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to bring Alan and tell Bay we love her," Lexie said. "And we're glad she didn't die."
    "Are you sure?" he asked. He held up my chart. "I don't mind coming back in a little while."
    "No, no, no," Rebecca said. "We weren't planning on staying anyway."
    Dr. Crawford stood back while the three musketeers gave me hugs and said goodbye. It was hilarious watching them try to tell me how hot he was without him noticing. They circled behind him as they walked out, and all three of them made silly wide-eyed expressions behind his back, indicating their infatuation with him. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face as they did so.
    "They didn't have to leave," he said, once they were gone.
    "It's okay," I said. "My mom would have kicked them out anyway."
    "So, you're doing well?" he asked, standing near my bedside.
    I nodded.
    The sun was shining brightly into my room, and he was standing where his face was bathed in light. His dark hair and olive complexion against those amber eyes made him look so exotic.
    "A pirate," I said, staring up at him.
    He smiled at me as if wondering where in the world my off-the-wall statement had come from.
    "You," I said. "You remind me of a pirate. I think it might be your eyes. Maybe they look like gold doubloons. Or maybe you just look a little too dangerous and mysterious to be a doctor."
    He glanced down at my chart and then back at me with a smile. "What exactly do they have you on?" he asked.
    I laughed. "I'm not tripping. This is just how I always act."
    He laughed. "I've never been called a pirate before. I'm not sure how I feel about that."
    "You should feel great about it," I said. "I mean it in the best way possible. You're obviously extremely handsome. My friends were making googly eyes at you behind your back when they walked out just now."
    He laughed. "Well tell your friends I said thank you... I think."
    We talked and laughed for a few minutes about random things before discussing my hand. I asked him questions about my recovery that I hadn't thought of the first time. It was going to be a long process, which would include physical therapy and perhaps a second surgery to remove some of the pins. He said we would just have to see how it went. He ordered an x-ray for later that day to make sure that everything was still in place. My hand would have to stay hooked up to the brace while I was in the hospital, but as long as everything was still secure when I left, I'd be sent home with nothing more than a splint and bandage, which would be exchanged in a week for a cast.
    Another doctor came in that afternoon after I got finished with the x-rays. He removed the bandage from my head and inspected the wound I'd received on the left side of my forehead—a wound I didn't even know was there.
    "What'd you think the bandage was for?" he asked laughing at my surprise.
    "I thought I had a concussion."
    "You did, but the bandage was for the wound. Your nurse has looked at it a few times."
    "She took off my bandage, but I didn't know what she was doing."
    "Well, compared to your hand, it's no big deal, but you have fifteen stitches that'll need to come out soon. We won't leave them in for more than a week since they're on your face."
    "My face?"
    "Well, part of them are up past your hairline, but some of them extend down onto your forehead."
    "Why didn't you tell me this?" I asked, looking at my mom."
    "I thought you knew," she said, shrugging.
    "Can I see it in a mirror?" I asked.
    "Sure," he said, inspecting the site thoroughly. "You can look at it all you want. We're done with this bandage."
    "So, you're just leaving it open?"
    "Yep," he said. "It looks great. I'll have your nurse clean it up for you, and it can stay open after that. You're on the road to recovery. We'll have you out of here in no time."
    After the doctor left and my nurse had a chance to clean my wound, I went to the bathroom and had a nice long stare at my reflection. I hardly recognized myself. It wasn't because I