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The ship’s medics act fact, popping out of seemingly nowhere and clearing the deck, like they were lying in wait for this to happen. It turns out they have a whole mini-hospital on board, at the very bottom of the boat. And not just a janky cruise ship one. No, it’s equipped to perform the blood tests they need to do on Wally. Even a chest X-ray, to hopefully explain that terrifying way he was clutching his chest.

All the while, I sit in the waiting room, praying more than I have since I was a little kid. Ifeellike a little kid, here alone with no idea what’s going on. I wish my parents were here to take over, to make everything okay, but there’s no way to get in contact with them until they’re back on the ship. And technically, I’m an adult now. I should be able to handle this. But I’ve never felt more small, more insignificant, than I did seeing them take Wally away on a stretcher, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do.

I don’t know how much time actually passes, though it feels like months, when a doctor finally walks out. He’s a tall man with dark brown skin and an accent that I can’t place. And he starts talking fast, giving me all the information I’ve been desperate for, but my brain can’t catch up.

Finally, he pauses and smiles. “He’s fine. He’s asleep.”

My whole body, which was clenched tight, releases, and I let out a deep sigh of relief.He’s fine.But the worry picks back up quickly. “Whatwasthat? He looked like... like he was having a heart attack. Do we need to take him ashore? To the hospital there? Not that I don’t trust you, Dr.—” I check his name tag. “Dr. Ademola, but, like... is this place even legit?”

Dr. Ademola lets out a loud laugh that feels out of place in this sad space, and then he smiles. “Yes, Ms. Bennett, I assure you this place is legit. And you are welcome to seek out additional care in Marseille, but I think it would be best for your brother to rest now. That’s usually the best course of action after a panic attack.”

“Wh-What?” I ask, my mouth falling open in surprise. “That’s it?”

“Yes, your brother suffered a panic attack. And while, yes, it’s not as severe as what it appeared to be on the surface—panic attacks can often mimic something more life-threatening—it was certainly a physically taxing experience for your brother. He will need some time to recover. We’ve given him something to help with that.”

A panic attack? Wally had a panic attack? I’m struggling to fit this all together, to make it make sense. Because this just doesn’t fit with my idea of my strong, confident, kinda pompous older brother.

“Does your brother have a history with anxiety?” Dr. Ademola asks.

“I don’t know.” Why don’t I know that? I should know that!

Dr. Ademola furrows his eyebrows. “Well, we’ll wait to talk to him more when he wakes up, but he should talk to his doctors about this at home, especially if it’s happening regularly. It’s possible that he has a panic disorder, which may require he consults with a psychiatrist for medication and begin therapy if he hasn’t already.”

I just stare at him, blinking. None of this makes any sense.

“You can go be with your brother now,” Dr. Ademola says, gesturing to the door they brought Wally in forever ago. “I’ll check back in a little while.” And with that he’s gone.

I walk into the room, and my breath catches in my throat. Lying there in that bed with an IV in his arm, my big brother looks so small. Growing up, I used to see him as invincible. I guess I still do. Nothing seemed to be able to shake the great, golden Wally. But if what Dr. Ademola says is true, that he could have a panic disorder, then a lot’s been shaking Wally. He’s just been hiding it from all of us.

I reach up to rub my face and feel the tears there. I don’t remember starting to cry.

They must have given him some good meds because he sleeps for another two hours, which gives me a lot of time to scan my memory, searching for signs of Wally’s supposed anxiety. But I find nothing. I’m ashamed that I find nothing.

My head is in my hands when I hear his voice, scratchy and quiet. “Etta told me this was down here. They have a fullfunctioning morgue, too.” I look up and see that his eyes are finally open. He’s turned his head toward me, and there’s a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad we’re seeing this and not that. But I guess if you’re there, you don’t have much of an opinion about it—”

“Wally, you collapsed.” I cut him off. “I thought you were having a heart attack. What is going on?”

He closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath. When he looks at me again, his face is full of resolve.

“I was in the campus store, buying a blue book for an exam, when the first one happened. I couldn’t breathe. My chest was tight. I felt like... like I was dying. I barely made it to the student health center before I collapsed. Right there in the waiting room. When they told me later that it was just—just a panic attack, I felt embarrassed, like I had freaked out over nothing. Like I had wasted their time.”

“When was this, Wally?”

He rubs his forehead, feels the cut there and winces. “Toward the beginning of fall quarter.”

“That long ago! Why didn’t you tell us?”

He shrugs, looking away from me. “I thought it was a one-time thing. And when it happened again, I thought I could... handle it on my own. But then I started having them—the panic attacks—more and more. By winter quarter, it was happening once a week. I don’t even know what the triggers were exactly. One minute I would be totally fine, and then the next, I was just... lost. I failed a midterm that should have beeneasy for me, just totally bombed it, because my heart started beating fast, and I knew I had to get out of there before I made a scene.”

“Wally, I’m so sorry. I should have noticed.”

“There’s no way you could have. I made sure of it. The only person who I talked to about it, outside of the campus doctors, was Kieran, and then I went ahead and ruined that.” Wally takes two more deep breaths, pressing his lips tight. “He kept pushing me to go to therapy, said he wanted to talk to Mom and Dad and tell them I needed to slow down. But... I didn’t want to hear it. I was—amso close to everything I’ve always planned for myself, everything Dad has wanted for me, and I... I thought I just needed to work harder. I wasn’t working hard enough.”

He touches the cut on his forehead again, and I reach out to grab his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I thought I could handle it all on my own, but it’s only getting worse this summer. I can’t sleep. I can’t... think straight. Especially with this big secret...”

“Well, the breakup with Kieran isn’t a secret anymore. I made sure of that. God, I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”