When my eyelids flutter, the sun is just rising. Or is it setting? No, it was nearly dark when I fell. I try to sit up, and metallic redness fills my mouth. Euh, I think. Gross. I touch my nose and find it's flimsy and sodden with blood. Must be broken. There's a cut on my lip, but it's not serious. I can't move my right arm. Not bloody, but obviously broken. My legs bear my weight just fine, so I go inside. Angela is awake, but Maxwell is nowhere to be found. Angela's face is grave as she cooks eggs sunnyside up. "Angela?" My voice comes out soft and smooth, not cracked like I expected. She whips around. "Oh, Emily! Where have you been? We were worried sick! Is that blood?" "I'm fine, Angela. I just need some wet towels and bandage. I'll take care of myself." "You absolutely are not fine! I'm taking you to the ER," she protests. She dials her cell phone and says, "Hello? Yes, I have a case of excessive blood and broken bones. I need an ambulance." The person on the other line is muffled, but Angela replies, "1208 Silver Fox Lane, New Orleans. Thank you." and hangs up. "I hate you, Angela," I gurgle through the blood in my throat. "Hate me if you will. You'll thank me down the road." That's when the sirens appear and she leads me outside. I turn down the stretcher they offer me. I obediently climb into the back of the ambulance and sit on a cushioned chair. I wave goodbye to Angela, and she bursts into tears. "I'll - see - you there," she stutters through loud sobs. Then the doors slam shut, separating us. I didn't get a chance to tell her I didn't hate her.