A low growling sound brings me back from where I drifted off to.

I gradually become aware of vibrations stirring through my entire body, and I can hear voices muttering around me. When a sudden jolt shudders through me, I try to drag my eyelids apart to see what is going on now.

Are we under attack from prehistoric beasts?

Are the bleachers collapsing?!

That's not possible! The Fletcher men built it. It's sturdy.

Perhaps I caused an avalanche when I fell, or an earthquake, because there are a lot of clattering sounds going on around me. If a butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazonian rainforest can change the weather half a world away, according to Chaos Theory, a girl rolling down bleachers on a beach in Egret's Rest could probably cause some stuff too.

There are warm fingers wrapped around my hand. It's comforting, and when I finally get my eyes open, I see a blurry version of Ethan seated next to me. He is talking to a man, and I think his brow is furrowed. He seems to be worried about something.

The faint roaring sound and the tremors suddenly take shape, and when my vision clears to bring more details, I'm relieved to realise that we are probably not being stalked by a T-Rex, shaking the earth at its approach.

When I couldn't sleep last night, I watched one of the Jurassic Park movies on my laptop, and I can, therefore, be forgiven for jumping to conclusions.

The roaring sounds are definitely not organic. They belong to an engine. I'm in a vehicle, and judging by the clothing of the man assuring Ethan that I'm going to be just fine and that they're driving as fast as they can, and also by the other puzzling sound, which I'd ascribed to screaming people, but is actually a siren, I am definitely in...

"An ambulance? Why?"

Ethan's head whips around at the sound of my whisper, and now he is holding my hand with both of his while he re-enacts the tragic scene from Bambi when the fawn's mother died... Well, just minus the dying part, but based on Ethan's reaction, I feel like I probably did die at some point.

Am I dead now?

"We shouldn't play in the ambulance. It's for injured people," I tell him wisely, and when I try to raise my other hand to do something comforting like pat his hand or stroke his cheek, I wince at a sharp needle prick in my arm. "What? Why do I have an IV?"

Now I'm really getting nervous. I recognise the man in the EMT uniform. It's Robert Lancaster, an actual EMT, whom we got to know well due to all Ethan and his friends' rugby and other injuries.

Why am I in an ambulance, apparently on my way to the hospital?

I don't want to go to the hospital.

My mom died in the hospital, mere minutes after she was taken there.

"Ethan?!" I gasp, panic rising in my chest.

"It's okay, Kicks," he soothes, running a gentle hand over my forehead.

"Just lie still and relax, Kira. It's all good," Robert assures me. "You got knocked out for a bit, and we're just taking you to the hospital for a check-up."

"With the sirens blaring?" I might be concussed and a bit out of it, but I don't think sirens are required for a simple check-up.

"Yeah, it's boring if the sirens don't blare," Robert says with a wide grin. "Ethan insisted, and he's got more muscles than I do, so..." he chuckles, checking my eyes with a medical flashlight, blinding me.

"Everything looks pretty good as far as I can tell, but better safe than sorry, right?"

I'm already more than just a little bit sorry. My head hurts, my body aches, and this needle in my arm is just freaky and horrible. Every time I move, it stings.

I don't like this.

I turn my eyes to look at Ethan again, and there is something very off about him. He is not grinning. He is not making siren sounds with the ambulance or enjoying this high-speed chase to the hospital.

Ethan is the guy who makes engine sounds even when he's pushing a shopping trolley.

This makes no sense.

He seems tense, and his eyes are a little red as though he got sand in them again. He is always getting sand in them when he's playing on the beach.

"Ethy! Why is there blood on your arm!" I exclaim, shocked when he raises an arm to brush his fingers through his hair, and I see rivulets of blood running along his forearm.

"Just a scrape," he says and before I can investigate further, the ambulance stops at Silverview General Hospital.

Suddenly, I'm a guest star in an episode of one of my favourite Japanese dramas, Code Blue, with the ambulance doors opening and the gurney I'm lying on being wheeled to the hospital doors.

I expect to see Japanese doctors and nurses, but to my disappointment, there are none, and Dr Aizawa doesn't show up to do some impressively scary stuff to save my life. Well, I didn't arrive by helicopter, and the EMTs are in no hurry to reach the doors. They joke around with each other while they casually wheel me along.

Okay, fine, this is nothing like Code Blue, and I should probably be relieved, as this clearly means that I'm not all that hurt. I have my own version of a melancholy-looking handsome guy beside me, but I don't like it because Ethan looks worse than I feel. The backs of his forearms are all scraped up, he's pale, and his hands are shaking.

What on Earth happened to him?

Did I fall on him?

"Ethy?" I say, reaching out for him, and he grabs my hand, keeping pace with the gurney. "It's all good, Kicks. You're gonna be fine."

