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the pain of Logan’s death hit me again. Tom had gotten off with a sore leg. Muscle damage, he said. I wasn’t so sure. Half the time he was in his wheelchair, half the time he was on crutches. I figured he used both for effect.
    â€œStill playing with balls?” he teased.
    Alan almost dropped a knife. I didn’t bother replying. Tennis was my thing; I’d come close to making the USTA junior team last summer.
    â€œI hear doubles is the way to go.” Tom’s eyebrows danced up and down his forehead.
    Alan hooted. The knives clattered to the floor. “Shit, Shields, now look.” One of the knives had hit his thumb on the way down. “Shit, shit, double shit.”
    Drummond was talking to a group at the back. But she was going to notice any minute. Especially with the blood dripping onto Alan’s jeans.
    Alan grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his thumb. Within minutes, the blood seeped through.
    â€œYou might need stitches,” I said. “We have to tell Drummond.”
    â€œNo.” He was whiter than the milk on the counter. I wondered if he’d severed an artery. Did thumbs have arteries? “You know what a tight-ass Drummond is about knives. I’ll be kicked out of class and my dad will string me up.” Alan jerked his head to the towel. Blood was dripping to the floor. “Do something!”
    I grabbed a clean towel from the counter and removed the soiled one. My breakfast waffle flipped in my stomach. Talk about ugly. The tip of Alan’s thumb was hanging by a string of skin.
    I slapped the clean towel on before anyone could see. “Get Drummond!” I squeezed Alan’s thumb, applied as much pressure as I dared. “He needs a doctor.”
    Then I felt it. The same buildup I’d felt after the bee sting. Only this time it happened quickly, like a movie on fast forward. And this time I didn’t pass out.
    The voices of my classmates faded; the color of the fruits on the counter blurred. Suddenly the presence was there. Making me bigger, fuller, softer.
    And warm. Especially on the palms of my hands.
    The moment became an hour, and the hour turned into a day. Time hummed, stretching up and out, wrapping itself around me, around Alan’s thumb. I felt grand yet small. Love-filled. Perfect. I knew Alan was perfect too.
    I heard Drummond’s voice off in the distance. “What’s going on?”
    Tom said something about the knife slipping. Marie added that the gash was ugly and deep. As soon as they spoke, the hum started to fade. The whoosh tugged at me.
    â€œLet’s see.” Drummond reached for the towel.
    The instant she touched us, it all stopped. Time snapped into its small self, like an elastic returning to size. The presence left. So did the hum.
    As Drummond unwrapped the cloth, I knew exactly what she would find. A cut, for sure, but no stringy bits, no hanging thumb. I started to shiver.
    â€œYou must have thick blood,” Ms. Drummond said, staring at the gash. “The bleeding’s already stopped. But we still need to get it looked at.”
    After Drummond took him away, Marie and I wiped the counters. Or Marie did. Suddenly I was so tired I could hardly stand. “That was major, ” she said.
    â€œIt wasn’t that bad.” I didn’t want to think about what it meant if it was that bad.
    Tom wheeled over with more paper towels. “Are you frickin’ blind?” He stared at me so intently I wanted to squirm. “That was a slice and dice. Alan’s thumb was practically off. And then it wasn’t. It was totally weird.”
    Weird was right. Even weirder was the fact that my palms were still hot.
    I didn’t want to think about what that meant.

Chapter Five
    Alan’s slice and dice totally freaked me out. Something had happened in that foods room. I’d felt it. Did that mean I was a healer like M.C. said? No way. I was as normal as a slice of cheddar and just