Day Four

Day Four

We are moving to General.

Holly reappeared early this morning, after our Chuck run (and we remembered our water bottles this time), her eyes no longer glassy but with dark circles underneath. She clutched that black backpack to her chest. "They took my picture," she says. "That was weird. Is that going to happen every day?"

They took ours, too, right after the run. They didn't let us shower first. I leaned against the wall and didn't even bother pushing my hair away from my face. This was photo number three. I still haven't looked at them. I haven't looked at myself. Maybe if I never look at myself again, I'll just…disappear.

"It's a thing here," Billy says.

"Weird," she whispers. "Very weird."

"Why are you whispering?" Brandy snaps.

"I don't know," Holly says. She laughs nervously.

"Was it worth it?" I ask.

"Was what worth it?" Holly says.

"Swallowing…whatever it is you had," I say.

The smile she gives me is kind of scary, it's so calm and perfect.

"Yes," she says. "It was Oxy, and abso-fuckin'-lutely."

"Well, did you save some for me?" Billy asks.

Holly shakes her head. "No, sorry."

"Too bad," Billy says. "I'm starting to get really fucking bored here."

We're standing in the activity room, our suitcases and bags around us, waiting. Someone will come get us soon and move us in with all the other kids, and I'm starting to feel anxious. Not like last night, but anxious nonetheless.

"God, I'm starving," Billy says. "When are we going to eat?"

"In a little bit," Tracy says, coming up behind us, zipping her parka. "You ready? Big day."

"Whatever," Brandy says. "I'm ready to just go. Let's get this shitshow on the road."

Outside the Detox building, we walk along a dirt path by the goat and chicken pens. The goats bleat and nose around the fencing and the chickens scurry about. Other kids are inthe pens in blue hoodies, tossing out hay with gloved hands, scattering feed from silver buckets.

"You'll be doing that soon," Tracy says. "We take care of each other here, including the animals."

"It smells like shit." Brandy slips a little on a muddy patch. Billy catches her arm.

"Because there is shit," Holly mutters behind me. "This is so weird."

Ricci would love this. Fresh air, animals. My heart aches a little, thinking about that. About her, and what she must be feeling right now.

For thirty days, she's an only child.

—

The General Population building is much bigger than the Detox building. Our room doesn't have bunk beds, like in Detox, but single beds. There are five and they're all neatly made, each one with a small bedside table and dresser. I notice that the bedsidetables are fixed to the floor. Above the headboard of each bed, screwed to the wall, is a small light. On one side of the room, the cream-painted brick walls are bare, but on the other side, there are postcards and photos taped up. Someone has a lot of books under their bed; someone else has a fluffy black blanket, no blue wool like on the other beds.

"Just what I love," Brandy says sarcastically. "More communal living."

Tracy points to three beds on the left side of the room. "Those are yours. You can unpack later. Let's head to meal. Billy, you're across the hall. Find an open bed."

There's a meal room, like in the Detox building, but with really long tables with attached benches. It's like a small version of a school cafeteria. Brandy heads straight for a table and sits down.

"I'm famished," she says. "Where's the coffee?"

"In there," Tracy says, and motions to some double doors at the side of the room. I can hear movement and clanking behind the doors.

"Are you going to bring it out or what?" Brandy frowns.

"Nope," Tracy says.

"This is getting weird," Holly says.

"Can you please use another word besides weird, " Brandy says. "It's getting annoying."

"Sorry," Holly mumbles.

"If you want to eat here, or drink here, or have a clean plate and clean fork, or clean clothes, you do it yourself. We don't do it for you," Tracy tells us.

"The hell?" I say.

"Yup." Tracy starts toward the double doors. "Come on."

We follow her into a big kitchen. There are maybe fifteen kids inside cracking eggs, setting up yogurts on trays, standing at a grill flipping bacon.

A tall girl in an apron and latex gloves comes over to us. She's got tons of freckles on her face and red hair pulled back in a bun.

"Hey," she says. "I'm Lara. Kitchen manager. Newbies set the tables and do cleanup. When you've mastered that, you move to meal prep."

"Um, what?" Brandy says. "I did not sign up for this nonsense."

"The three rules of survival here: shelter, fire, and food." She sighs heavily. "Why doesn't anyone ever read the handbook?"

Shelter, fire, food. I don't remember that from the booklet, but then again, I skimmed it.

Also, fire?

