"Especially the oatmeal they make here," Gail continues, as if she hasn't heard you. "It's the perfect consistency, and it tastes so good-"
"I'm not an oatmeal person," you say. "You've met Dr. Lee, though, haven't you?"
Gail nods. "A couple of times. He's very interesting. He runs Halo Hospital." She smooths her blanket with her fingers; you realize it's a sort of nervous tic of hers. "He's a genius when it comes to operations. Apparently, he used to be at the top of his field, before he quit to start Halo. At least, that's what Josh has told me. And he's been here longer than me, so I guess he knows what he's talking about. When we go to breakfast, I'll introduce you to him." She hums a little bit. "He's sme kind of trauma surgeon, I think, but I don't know what that means."
Trauma surgeon. You glance down at your leg. "That's like, facial reconstruction after surgery. But my face is fine, right? It's..." You run your fingers all over your face, but can't seem to catch anything out of the ordinary. "I wonder what a trauma surgeon would want with me."
Gail titters. "I thought it had something to do with brains. Because trauma is stored in the brain, right?"
You get the feeling that Gail isn't the brightest. You open your mouth to say something, but before anything snide can slip from your lips, a bell rings. It vaguely reminds you of the buzzer in a school, but harsher, somehow. You snap your mouth shut and wrinkle your nose. Sound didn't used to hurt this much, did it? You can't remember. "What does that mean?" you ask.
"It's time for breakfast," Gail says. She's already pushing herself from the bed. Deftly, her fingers tie her thin blanket around her neck like some kind of cape. "Come on. We don't want to be late."