“I know you,” he said, pointer finger aimed at my chest. He stopped stretching and slid one leg across the seat so he was straddling his chair backward. I really looked at him. He was thick where Decker was lean, muscles for hauling and not for agility. He smiled at me, and his teeth were crooked, like they were packed together too tightly, but in an endearing way. Despite what he claimed, I didn’t know him. I was sure I would’ve remembered him. I kept staring. He wasn’t Carsonlevel cute or anything, but he definitely wasn’t ugly. I kept staring, mostly because I couldn’t quite decide what he was.

He nodded to himself and continued, “Yeah, you’re Delaney Maxwell.”

Janna spun around to face him. She smiled a crooked smile, like she wanted to be annoyed at the intrusion but wasn’t really because she couldn’t stop staring at him either. “And who are you?” she asked.

He cut his eyes to her and said, “Troy, but I wasn’t talking to you.”

Janna did a double take. So did I. Nobody talked to Janna Levine that way. Nobody who knew Carson anyway. “Listen, Troy, we’re kinda in the middle of something,” she said.

Troy looked over the table. “Finals, huh? I’m studying, too.” He gestured toward the books on his table. “Night classes at the community college.”

“That’s nice, real nice. Delaney, you know this guy?”

I shook my head.

“Not yet, anyway,” he said, smiling. “I meant that I know who you are. There was a write-up in the paper last week. You’re the girl who fell in the lake, right?” I fidgeted with the zipper on my backpack. This is what Decker would call unfriendly, but really I didn’t have anything to say. I wasn’t good at small talk. “And you were in a coma.”

“And now she’s not,” Janna said.

Troy didn’t even bother cutting his eyes to her this time. “No, now you’re not. So, you’re all back to normal then? Everything okay?”

“She’s great.” Janna’s words were curt. “Perfect. Delaney, come on, let’s go work somewhere else.” Janna was protective, which was kind of sweet. But I got bossed around enough at home.

So I said, “You go. I’m good here.”

Janna packed up her stuff and walked out front, but not before slowly shaking her head at me.

“She’s fun,” Troy said. “So anyway, how about it? You’re okay? Normal and all?” He tilted his head to the side and quickly scanned me from head to toe.

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m fine.”

“Because, if you’re not, you can talk to me about it. I’m taking courses, see?” He held up the medical reference book for me to see. “Trying to get certified.”

I looked at the blue cover and back at Troy. “You’re studying to be a nurse?” I smiled. It was funny. I was being stereotypical and judgmental and all those things I wasn’t supposed to be, but there it was. Big guy. Studying to be a nurse. Funny.

He pursed his lips. “Not exactly. More like an aide.”

“An aide to what?”

“A nurse.” He smiled again, but it seemed forced, and this time the crooked teeth looked menacing. Then the tension drained from his mouth and his smile was genuine again. “I work at the assisted living facility in town. They’re letting me work there while I get certified at night. But my point is, I know about this stuff.”

“You know about comas?”

“I know about comas.” He looked out the far window, and tiny lines formed at the corners of his eyes from the glare. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “How about I leave you my number. In case you have any questions or want to talk about anything. Anything.” He picked up his pencil and ripped off a triangle from the bottom of the textbook’s title page. He handed it to me and I took it, but I didn’t plan on having anything to do with anyone who would knowingly deface library property.

“Mr. Varga?” A freshman from my school who, from the looks of it, was experimenting with makeup for the first time, stood over his table with a stack of books in her hands. “I found them for you.” She looked from him to me, placed the books on his table, and speed-walked back behind the checkout counter.

“Mr. Varga?” he leaned forward and whispered. “Do I look old enough to be a mister?”

I shook my head and smiled, but the truth was, he kind of did. Put him in a suit, slick back his hair, he could pass for thirty. But now, in his dark jeans and hooded sweatshirt, with his hair falling haphazardly over his face, he looked my age. “Well, how old are you?”