Holly's the one who asks. "Uh, fire? What…does that mean, exactly?"

Lara grins. "You'll see. You'll learn to make one, kid. Fire happens later in the program. It's very exciting." She ticks the rules off on her fingers. "Keep yourself safe, keep yourself warm, keep yourself fed, and you'll live. We cook all our meals and we clean up after ourselves. If you don't help make the food, you don't get to eat the food. I would learn that right away. You can start by taking out the plates and utensils and then the drinks. Don't forget to count how many you need and give out, and how many come back. We need to make sure everything is accounted for."

"Wait," Holly says slowly. "So, like, we starve if we don't help?"

"Listen," Lara says. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," Billy says.

"Well," Lara answers, "then you need to learn how to feed yourself. Because out there, in the world, maybe somebody will do it for you, but not forever. And what then?"

"I don't get it," Brandy says.

Lara smiles. "You will, trust me. You will. Wash your hands, grab some gloves, and get started."

We wash our hands in the sink and pull gloves from a box. I drag the gloves onto my hands. I'm not particularly happy about this, but I'm also hungry, so that's my priority. Brandy starts grabbing plates, swearing under her breath.

"Wait," I tell her.

"What?" She's impatient.

"Like, count everybody first, like Lara said, so you know how much stuff we need to take out."

She blows a strand of hair off her cheek and faces the kitchen, her lips moving slowly.

"Sixteen, plus us. Twenty, then. Wait, Tracy, too. Twenty-one."

"Holly," I say, because she's just standing there. "You do the silverware. Billy, you do the napkins. I'll do the cups and stuff."

I find a cart in a corner of the kitchen and start loading it with plastic coffee cups and plastic glasses. There are coffee urns and pitchers filled with orange juice, so I add those, too. They're heavy and I almost drop one.

We get everything set up on the tables in the other room, and gradually, kids from the kitchen start coming out with bowls of eggs and tofu and bacon, platters of sliced fruit, trays of yogurt and cereal and cartons of milk.

They arrange the food on the tables and begin sitting down.

It's like a Thanksgiving with total strangers. Only I guess all of us would rather be high or drunk or anywhere but here.

"Okay," Lara says, coming out of the kitchen. "Eat."

She waves me to a table and I scoot myself in. She slides next to me on the bench. Kids start passing trays and bowls from person to person. I scoop out eggs and fruit.

"Everyone, say hi to our newbies," Lara says. "I'll start. I'm Lara and I'm the queen, because I've been here the longest and I'm getting out the soonest. Well, second soonest. Sarah's tomorrow."

She points to the person on her right.

One by one, everyone says their names. Marshall, Gideon, Sarah, Nick, Josh, Charlotte, and they keep going. It's a blur. I don't think I'm going to be able to remember them all. I kind of wish they'd all say their name followed by what they're here for, because that would be interesting. Like, I'm Larry, cokehead. I'm Molly, and I like molly .

The girl named Gideon says, "Hey, roomies."

She winks.

Her head is shaved. She's the one who was laughing at me when I did that first run with Chuck. I look away from her.

There's a silence. Lara nudges me.

It's my turn. I say my name in a low voice.

"Don't be shy," she says. "Is it your face? No one cares. Shyness and shame will eat you alive. Nick!"

A kid with long braids looks up, mouth full. "What?"

"Do you think Bella's face is funny?"

"Aw, no." He smiles at me, breaking a piece of toast in half.

"Charlotte, what about you?"

The girl with pink hair nods. She's the one who was flipping off Tracy in the Polaroid in the activity room. "Yeah, I actually do. Sorry. I mean, the shit that happens to us, right? It looks painful, though. I hope she's okay." She pauses. "Once, I was so high I let a guy tattoo booty on my…actual booty. Wanna see?"

She stands up.

"Yes," Billy says immediately.

Charlotte puts a hand on the waistband of her leggings.

"Charlotte," Tracy warns.

"Fine." Charlotte holds up her hands and sits back down. "It is what it is. At least I didn't let him tattoo face on my face, you know?"

"I actually know someone who did that," Nick says.

Laughter.

"Everybody has a story, right?" Lara asks the table, and everyone nods.

Lara looks at me.

"Own it," she says softly. "And move on from there. There's really no other option at this point."

—

Brandy stares at the pile of dirty dishes. "I have never washed a dish in my life," she says, holding up her hands. "I'm not about to start now."

