Pictures were taken of everything and two shots of Spooner’s brain were fastened onto a lighted viewing board where the brain surgeon studied them, back and forth, apparently disapproving of everything he saw. Spooner tried to engage the doctor, asking if one of the pictures might show why he’d been living in the third person lately, but it was two-thirty in the morning now, and Spooner’s mouth was swollen snug against his gums, affecting his speech, and the doctor was in no mood for Spooner even if he could have understood what he was saying. The emergency room doctor was finishing up sewing pieces of his lip back into place. Would this embarrass the family? How much school would he miss? There were hints now that Spooner was in the wrong time zone. He thought it over and was pretty sure that he’d graduated from high school. “How old am I, anyway?” he said, and at the sound of his voice the emergency room doctor spooked and his hands jumped, and a piece of Spooner’s lip dropped onto his teeth.
