“Hey, Ray,” Simone mumbled. Her eye flitted over me. “Hey, Elizabeth,” she said. I wasn’t sure what was weirder—that she knew my name, or that she knew Ray’s.
“Hey, Simone,” I muttered. I recognized the expression on her face. It was how I’d felt when I arrived: a combo of I’ve-screwed-up-my-entire-life depression plus fear plus anger.
But then again, she always looked pissed. It seemed to be a McCann family trait. Tristan was a curmudgeon, but he got away with being sour most of the time because of his friendship with Charlie, which gave him social cred.
But Simone didn’t have any friends as far as I could tell. The other kids called her Angry Girl. She’d missed a lot of school last year. Rumor was that it was mono and that she’d gotten it from a twenty-eight-year-old guy she’d met on Tinder, but no one knew for sure. Sometimes, when she was sitting alone in the cafeteria at lunch, I’d wonder how awful that felt, and I’d have an urge to invite her to join us. I never had, though.
So I was feeling pretty judgy in the foyer until I remembered what I was wearing. My stupid yoga pants desperately needed a wash, and my hair was lanky. I hadn’t brushed it since I’d gotten up. Not to mention my horrible fatness. So who was I to judge Simone?
“I was just getting a notebook,” I blurted out. “Except it’s wide-ruled and I hate wide-ruled, but, you know, it’s not like I can go to CVS and pick up something different. You know, because I am here and all. Beggars can’t be choosers! Ha, ha.”
Tristan stared at me like I’d been plopped down just to ruin his day. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but shook his head instead and ran his fingers through his hair. He had good hair. Dark and thick and curly at the edges. My stomach blipped. He’d looked at me like that, like I was ridiculous, the entire time I’d dated Charlie. When I’d complain, Charlie would say, Trust me, he likes you. Look, everybody bugs Tristan. I bug Tristan. He’s a little judgmental, but he’ll come around. He’s super loyal. And I know he likes you. He’ll show it—someday. Charlie said that last part—someday—like it was a big joke, but it wasn’t one to me. Deep down, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Tristan saw me for who I really was. A loser.
And now he was here. I hoped the universe was having a good, long laugh.
Nurse Jill arrived then and, oblivious to my world blowing up, said, “Simone, Kathy, let’s get started on your registration,” and ushered them out of the room, leaving Tristan and I standing a few feet apart from each other. He studied the floor. I searched my brain for something—anything—to say, but I came up blank, so I hugged myself and turned to Ray for help, hoping he’d tell Tristan to leave, or me that I had some appointment I’d forgotten about. Anything. But he’d disappeared, too.
So. Awkward.
I grabbed the brass ring on its satin ribbon around my neck and rubbed it with my thumb, letting it calm me. Tristan watched, his eyes intense, like he was studying my insides. I had the distinct feeling that what he saw horrified him.
“So…,” I said, hoping he’d say something to fill the silence.
“Simone is a day patient,” he said, startling me.
“Day patient?” I didn’t know Wallingfield took day patients.
“Yeah. She’ll be here every day from four to eight. After school.”
Then I blurted out, “Why are you here?”
“I’m not here by choice.”
No shit, I thought. Who would be?
“I’ll be driving Simone most of the time, per my parents’ orders. She doesn’t have her license because driving scares her.” He used air quotes around the word scares. “And, since my parents bought me my car, they pretty much own me.” He rubbed his face. He had a minor zit collection on the back of a cheek, near his ear, but his eyes were like his sister’s—green, with dark-lined rims and long lashes. Pretty.
Neither of us could think of anything else to say, so we looked everywhere except at each other. I tugged at my sleeves with my fingers and wiggled my toes in my shoes. I couldn’t bear to spend another second next to him in my horrible outfit.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to go,” I said.
“No problem.” He stared at me for a second.
“Okay. Well, bye.”
For a second I thought he was going to say something else, but he snapped his jaws shut, gave me an almost wave, put in earbuds, whipped out his phone, and started scrolling, essentially dismissing me.
17
Tristan, Simone, and their mom left a half hour later. Through the big picture window in the hall I saw the three of them run, hunched over in the rain, and climb into a black Range Rover. Lightning, rare for that time of year, flashed in the distance.
My first family group session was at eleven, and I harbored an irrational hope that maybe Mom and Dad would use the weather as an excuse to cancel. Based on all the glummer-than-usual faces around me, I wasn’t the only one.
No luck. Right before the group was to start, I saw our Honda pull into the parking lot. Dad stepped out first and came around to Mom’s side of the car, holding an umbrella over the door. When Mom got out, she looked chic in her fancy raincoat that belted at the waist and the pair of high heels she always wore with a particular blue-and-white wrap dress.
I met them in the foyer. Sure enough, when Mom took off her coat, there was the outfit. She was totally overdressed, but she still looked great. Her heels made her calf muscles look awesome, and her stomach was flat as a wall.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” Dad said back. He hesitated for a second and then pulled me in close. At first I tried to stay stiff in his arms, but it felt too good, so I let myself squeeze him back for a second, like I had when I was little. When he let go, Mom, to my surprise, wrapped her arms around me, too. She let go only when Marcia arrived. I was shocked that I hadn’t really wanted her to.
Thanks to the dismal weather, the group therapy room felt especially grim. Marcia led us inside, turning on the lights as she went. Someone had drawn a smiley face inside the second O of YOLO on the whiteboard, and it looked like it was laughing at us. We took our seats, my parents making sure I was between them.