"How can you get through life without washing a dish?" I ask, filling the sink with water.

"Duh," she says. "We have a maid. Her name is Mary and it's her job and we pay her."

"I don't think there are any of those here," Holly says. "Maids. I think we're the maids."

She's dumping the coffee urns into an empty pickle bucket that says for the garden in Sharpie on the side. She barely ate at breakfast, even though she said she was hungry. A slice of melon here, a bite of toast there.

Billy looks around the kitchen at all the pots and pans and the butcher table littered with eggshells and fruit rinds. "Do we have to clean all of this?"

Lara comes out of a back room holding a sack of flour.

"Yup," she says, hoisting it onto a metal rack. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Next week you can move up to cooking. Then you learn the animals. But don't ever try to be the one who helps the feed dude with the animal food. That's Charlotte. She's very particular about it. Until then, chop-chop. You've got gym after this."

"Gym? I don't even want to know," Brandy mutters. "Just kill me now."

She drags on some rubber gloves and starts plunking silverware in the sink full of soapy water.

"Did you count the utensils and stuff to compare what we put out?" I ask.

"What?"

"Like Lara said," I tell her. "To make sure everything comes back."

"Why does it even matter?" Brandy asks.

From across the room, Lara calls out, "Because. Sometimes…people take them. And use them. Do you want me to elaborate?"

I shake my head no.

Because no, I do not.

—

We have to change for gym. Lara said our parents were told to pack certain stuff for us, like workout clothes, T-shirts, sneakers, swimsuits, hiking boots. I think my mother forgot my hiking boots. Maybe I don't even have hiking boots. I am not a hikey-type person. Maybe that's why I couldn't finish Wild.

"Oh, right," Lara says. "Tampons. Pads. Whatever you use. If you don't already know, you have to ask for them from Tracy or one of the shift desk people. If you had them with you when you came, they were confiscated during Search."

"Right," Brandy says. "Because I'm going to somehow put drugs in my tampons. Got it."

Lara laughs. "You know why they give you that awful hard hairbrush when you get here? Because some are super flexible, you know? Like, you can even peel out the part with the bristles really easily and there's space inside? That's where I used to hide my stash when I lived at home. That's why you can't bring hairbrushes in. You can put stuff in tampons, believe me, and seal that back up."

That seems like a lot of work to me, but then again, I had my Sprodka bottle to hide vodka in.

—

The five of us sharing a room are me, Brandy, Holly, Charlotte and Gideon. Everybody gets dressed pretty quietly, turning our backs to each other or changing in the dorm-style bathroom down the hall. There are toilet stalls and shower stalls in there and a long row of sinks. On each of our dressers is a little basket to carry our toiletries to and from the bathroom.

"It gets easier," Charlotte tells us, tying her pink hair into pigtails. "It's not so bad. I mean, it sucks, but it could be worse. At night, you're so tired you basically fall right to sleep."

"Whatever," Brandy says, pulling on some yoga pants. "I didn't come here to wash dishes and feed shitty goats."

Charlotte and Gideon look at each other, but I can't tell what they're thinking. That look Charlotte and Gideon gave each other…Are they the mean type?

On the way to gym, Holly whispers to me, "I don't feel so well."

"Are you sick?" I ask her.

"No, I just, like, I need to…you know."

Charlotte glances back at us. "Are you still in withdrawal? Sometimes that can last longer than just a few days. You shouldn't be out of Detox if you aren't ready."

"No," Holly says. "I just…I'm thinking about it all the time. Getting nervous, you know? Itchy."

She's rubbing her hands together in an anxious way.

Gideon falls back and walks with us. "I get it. I remember. Gym will help. Work some stuff out of you. They keep you pretty busy here, so it's kind of like, every task we do? Takes the place of using, you know? I think when we leave, we're supposed to do that."

"You want me to just go for a run if I want a drink?" Brandy says, pulling her long hair back. "Do some push-ups?"

"Yeah," Charlotte says, chuckling. "Exactly that. Get ripped while you get clean."

"Is that what you're going to do when you get out and you want to get wasted? Exercise?" Brandy asks her.

Charlotte laughs loudly. "Fuck no. I'm gonna get high asa kite and rob my biology teacher's house and then set fire to my rich-ass-bitch dad's Benz. That's the first thing I'm gonna do."

She gives us the thumbs-up and then saunters ahead of us.

