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enough. Think what could happen.”
    Dr. Ames’s response came through loud and clear. “
You
think what could happen, Rudolph. Have you forgotten how we came to work together?”
    I don’t know if Dr. Gunther answered or if Dr. Ames kept talking over him.
    â€œAt that time, you were found to be violating federal laws that regulate genetic engineering research. At that time, you were charged with a felony. And at
that
time you were never going to set foot in a lab again. You were never going to finish your clinical research; you were never going to find your cure for Parkinson’s disease. And you. Were. Going. To. Die.”
    That last word hung in the air. Maybe Dr. Gunther said something back, but I couldn’t hear, and my thoughts were all jumbled; it happened a lot since my concussion. I could remember things from last year, but I’d forget something I heard a few minutes ago. And this . . . this was all too much to understand.
    It sounded like Dr. Ames was threatening Dr. Gunther. But why? They worked together, didn’t they?
    Trying to sort it all out made my head hurt. I stepped back. Why was I even in this hallway? I was supposed to be in the lab having an MRI.
    They were still talking in there, but only scraps of their conversation made it out the door.
    â€œ. . . tumor continues to grow, and I really think . . .”
    â€œ. . . better with the other first-round subject.”
    â€œ. . . procedure has taken, but it’s early yet, and . . .”
    â€œ. . . proceed as planned.”
    â€œ. . . must contact the girl’s parents—”
    â€œI said NO.”
    Dr. Ames’s voice sounded so loud, so sharp, so close to the door that I jumped back, scrambled across the hall to the lab, and stumbled into the exam table. Dizzy . . . I always got dizzy when I moved too fast, and then the nausea washed over me. I put my head down and breathed in the clean detergent smell of the cotton robe until the spinning slowed and I could stand up again.
    When I did, Dr. Ames was in the doorway.
    â€œYou all right, Cat? Take your time.” His voice was soft again, his face concerned but not angry at all. Why was he so upset with Dr. Gunther? And did they say they were calling someone’s parents? Whose? I tried to remember the conversation but it broke apart like a staticky phone call.
    â€œCat?” Dr. Ames stepped to my side and put a gentle hand on my arm.
    â€œSorry.” I shook my head. “I got dizzy when I started to change.”
    â€œI see you didn’t get far,” he said. “Do you want Olga to come give you a hand?”
    â€œNo, that’s okay.” I picked up the robe and took a deep breath. “It’s going away. I can get changed.”
    â€œGreat,” he said. “I’ll be outside; give a knock when you’re ready.”
    The door closed, and I concentrated on moving slowly, smoothly, so I didn’t jar myself dizzy again. I concentrated on the feel of the cotton and the smell of the lab. On everything but the words I couldn’t sort out, because my head felt foggy every time I tried.
    I knocked on the door. “I’m ready.”
    Dr. Ames came back with his clipboard. “Great. Climb on up.”
    I hoisted myself onto the exam table and leaned back.
    â€œRelax and let your arms rest at your sides, okay? You want some music?”
    â€œWhat?” The words made my heart jump, and I leaned up on my elbows. I never told Dr. Ames I wanted to go get music. Had he seen me in the hallway? No, he couldn’t have known. I didn’t even mention it. And why was I so scared that he might know I was in the hallway? Somehow, even though the words didn’t make sense to me yet, I knew I’d heard something I shouldn’t have.
    â€œI asked if you wanted music.” Dr. Ames was standing by a computer on the counter. “Some of our patients find that music makes it easier to relax for the