Chapter 77. Healing

Chapter 77. Healing
Mom had finally let me migrate from bed to the living-room couch—blanket burrito, box of tissues, and a mug of lemon tea like a trophy for sitting upright. The Wednesday sky was bleached white, air still damp from last night’s drizzle. I’d just started a new chapter of Good Omens when the doorbell chimed.
“Expecting anyone?” Mom called from the kitchen.
“No?” I croaked.
She opened the door and in tumbled Alice—oversize bomber jacket, wolf-cut hair noticeably tousled—with Boris hulking behind her like he wasn’t sure if he was invited inside or being arrested. They were both grinning in a way that made my sleep-puffed heart wince.
“Quarantine patrol!” Alice sang. She held up a paper bag that smelled of garlic knots and cinnamon rolls. “Carbs for the convalescent.”
Boris offered a shy wave. His cheeks were the exact color of the marinara that would undoubtedly accompany the knots.
I blinked. “You two… together-together?”
Alice’s grin widened, and Boris turned red clear to the rims of his ears. “Surprise,” she said. “But we did not come to rub rainbow sprinkles in your heartbreak, I promise. Mission Check On Emma supersedes PDA.” She shoulder-nudged Boris until he shuffled forward with the treat bag, eyes fixed on the floor.
I snorted despite myself. “Mission accomplished—food is love.”
They kicked off shoes and settled on the rug. Mom, sensing safe company, retreated with a wink. Within minutes I had a cinnamon roll in one hand, tea in the other, and Alice was in full gossip-anchor mode.
“So. You skip a week and the school goes feral. First item: Diana Bailey is acting like she’s starring in a low-budget horror film. Jumpy, checking over her shoulder, flinches when lockers slam.”
Boris popped open a soda. “Heard she refuses to walk to the bathroom alone.”
“Rumor says someone’s leaving creepy notes. Blood-ink vibes—though Anna swears it’s just red Sharpie.”
A tiny shiver skated my spine; I filed it away for later. “What else?”
Alice counted on her fingers. “Quarterback Luke dumped head-cheer Lily, then un-dumped her forty-eight hours later. The theater twins are officially dating each other again, which is weird but, you know, theater kids. And Ms. Patel’s cat had six kittens—truly earth-shattering news.”
I laughed, cinnamon glaze threatening to escape down my chin. It felt good—my first real laugh since… everything.
Alice’s gaze softened. “We miss you. The lunch table’s a tragic void without your plant rants.”
I shrugged, tucking a blanket edge up to my chin. “Void was kind of my vibe this week.”
She squeezed my ankle gently, then launched into another story about how our algebra teacher tried TikTok slang and nearly set off the fire alarm. I listened, half amusement, half relief that life at school kept spinning even while I’d dropped out of orbit.
But eventually the question bubbled up, uninvited, slipping past my lips between swallows of tea. “How’s… Irene?”
Silence pressed against the walls. Boris sipped his soda so fast it hissed. Alice’s eyes flicked to me, searching.
“She—uh—hasn’t been herself,” Alice admitted. “She came to homeroom with a wrap on her hand. Looks like she punched a brick wall.” Another quick glance at Boris, who shrugged like don’t look at me, I’m Switzerland.
“Coach benched her for a week,” Alice continued. “Said she needs ‘attitude recalibration.’ She’s barely talking to anyone except Jane.” Her voice gentled. “No one knows what’s going on in Irene-land, but… she seems kinda’ off.”
An ache slid beneath my sternum. I hated that the first flare of feeling was relief—proof that she wasn’t breezing along unscathed. The second feeling was immediate guilt.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” I muttered.
Alice nudged my shin again. “Hey. You’re allowed to care. You just also have to heal.”
I nodded, blinking heat from my eyes. Boris cleared his throat. “Um, garlic knots?” He offered the bag like a peace treaty.
I took one—warm, buttery, safe. “Thanks, Boris. And congrats on… this.” I gestured between them. “You look stupid-happy.”
He flushed deeper but smiled. Alice beamed like she’d won a prize.
They stayed another hour: Alice recapping every micro-drama, Boris chiming in with the occasional dry aside that proved he was funnier than I’d ever given him credit for. When Mom brought in lemonade, she nearly wept with gratitude at the sight of me upright and laughing with friends.
As they laced shoes to leave, Alice crouched by the couch. “I’ll drop notes after class, okay? And text memes, doctor-approved.”
“Deal.” I squeezed her hand, then, surprising myself, pulled Boris into a brief hug. He stiffened, then patted my back like I was fragile glass.
At the door Alice glanced back. “Remember: chaos may roam the halls but so does calm. Choose whichever helps you breathe.”
When the door shut, the living room felt a shade quieter, but brighter somehow. I curled under the blanket, chewing the last bite of knot. Diana’s paranoia, Irene’s bandaged fist, Alice and Boris’s gentle joy—they all orbited like separate moons. Maybe tomorrow I’d be back in class. Maybe I’d face Irene, maybe not. But the world was still turning, garlic knots existed, and I wasn’t alone in my broken-heart quarantine.
Somewhere in another part of town, Irene might be staring at her own ceiling, wondering whether storms can ever rest. For tonight, I inhaled yeasty warmth, exhaled a shaky breath, and felt the fever recede another inch.