Brandy looks at me. "Do you think she's joking?"

"That was kind of specific to be a joke," I say.

Charlotte stops in front of a brick building and looks back at us, waving. She pushes open the double doors.

We walk into a giant gym. Weight machines, rowing machines, mats, a thick rope that goes all the way to the ceiling, and a huge climbing wall. It looks like whatever they didn't spend money on in the other buildings, they spent here. Everything is gleaming and shiny.

Phil, the guy who was in the van with us and took our phones, comes over and checks us off on a clipboard. Charlotte and Gideon head over to the climbing wall. Chuck is standing there, watching some kids inch their way up the wall.

My stomach curdles. I am definitely not doing that.

"Newbies," Phil says, "welcome to workout. One thing that's going to help you in recovery is getting stronger not only inside but outside. Exercise is a way to create positive energy and release dopamine naturally. When we use, we release giant amounts of dopamine in our brains, giving us tremendous pleasure. That's one of the reasons we like being high and drunk. It makes us feel gooooood, right?"

"Hell yes," says Billy.

Phil gestures to the large and airy gym. "I want you to learn how to create that feeling of pleasure without damaging your baby brain and baby bodies. I want to retrain your brain. You're used to getting your pleasure artificially, so I'm going to teach you how to begin to rewire your impulses."

"I'm not good at PE," Holly whines.

"Um, my face," I say. "I'd really like to not mess it up any further."

"There is no good or bad here," Phil tells me and Holly. "There is only trying. That's all I ask, is that you try. Can you do that?"

Holly shrugs.

"And you," he says, turning to me. "You've been medically cleared, or you wouldn't have been able to run with Chuck. But I got you. Don't worry."

He walks us over to a series of balls. They look like they're made out of thick leather. The biggest ones are about as tall as my knees.

"I want you to move those balls," he says. "Over there. Use your knees, you don't want to hurt your back."

He points to the end of the mat.

"Whatever, it's just a freaking ball," Brandy says, bending down. She tries to lift one, but groans and stands back up.

"This thing is like fifty freaking pounds!" she says, rubbing the small of her back.

"Pick a smaller one to start," Phil says.

Brandy reminds me of a very cranky old person on a TV sitcom. Complaining about everything. Worried about her nails. I kind of like it.

Phil sits cross-legged on the floor.

"Brandy, how heavy is your addiction?"

"What?" she says. She looks pissed.

"Everything that you carry around on a daily basis. You're adrinker, right? Thinking about how to get a drink, how many drinks to have, how many lies to tell so you can take that drink, how many lies to cover it up. That's a pretty heavy load to carry every day, but you've been doing it. If you can carry that, you can carry this ball."

"I'm not an alcoholic," Brandy says. "I'm not addicted. I can stop any time I want."

"Are you sure about that?" Phil asks.

"Yes," Brandy says. "Yes, I am positive."

Holly starts to fidget. She's tearing up. "I don't like this. I don't."

She's scratching her wrists.

"Me neither," Phil says. "But the fact that you're crying right now tells me you've got a big weight inside and you need to release it. I'm showing you a healthy way to do that."

He looks at me.

My brain says: Move the ball. You'll get points.

I look at the balls.

"What kind of kid are you?" Fran asked me, and I told her, "I'm the kind of kid who wants you to tell me I got a good grade so I can go."

If nobody else is going to start, I will. I bend my knees, put my hands on the sides of one of the midsize balls. Take a breath.

Jesusgod-christohmygodoh-nothisthing-issofreaking-heavybut-Imnotgoing-toletthem-seemefail.

I heave the ball up, stagger back, catch myself.

"Focus," Phil says softly. "You can do this."

I take a step, then another, grunting. Another step, another.

It is so, so heavy. Sweat is starting to drip down my temples. This might be worse than running with Chuck.

My stomach is starting to clench. My elbows are trembling.

One step, another.

I stop. My knees are starting to buckle.

Phil is next to me, now, talking low, near my ear.

"You were willing to lie, cheat, hide, and steal to drink , " he says. His voice sounds far away.

"Well," I grunt. "You're wrong. I never cheated. I didn't steal, not really. I paid for my alcohol or I drank my grandmother's. So there."

"You've got to be pretty strong, somewhere deep down, to be willing to do all that just for a drink. If you can do that, you can carry this damn ball."

