One day passed. Two. Three. A week.

Jack noticed how the world was strangely, slowly beginning to regain color. He knew his medication had taken the color away. Knew that it had turned everything dull. But he hadn't quite realized that the despair he'd sunk into had extinguished color as well. Grace, when she'd entered his room that Saturday morning, had been the only thing in his house that held color. Bright green sweater and neon earrings. And at Miss Collins's house, there had been beautiful color. When he'd reentered his own home after his visit with his former music teacher, he'd been sick to his stomach to go back inside. To be back in that colorless world.

His mother hadn't wanted him to return to school for another week because she was worried he was too frail and needed more of a recovery after so much time spent ill. So Jack, alone, sat at his bedroom window and watched the clouds outside. The masses that still blanketed the air. The snow clouds. They weren't letting out snow, but they kept where they were. The clouds held colors, though. Ones Jack couldn't even describe, because they weren't those in the rainbow perceivable by human eyes. They were strange, shimmering, shifting colors, playing across the soft bellies and inside the depths of the clouds above. They didn't quite swim, didn't quite jump or flow—just moved from one place to another. Changed so often, morphing into various hues—strange cloud animals or creatures. Jack couldn't be certain what they really were, just as he couldn't be certain what anything he saw and heard was.

And he never would be, it seemed, from what Miss Collins had said.

Jack had thought about his former teacher every moment since leaving her house. Everything she'd said had been wonderful to him. Seeing her and learning that she was like him, like Grace too, had sent a stream of crystal water flowing through his brain. It was a source of hope. Now that he knew he wasn't alone—that there were others like him—he sensed that beyond his current predicament, there was a place of comfort he could reach if he tried hard enough. It would use everything in him—all he was. This he knew, somewhere deep down, without having to actually realize it. But he chose not to bring that thought to the forefront of his mind. He was still too weak to do anything.

He needed to regain some strength.

How to do that—he didn't know. Home was draining. It wouldn't allow him opportunity to rebuild himself. There was shadow everywhere; the little black blots had morphed into a solid mass that seemed to be eating the house alive. He'd had to train his eyes not to focus too hard on them—that way, he could see through them more easily. And the sounds. He'd had to try his hardest to ignore the hollow, echoing sound of pure emptiness coming from the room across the hall. His mother was growing more quick-to-argue. His brother had moved from being openly hostile in his words and looks to being entirely despondent, which worried Jack more than if he'd continued to show his anger. Jack was still afraid to really venture out of his room except to go to the kitchen for food and to the bathroom. He hated going anywhere near his brother's room (which was fine, for the most part, because Kyle holed himself up in there and made it quite clear that he didn't want his twin anywhere nearby). But Jack also didn't like being around his mother, because she exuded defeat, and he couldn't stand that.

Right before Jack started back at school—Sunday evening—his mother sat him down at the kitchen table to talk about things. She breathed in deep and just looked at her boy as if trying to decide why exactly she wanted to see him.

Jack didn't like to look at his mother. Not because he didn't love her, but because he did love her, and it hurt him like his insides were bruised when he had to look at her. That was what was happening now, as he sat across from her, unable to avert his eyes from her sorrow-lined face. Her careless attire and hair. Her grayness.

He fidgeted in his seat. Uncomfortable. Wishing she'd hurry up and say what she wanted to so he could leave.

"I wanted to talk to you about your medicine, honey," was what she at last said, all quiet and soothing, like she was talking to a scratched five-year-old.

Jack felt the voices around him shudder. Not that. She would never put him back on it—would she? It didn't matter. He wouldn't take it. Never. Even if she tried, he'd fake it. He'd never take the stuff again. Not after the horrible remission he'd had to go through when coming out from under the influence. There was no way his mother could make him do it. He'd just hide everything from her. He'd stick that evil chalky pill under his tongue and act like he'd taken it, but when the school nurse looked away, he'd spit it right back out. That was what he'd do. And in his classrooms, he'd just have to work really, really hard to pay attention. He'd have to make an honest effort. Knowing that his only options were to force himself to focus or to be stuck as a medicated zombie—well, he'd take the first option any day.

His mother must've seen the places his thoughts were going. She put a hand out toward him and placed it on his arm. "Listen, Jack. If you want to make school easier for you again—"

No . . . please . . . It would be so hard to go against his mother, despite his rebellious thoughts . . .

"—it's up to you. I'm not going to make you start it up again. The choice is for you to make. Your father and I should've really relied on you to tell us what was best in the first place. But . . . neither of us really knew the effects it would have on you. Your schoolwork did improve—drastically." She looked aside for a moment and removed her hand. "If you found that you were happy to be on the medicine, then I'll take it to the nurse at school when you go back tomorrow."

Wonder filled the boy's mind. She wasn't telling him to go back on it. Wouldn't force him. She was asking him to make the decision. Giving him a choice. It was up to him! Of course . . . what did she want? What decision did she want him to make? He could see the worry in her eyes, knew that his mother was definitely hoping he would choose a certain way. In thought, he unwittingly narrowed his eyes.

His mother looked uncertain. The black shadows flooding the room receded slightly out the kitchen door, then wafted back in.

Jack directly met his mother's gaze. It didn't matter what she wanted. "I'm not touching that stuff ever again."

He was startled at the force of his own voice.

Trembling a little, Mrs. Kemper's eyes glossed over. She smiled shakily. "That's what I wanted to hear you say." Her voice was hoarse. "I just thought I'd leave it up to you. It is your mind, after all." This time, she took hold of both of his hands. Half getting up from her seat, she leaned across the table. "Your beautiful, wonderful mind." And she bent over, kissed him on the forehead. Transferred some of her relief into him, then scooted out from around the table and left.

For nearly fifteen minutes, Jack stayed where he was, letting his mind roam. What had just happened had been extremely important, he guessed. Whatever it was, it had turned out in his favor. Perhaps the world was mend-able, then.