If We'd All

there's a boy (i think) in my room

I woke up, although I don't remember ever falling asleep.

Groggily, I sit up. Still in the hospital. Angrily, I let a short puff from my pouted and bitten lips. Red hairs go up in every direction and catch morning sunlight. Every dust particle is illuminated. Surprisingly, there are a lot of them, for such a clean place.

Something out of the corner of my eye draws my attention--my copy of Alice in Wonderland sits quietly on the sad excuse for a bedside dresser. It's in an airtight ziploc bag. For some unknown reason, I am annoyed by this, and rip the book from the bag, tossing the book back on the dresser and attempt to chuck the plastic toward the small trash bin on the other side of the room. I soon find that ziploc bags are not very aerodynamic.

Don't know why I did that. But, whatever.

"Alice in Wonderland, huh?"

I freeze.

Previously facing the blinding window, I turn slowly with wide eyes to face a boy. I think.

Who is this boy and why is he in my square white room.

Who is this kid with an oversized AD/DC tee propped up in the opposite hospital bed?

Why is he questioning my book.

Who does he think he is?

I fumbling for the right words to greet this alien. Eventually, I abandon the idea of precision and speak.

"Got a name?"

"Not yet."

Not yet?

"What?"

"I said--"

"I know what you said. I just don't know what you meant."

A smile. A smirk. A something.

"I'll trade you the window seat for a secret."

I scoff. "I happen to like the window seat."

"Funny. I happen to like keeping secrets."

Silence.

I cave. "Fine."

A smile. A smirk. A something.