“And look who’s here,” Dad said. “Surprise, surprise.”

Decker sat on the front steps, shovel resting by his side. The recent snow sat heavy on the grass, but our walkway was clear. Our house, a cool gray, looked dark in contrast to the white yard. Small icicles hung like teeth from the eaves over the front porch. The house waited to consume me.

Decker opened my car door and reached his arms inside.

“I got it,” I said. I held my breath as I pulled myself upright, careful not to move my rib cage any more than absolutely necessary.

The first thing I noticed when I stood on the driveway was my skin. It felt normal. There was no tugging sensation, no feeling that I might fly apart. Maybe Mom was on to something about hospitals and illness.

“Get the bags, Ron. I’ll get the kids settled.” Mom gave Decker a radiant smile and kissed me on the forehead before unlocking the front door. “Go on, get back to normal now,” she said.

I paused in the entryway. The house looked immaculate but smelled stale, like wood and plaster. I guess that’s all a house really is at its core. My absence had taken the life out of our home.

“Smells funny,” Decker said, never being one to hold back.

“I’ll get some cookies baking. Should warm the place right up,” Mom said.

Decker took my bags upstairs while I mentally prepared to haul myself up the steps. He came back down and put a hand on my waist. “I’ll carry you,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Decker was taller than me but definitely skinnier. Sometime during the last year or so, I had stopped growing upward. I maxed out at a respectable yet not quite modelesque height. Since then, any growing I did happened in the outward department. I’d heard girls in the locker room not so discreetly whisper that I had gotten fat. But I had also heard guys not so discreetly whisper that I had gotten hot. It’s a fine line.

“Are you implying I’m weak?” Decker was all lean muscle. Good for running. Good for playing basketball in the school gym while he waited for me to finish working in the library. Good for balance and agility and not falling into a lake. Not so good for hauling my butt up the stairs.

I smiled at him and placed my open hand on his cheek. “It’s not you, it’s me.” Then I gripped the stair rail, sucked in a deep breath, and pulled myself up. There was some serious discomfort, but minimal pain. When we reached the top, I smiled a huge smile at Decker. “See? No permanent damage done.” He didn’t look convinced.

My room looked untouched. The walls were a pale lavender, which suddenly felt childish. My English homework lingered at the edge of my desk. A mobile of the solar system that Decker and I made as a project in middle school hung over my bed. I had begged him to let me keep it. He didn’t fight me for it. White shelves held academic trophies and framed pictures of my family. Science fair ribbons were pinned directly into the walls. A picture of me and Decker from the yearbook was stabbed above my dresser, right next to my mirror.

Decker watched me watching the walls. “Everything okay?”

“It’s like I never left.”

The smell of chocolate chips and macadamia nuts reached my room by the time I’d finished putting my clothes away. Decker started unpacking my second bag. He stuffed the get-well cards wherever he could find room in my desk drawers. I’d have to reorganize them later, but I didn’t complain. He stacked my novels and textbooks on top of my desk, where they teetered precariously. My French textbook was one exasperated sigh away from knocking over my lamp. I took the books, one at a time, over to my bookshelf for proper placement.

“Tell me what to do,” Decker said.

“It’s quicker if I just do it.” I slid Catch-22 into the empty slot in the “H” section.

“It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to alphabetize,” he said. “Let me do it.”

He wrapped his arms around my stomach and tugged me backward. “I’m fine. I took my painkillers. I’m sick of sitting around doing nothing.” I spun around so I was facing him. His arms didn’t move from my waist.

“Listen—”

“Delaney.” Mom swung open the door and Decker dropped his arms. “You have company.” And there, standing behind her, was a packed hallway.

The whole group was there, but I was tired. Exhausted, actually. I blew out an annoyed breath, one powerful enough to knock over my French textbook. Good thing I’d taken precautions.

“Try to be nice,” Decker whispered in my ear. “They were worried.”