“Hey.”

I nod and mute the television. “Hi.”

“Aaron’s with Nora, so I . . .” He looks around the room. “Can I stay for a little bit?”

I nod again. I’m not sure why it feels different now that he’s in my hospital room. Somehow the space seems smaller, and the fact that I’m sitting in my bed makes it all feel more. It’s not like this is my real room or my real bed, except that right now they are. Being in the room with a bed and a boy—especially one who seems as awkward as I feel—makes me nervous. Maybe he doesn’t know how to be with a girl he has no intention of sleeping with later. Maybe he’d be the same if he was here with another guy. Nate doesn’t have friends. He has girls he has sex with at parties, and that’s it.

“Classes ended. Only exams left,” he says, his words seeming too loud in the quiet.

I refuse to just keep nodding, so I say, “I’m taking them when I get out.”

“They’re making you take exams? Seriously? That’s f**ked up.”

“No. They said I could skip, take the grades I had currently, but I want to take them.”

“Are your grades bad?”

“I’m holding all As, I think. I study with Grace now, so my grades went up.”

He slides the chair closer to my bed and sits before he says, “Your dad must love that. Do you remember when he had his ‘your duty’ motivational chart?”

I make my voice low like my father’s and say, “Verses inspire children.” I can’t keep a straight face as I repeat my father’s reply when Nate’s mother suggested that ice cream might be a good reward. He’d presented me with this awful laminated poster he’d made; the columns and rows listed my duties and reasons for doing them. It was one of the least effective parenting tools he’d tried.

“Not as much as sugar,” Nate says lightly, and just like that, my awkwardness vanishes. It may have been years since we were friends, but we still know each other. That makes all the difference.

It’s silent, but not awkwardly so, as he pulls an apple out of his bag. He holds it out to me, and I shake my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

He examines it as he says, “So poor Piper and the minions are beside themselves that you can’t have visitors.”

“Piper talked to you?”

“In public? Not likely. She watches me—kind of like you do—at parties and when she doesn’t think anyone notices, but she hasn’t spoken to me in public in years. None of them do anymore.” He shrugs like it doesn’t hurt, but I know better. “I still hear people talking, and Piper’s never exactly been known for being quiet.”

Talking to Nate is different from talking to most people. Almost everyone keeps to the rules about Unspoken Things. It’s a longstanding tradition in the South. Unpleasantness is best not discussed; delicate matters are hinted at, but not spoken. Nate and Grace are the only people I know who ignore those rules.

“She’s a good person.”

“Who thinks that you can’t have visitors,” he reiterates.

“I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“She has feelings? This is the same Piper I know, right? Gossipy, perfect Piper?”

I frown at him. “We’ve been friends my whole life. Unlike some people, she’s never turned her back on me.”

“You’re the rightful wearer of the crown she thinks sits on her obnoxious head. You don’t want her here when you need people. Why do you even hang out with her?”

“She’s my friend, Nate. I just didn’t want her to see . . . I’m not ready for people to know how much I . . .”

Nate shakes his head as he peels a sticker off his apple. “You’re still gorgeous, Eva.”

I stare at him, blinking away tears, and in as steady a voice as I can manage say, “Don’t lie.”

“Jesus, Eva, you think you stopped being gorgeous because of a few cuts? Are you mental?”

“It’s more than a few cuts, Nate.”

He shakes his head, stands, and leans close to me. The apple he’s holding drops onto the bed. “You’re gorgeous. Trust me: I’m not going to start lying to you. I never lied to you—not when we were kids and definitely not now.”

I’m looking at him, our faces inches apart, and I don’t see a single hint of deceit. I don’t get it. I’ve seen a mirror. I know that there are more than a “few cuts” on my face. “Are you kidding?”

“No. I think you’re beautiful. You always have been, even when you were sopping wet from falling into the creek.” He’s still face-to-face with me, and he leans in and kisses my forehead. “Sorry I upset you, but I’m not taking it back. You’re smart and beautiful, and only a fool wouldn’t notice that.”

“We may need to get you glasses,” I murmur after he straightens.

He snorts and picks his apple up again. “My vision’s just fine.”

“So you’re calling me a fool?”

“If the dunce hat fits . . .” He shrugs and sits back down.

I smile at him. Being complimented by Nate does good things for my mood.

It also makes me feel less crazy about what I’m about to do. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

I know the things I saw about him dying—that vision was just a hallucination, but I’ll still feel better if I say something. “Just promise me that you won’t drive on Old Salem without first checking that you have your phone.”