“Room 34? What’s room 34? Who’s waiting for me? Tell me!” Emily half-screamed at the orb, which was now, for some reason, stubbornly blank. She slid down beside her nightstand, still in denial. “There’s no way a room can give me a coma. Nothing is going to happen.” Eventually, she slept.

The next morning, Emily woke to the familiar sound of her clock, signaling 8:00 AM with bright, chiming bells. “Not so bad,” she thought. She slid her slippers on, laughing a little at the toes. Her friend Dana had made tiny frogs and sewed them onto the ends just before the end of middle school, about three years ago. Emily had since outgrown the slippers, but not the frogs. They’d moved slippers every time she got a new pair.

It was going to be a good day.

Then, the phone rang.

“Hey, this is Emily!”

“Emily, thank heavens it’s you. This is Dana’s mother. There’s been a horrible accident and Dana wants to see you. She doesn’t have long left. We’re in the St. Mary’s burn unit, room 34. Come quickly.”