the hospital if you know about The Joint Commission."

"Everly Anne is my full name." She turned a smile into a thin line. "And what you usually learn most about patients comes out in real conversations, not interrogations."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because no one wants to admit to things they've done wrong, much less to their own weakness."

I stared at her for a moment, and closed my laptop. "Okay. How about we start over? I'm Callum Andrew Trovatto, third year med."

"This kind of puts us where we were, because I'm still just Everly Anne."

Just. Simplifies nothing. Complicates everything.

"What were you doing before you came here today, Everly Anne?"