"I'm just carrying this ball because you told me to do it and I do what I'm told, Phil, " I say. The ball is getting heavier by the minute. I feel like my whole body is going to crack in half.

" That's so interesting, Bella. Was drinking the only thing you could do that wasn't preordained for you? Is that why you did it? Your little ‘fuck you' to the world? You too afraid to tell anybody you're freaking out inside?"

My breath comes in waves. I think I would tell him to go to hell, but forming the words would make me pass out at this point.

One step, another. One step, another. One breath, another. My arms are burning.

I will not let my knees buckle. I will not fall down. I will not let go of the ball.

My mind loosens in a weird way. A litany of complaints bubbles up in my brain.

God, I hate Dylan. Why did he have to love me and then spit me out? Why does my dad have to be so angry all the time? Why did I lift up my shirt? Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I—

The ball slips out of my hands and almost drops on my sneakers, and I jump out of the way.

But I made it to the end of the mat. Almost.

My arms are going crazy, shaking like branches in the wind. My heart is thundering.

Phil claps me on the back. "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm going to die. Like I deserve a drink, to be honest. Like I hate it here, really."

He laughs. "Expected. But you have to learn to reward yourself for the difficult stuff without taking a drink, you know?"

"I think I'd prefer the drink."

"Gotcha."

"And I think I hate my ex-boyfriend."

"That works, too."

"Can I be done now?"

"Nope. Now you have to pick it up and take it back. And then you have to support your friends."

I turn around. Holly is bending down, her face red, trying to pick up a very small ball, her hands slipping off the leather. Brandy is pushing hers very slowly down the mat, like Sisyphus with a ponytail.

"Okay," I say. "Okay."

I take a deep breath, shake out my arms, bend down, and pick up the freaking ball, one more time.

I just want to go home.

—

Beanbags. Like at Ricci's school, in her time-out room.

They're brightly colored and scattered all around. Brandy sinks into one. "I'm not going to make it. Hauling balls, making food, cleaning. I'm not going to last. I'm literally going to die. This is the worst place I've ever rehabbed. The last place we got to keep our phones and I could make TikToks in the bathroom. They got a lot of views. I have no idea what's happening in the world without my phone."

Kids are filing into the room, plopping down onto bags. I find a yellow one by Charlotte and Holly. I like Holly. She's interesting and sad. She reminds me of Dawn.

Fran is in her own beanbag, hands folded in her lap. She waits until everyone is comfortable.

"Just to go over the format, for our newbies," she says. "What do we do in group?"

Charlotte raises her hand. "It's a safe space to talk and work out problems."

She kind of singsongs it.

"What don't we do?" Frans asks.

Lara says, "Talk over other people, invalidate their emotions and experiences."

I feel like I'm learning a whole new language in this place. Invalidate. Safe space.

"Do we have to share?" Fran asks.

Some kid, I can't remember his name from breakfast, says, "No, but if you keep stuff bottled up, it's not going to help with your recovery."

I wonder how many of these kids are just repeating what they know they should say, just to get on with this and get out of here, and how many really believe it. I'm pretty sure Charlotte is just playing a game. No one can be this perfect. But I guess I'll try to get out of here in one piece and get home, and once I do that, I know I can do better. I messed up, but I can make sure that doesn't happen again. I just have to be more careful.

I'm not sure I'm like everyone else here. Like Holly, shoving things up herself and then swallowing half of them in one go.

"Right," Fran says. "Because one thing I think we all had in common, out there in the so-called real world, is that sometimes we never told anyone how we were really feeling, if we were struggling. If we needed help. With even the little stuff, like schoolwork."

"Homework isn't little, it's enormous," Nick-with-the-braids says. "It's, like, everything to my parents."

"Being healthy is more important than a grade," Fran says. "Don't you think?"

"Try telling that to my dad," Lara says, shaking her head. "He never even finished high school. I'm his second chance."

Fran nods. "Sometimes the expectations of our parents are overwhelming, it's true. Trying to live up to what they want."

She looks around the room. "Who are our newcomers? Introduce yourselves, with as little or as much as you want."

Silence, then Billy, on a purple beanbag, sighs really loudly. "I'm Billy and I drink and take pills. Is that good?"

"Perfect," Fran says.

I fold my arms across my chest. I can feel my heart starting to thump-thump-thump-thump at having to speak in front of so many people.

Beside me, Holly clears her throat. "I'm Holly. I'm here because…I do a lot of stuff."

