Inside I found my way back to the pediatric wing and two curious parents with the weight of the world inside of their eyes. Some carry hopefulness when they see a doctor, because some doctors can hide the agony they feel-the good ones can hide it-but even with my switch flipped off, they knew as soon as soon as they saw me what words were about to leave my mouth.

"Logan wants to know . . ." a yawn escaped me as I tried to ask Everly questions in class. "Sorry. The idiot wants to know about your family history."

"What hour are you on?" Everly asked.

"I lost track after thirty."

"It slays me that people expect zombies to make life saving decisions."

I stared at her fingers as she traced patterns on my notebook, trying to place my attention on something that would keep me awake. She wore a blue dress with small sunflower print, showing more skin than I had seen before. Her legs were bare, the dress stopped at her knees when she first she entered class, and when she sat, hiked to her black-and-blue bruised thighs. A white cardigan hid her arms, and I put my attention there, trying to imagine what her bare shoulders would look like, how soft that skin would be to circle with my thumbs. Her hair was a wild mess. She was a work of art. And I . . . I was a poor, tired, dead fool.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing." But I couldn't stop staring.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She glanced away for a moment. "Why do you always look at me like that?"

She pulled my attention forward. "How do I look at you?"

"Like you're scared of getting caught."

That amused me.

"I'm not scared of getting caught."

"But you are scared of something."

Silence.

She tried again. "My father?"

"I'm not scared of your father, either."

I stared down at my laptop, and tried to keep adding notes from our group. Everly turned quiet, and I glanced up to find her face sullen. She traced patterns with her fingertips across the top of her desk, thinking I was not going to answer. Timothy called out our five minute warning, but she still didn't look up.

"I'm not scared of your father," I repeated. "I'm scared of how beautiful you are."

It felt like she looked up, but I couldn't say for sure, because my eyes didn't wait for her reaction. I busied myself with the notes, burying the anxiety from that truth deep, deep, down.

Everly stole my pencil and began to write inside of my notebook until our time ended.

After class, during my one free hour until the shift from hell started all over again, I waited for her outside the classroom. She exited with Timothy, both of them staring with surprise as they saw me.

"Dr. Brighton," I said. "I was wondering if I could take Everly home."

He glanced at her before turning around to lock the door.

"You have Checks," was all he said.

"I know," she replied.

He stared hard at me for a moment. "She needs to be home on time."

And then it was the two of us.

"So . . . what's this all about?" she smiled.

"I wanted to ask you questions outside of class."

She began walking. "That's cheating."

"My questions aren't medically related."

"Oh." She looked forward, her footsteps slowing.