I don't like that he sounds as if he's trying to convince himself of that.

The head ER nurse, Adelaide Chambers, a cheerful woman with short grey curls, a motherly figure and a laugh that is probably too loud for a hospital (patients love her), hurries over to us as soon as we're through the doors, and I'm delivered in her territory.

"You're in luck," she tells me once Robert explained the situation to her. "You're our first customer for the festival, Kira!"

Oh! Yay!

What an honour!

Silverview General Hospital is always fully staffed when there's any kind of festival in the district because there are always people drinking too much, getting sunstroke... rolling off bleachers... but they usually wait until the festival has actually begun before they start with fun activities like that.

I was clever to get it over and done with before the ER got busy for the weekend.

There is barely any waiting time right now, just long enough to see Delia and her parents burst through the ER doors to rush over to me, inspect my condition and cry with relief when they're assured that I'm not dying.

Well, Dell and Aunt Gemma are happily sobbing away, stroking my hair and kissing my face, while Uncle Ian looks as tense and upset as Ethan. He joins his son, places a hand on his back, and gently rubs circles all over it, comforting both of them.

I soon get transferred to a bed and pushed from station to station, having every inch of me dissected, probed and fine-combed... at least, that is what it feels like. Many scrape and cut cleansings, and scans later, I am finally wheeled into an observation room, with a fresh bag attached to my IV, and instructions to rest.

Delia and Ethan are already waiting in this bland hospital room, and they eagerly help to get my bed steered into place.

"It's for the pain," a nurse I've never met before tells me, injecting a liquid into the IV. "You're going to be sleepy soon. Just go with it."

"She hit her head. Isn't she supposed to stay awake?" Delia wants to know in alarm.

"Doctor prescribed it," the nurse explains patiently. "That means that he is happy for her to sleep off her headache."

I'm glad to hear that because I've had so many lights shone in my eyes, had to recite my name, age and address a ridiculous number of times and follow fingers with my eyes over and over.

My head is pounding, but the pain is more on the surface, where there's a bump and an abrasion, rather than inside my head.

To the nurse's credit, she doesn't take offence or snap at Dell, even though the question did sound bossy and accusing. When she's upset, Dell can come across a lot more aggressive than she means to be.

"Mind if I come in?"

We all turn our heads to look at the man entering the room. It would've happened even if we weren't curious about who it was, because Officer Paul Armstrong never goes anywhere without being noticed, even when he's not in uniform.

With his dark, husky voice, his thick black hair and his well-proportioned, muscled body, he's the object of desire of virtually every female above 15 years of age. His are the kind of smouldering good looks most raunchy romance fiction novels feature shirtless on their covers.

I am confused about why I would have the honour of this man among men standing by the side of my bed, looking down at me as if he came all this way just to see me.

I should roll off the bleachers more often.

He greets all of us by name, and Delia bursts into very uncool giggles like an infatuated schoolgirl, which scares me a little. It is so unlike her that I whip my head around to see if she is having a fit of some kind. She is a schoolgirl, but that is all that she has in common with the sounds she's making.

The movement causes bursts of bright pain to explode in my head, and a wave of nausea suddenly hits me. I close my eyes, and when I open them again, both Ethan and Officer Armstrong are leaning over me, asking me if I'm alright.

"Yes," I whisper, not feeling all that great but rather touched by their concern. Looking from the policeman to Ethan and back, I realise that in a couple of years, Ethan might dethrone this man as the lead in female fantasies and take his place on the covers of steamy novels.

"I won't drag this out," Officer Armstrong says gently, and I also almost giggle when he smiles at me. I would have if my brain wasn't going off to a strange dreamy place. "Soon... get some rest... tell me... happened..."

Why is he talking in broken, nonsensical sentences?

"Kicks?"

The room glitched!

Nobody is where they were a second ago. Delia and Simon aren't sitting on the bench anymore; they're standing at the foot of my bed, and Officer Armstrong isn't smiling anymore; he looks concerned.

"Paul wants you to tell him what happened, Kicks," Ethan says, gazing into my eyes as if he's examining me. I half expect him to pluck out a flashlight or make me follow his finger.

The policeman came to take my statement?

Golly! I'm a clutz who rolled off the bleachers.

Is that a criminal offence now?

"I was looking at how pretty Ethan's smile was and how sparkling his hair looked in the sunshine," I tell Officer Armstrong, convinced I'm using the words 'not paying attention to my feet' and 'moving around distractedly', but I hear what I'm saying, and I wish someone would be so kind as to stop me from talking.

"I lost track of the bag with the ribbons and stuff, and I tripped."

That's better.