On cue, all the kids say, in unison, "Like what, Holly?"

Holly looks taken aback. "Um, you know. Oxy. Pain pills. Pot. You know, whatever is around. I don't really drink, though."

Silence.

"Fine," Brandy says. "I'm Brandy. I drink and I like it. I don't think it's a big deal. Everybody drinks. How can you not? It's everywhere. My mom has, like, a bottle of wine before dinner. You can't get away from it."

Gideon nods, shaved head gleaming under the ceiling light. "That's true. Parents will buy it for you, for a party."

"They will drink with you," Marshall says.

People are nodding.

Somebody else says, "There was a kid in my eighth grade who was taller than everybody else, wore glasses, and was already growing a beard and nobody ever carded him at the store. Bro was popular, I'll tell you that. He made mad bank on the side."

Laughter.

"When I was ten, at our family Christmas party, my dad let me drink beer," Nick says. "Everybody thought it was funny, this little kid staggering around." He pauses. "That wasn't right, what my dad did. I'm pretty mad about it now, when I think about it. I didn't even know what beer was, I thought maybe it was like soda, but it made me feel funny in a good way, like more relaxed, and I liked it. A lot. I mean, before I threw up all over the sofa."

I think about my grandmother. Our little drinks over Scrabble in the beginning.

Just a taste.

I was keeping her company. She would never hurt me. And sometimes if she had too much, or started seeming too tired, I put her to bed. We took care of each other. Is that so bad?

"And after that, I just wanted more," Nick says. "Isn't that weird? My family isn't the greatest, we have a lot of problems, so I started sneaking beer every now and then, just to, like, cut the edge. And when I got older, it was still there. Parties. Somebody's house. Asking someone to buy for you outside the store."

I look up from my lap. That was me. Shoulder-tapping with Amber and Cherie and Kristen.

"My mom used to put spoonfuls of Bacardi in my milk to make me go to sleep when I was little," Charlotte says, picking at the edge of her orange beanbag. She has thick eyebrows and dark roots that fan off into her pink hair. "She had to work night shifts and couldn't get babysitters for me, so she had to make sure I was out. The first time I had a glass of real milk, I spit it out. It didn't taste right!"

I think of my grandmother again and get kind of uncomfortable. I don't want to have to talk about her here. I feel like that would be a betrayal somehow.

"Bella?" Fran says.

Thump-thump-thump-thump

"Bella," says a kid on a white bag way off in the corner. "Hey, Bella, where's Edward?"

He's got brown hair down to his shoulders, like Dylan, and deep blue eyes.

Those eyes are fixed on me. I think I remember him from breakfast.

Josh.

Something in me shifts in a warm way.

My brain says: Oh, for the love of god, really? Really?

My heart says: Sigh.

My god, I'm going to have to look at alternate-Dylan for the next twenty-six days, and that thought makes me so mad I forget about my racing heart, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "Oh, that's so funny. Like I haven't heard that approximately six million times in my life. What an original thinker you are."

The kid just smirks at me.

"I was always Team Jacob myself, Josh," Charlotte says.

I make a mental note to make myself hate Josh for the next twenty-six days, even though his eyes are a perfect shade of blue. He's still looking at me.

I can feel a furious blush creeping over my face, but then I realize…oh, right. He's probably only looking at me that way because half of my face is purple and blue. Superb. Way to go, Bella. Pathetic.

I shift my eyes from his. That's the last thing I need right now. A stupid crush. Another person to eventually tell me I'm not good enough. Fuck that.

"Those movies were good, " Brandy says.

" I would like to sparkle," Billy says. "No lie. Chicks dig it."

"Okay, okay," Fran says. "Back to Bella. Do you have anything to add?"

People looking at me.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

People waiting for me to talk, to make a mistake.

And then I remember. The birds on the ceiling in the activity room.

Wren, sparrow, roadrunner, quail.

I say it three times in my head before I feel safe enough to speak.

"No, just…I'm Bella, and I'm here because of…drinking. Whatever. That's it. That's what you want to hear, so there you go. It's not a big deal."

"We want to hear whatever you want to tell us, Bella," Fran says slowly. "It's a safe space."

"I don't really like talking in front of big groups," I say tentatively.

"Then you came to the wrong rehab, girl, because this place is all about sharing." Charlotte laughs. "It's a veritable buffet of emotional vomit."