"I caused you to fall?" Ethan exclaims, looking horrified. I don't think he understood what I just said. He is not laughing at me at all, and he also doesn't look amused, like the policeman.

"No," I assure him. "I was listening to Amber's garbage instead of watching my feet."

"Kira?" Officer Armstrong prompts, and I blink my eyes, trying to keep them open. The room did that weird thing again, and Delia is standing where Ethan was a second ago. I don't know where Ethan is. "You said you were listening to Amber?"

"Yes, she was being a bitch as usual."

Oh, my! Why can't I shut up?

"So, she—"

"I really thought her nails would be sharper," I inform everybody about the phenomenon that's been baffling me and raise my arms to look at the angry red lines scratched on them. "Didn't even break the skin except for a couple of small places. If they were as sharp as a harpy's nails are supposed to be, they would've dug in deeper when she grabbed me."

Is my speech starting to slur?

Am I speaking in slow motion... or too fast?

My tongue feels vaguely sluggish now, and I'm having a hard time focusing.

"She grabbed you?" Officer Armstrong seems as surprised hearing this now as I had been at the time when it happened.

"Yes, she grabbed me when she saw that I was falling."

"She didn't push you?" I cannot tell whether Ethan is relieved or baffled, or both. He teleported from somewhere and is standing beside his sister now.

"No, she just said mean things," I assure him. "She hurts feelings, not bodies... I think..."

"So, she tried to save you?" Delia asks from the other side of my bed again, sitting on the bench.

Am I switching on and off?

Did I fall into the twilight zone?

Dell clearly thinks she'd heard wrong. I either said something weird, or people really have a low opinion of that girl. I'm starting to feel a little bit bad for her.

Just a little bit.

"Yes," I acknowledge sulkily. "Isn't that depressing? She gets to be the hero. Well, I'm grateful, I guess."

"She might've contributed, but the real hero is the one with the pretty smile and the sparkling hair," Officer Armstrong assures me with a grin.

Searching for Ethan, I find him in the corner, standing at the water cooler. He might be in the process of being cloned because, from this distance, I see about one and a half of him. He's drinking glass after glass of water as if he'd been wrestling through a desert.

I'm vaguely aware of the policeman speaking into his radio, telling Officer Briggs to release Amber.

"You arrested her?" I ask, a little hopeful, but just a tiny little bit. I wouldn't mind if Amber got slightly arrested for a few minutes.

How long have I been here?

Am I still here?

I'm sure everything disappeared for a second, but it's all back now, and this time nobody jumped to other positions.

I'm so sleepy!

"No," Officer Armstrong chuckles. "We didn't want to cause a massive scene without having all the facts, so we just kept her in the first aid tent until now. Thank you for clearing it up, Kira. I'll get out of your way now. Rest up. I hope you're back to enjoying the festival soon," he smiles, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder.

He says his goodbyes, causing Delia to look positively depressed, but when he says her name, she still giggles in that creepy new way she'd suddenly developed.

"You have a boyfriend," I remind her, grinning when she sticks her tongue out at me. At least, I think I'm grinning; my face feels far away. I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open now. Everybody is developing blurry outlines, and their conversations are growing increasingly choppy.

"What did she say to you?" Ethan is suddenly back by my side, sitting beside Delia on the bench, and if he'd heard about his pretty smile and sparkling hair, he is not showing any joy over it.

He takes my hand, clenching his jaw in the way he always does when he's feeling tense, making the muscles pop out and disappear, causing him to look more mature and a little scary.

"Who?"

"Amber."

"Doesn't matter," I try to smile, but my brain is swimming, and my lips feel a little numb. "She... talking garbage. Not dating me 'cause ... 'fraid of next year. Not clinging to what you know and feel safe with. You... date... deal. Joke's on her..."

"Kicks—"

"Why are you injured?" I ask, gasping for a deep breath to bring myself above the clouds I'm drowning in. Reaching out, I stroke my fingertips over his wrist until I touch the edge of a thick bandage around his forearm.

Why?!

"He tackled you," Delia says, making absolutely no sense to me. "Some of your bruises might be his fault... they're love bruises."

"Shush," Ethan snorts, rubbing his knuckles on her head.

"Seriously, it was spectacular," his sister says, giving him an admiring look. "When you fell, you landed somewhere between the step you were on and the one below and just bounced and fell to the next one, and the next one."

She swallows convulsively, as if the words are hurting her throat.

"I was still trying to get to my feet and run to you when this guy came charging up the bleachers, diving for the next step on your path. He half caught you and half trapped you with his body. It was stunning!" she exclaims, her eyes growing misty, and reaching out, she covers my hand, trapping it in Ethan's.

"I never want to see that again. Not ever!"

♂♀