"It isn't about what we want to hear, Bella," Fran says. "It's about you learning to say things that maybe you've kept inside? Things that might be feeding your drinking problem."

"I don't have a problem," I say. "Things just got out of hand all of a sudden. That's all." My voice is prickly.

"I'd say that Bella isn't ready to talk yet," Gideon says quietly, her fingers thrumming the side of her pink beanbag. "Which is fine. And we should move on."

I look at her and smile gratefully. She shrugs.

"Okay," Fran says. "Well, Sarah is leaving us tomorrow and she's going to talk about how she's feeling about that. Are you ready, Sarah?"

A girl on a red beanbag nods and stands up. She pushes her blond hair away from her face; there are a lot of empty holes up and down her earlobes. She looks nervous, pawing at the hem of her faded Mac Miller T-shirt.

"Well," she says. "I'm worried. I'm scared. What's school going to be like? Do I have any friends left? Do I have any friends who don't use? How am I supposed to find new friends? Also, I kind of despise my parents, so…that's going to be an issue, for sure."

She talks, and everyone listens, or seems to, except me. I'm still keeping my face down because that kid Josh is still looking at me.

My brain says: Do not.

My heart says: This is going to be tough.

—

"Ages," Gideon says into the dark room. "Everybody say how old you are. And how many times you've done this."

We are in our beds. Holly is rustling around in hers, agitated. I brushed my teeth and peed and got ready for bed next to about a bajillion other girls in the long, brightly lit bathroom. Gideon smashed a roach with her slide. Brandy squealed.

"Seventeen, almost eighteen and freeee," Charlotte singsongs. "Three."

"Seventeen," Gideon says. "Two. The first time I was sixteen. I got better at it after that, but I slipped up this last time."

From beneath her blanket, Holly mumbles, "Sixteen and can you please all be quiet."

"No," Gideon says. "Put your pillow over your head. Don't be a drag."

"Fine," Holly says under the blanket. "First time. But I did grippy sock by accident. Does that count?"

"How on earth do you get sent to the nutbin on accident ?" Gideon leans up on one elbow.

From her bed, Holly's voice is hoarse. "I went a little too far…with something."

There's a silence.

"You a cutter?" Charlotte says finally, her voice curious.

"Sometimes?"

"You either are or you aren't," Charlotte presses. "Let me see."

She gets out of bed and starts walking toward Holly's bed.

"No," Holly whimpers.

"Let her alone, Char, get back into bed. Jesus, you're so invasive." Gideon's voice is firm.

Charlotte turns around and pads back to her bed, stuffs herself under her blanket.

I'm processing them. Charlotte is the instigator; I'll have to be careful. Gideon seems like the leader. She's the one with all the books under her bed. Charlotte listened to her, so obviously she respects her.

A loud snore snakes up from Brandy's bed.

"Looks like it's your turn, then, Bella," Gideon says.

"Fifteen," I say, staring at the ceiling. Why aren't wren, sparrow, roadrunner, quail here, too? There should be paintings on all the ceilings. All the rooms should have bird Sistine Chapels in this place. "First time."

"Oh my god, you're a baby, " Charlotte exclaims. "Innocent, unsullied, and somewhat pure."

"She's not the youngest ever, though," Gideon says, lying back down and crossing her arms behind her head. "Phil told me they had a twelve-year-old once. But he got kicked out."

"What for?" I ask.

Gideon's voice is sleepy now. "He kicked a goat. They tell you you can't do a lot of stuff here to frighten you so you stay in line. I've seen some stuff. But the one thing you truly cannot do is hurt the animals."

Charlotte giggles. "Or fuck in the bathrooms."

Gideon snorts. "Right. Emmanuel and Shelly. That was a trip."

"They're still together, you know," Charlotte says. "She texted me. She goes to St. Gregory and he's at Marana, but they make it work. True love, born from addiction, pain, and fucking on a sink top."

"Well," I say. "I don't think I'll be doing that. "

Gideon and Charlotte snicker.

"You never know," Gideon says. "I met my first girlfriend at my last place."

Charlotte makes a sound like she's eating a piece of delicious candy.

Gideon shifts in her bed, her voice becoming muffled. "But one thing you never do here is tell. If you see something, don't say something. Walk away. Vault it."

I roll over onto my side. Charlotte is on her side, too, facing me, her eyes bright. She's still in her pigtails from gym.

"That's right," she whispers. "Never snitch."