by N. K. Smith
“Group therapy?” Therapy was one thing. Sharing things, private and embarrassing things, with other kids was something else completely. “You could’ve warned me, Jason. If I’d known this was what my Friday was going to look like, I would have smoked a bowl before coming…or, you know, slit my wrists.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Pinny Dalton and the others. “Don’t say shit like that here, Sophie. That bitch Robin will commit you and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“I was joking.”
“She won’t be.”
I cocked my head. “Do we have time to get high?” I whispered.
“No. And how was I supposed to know that you were as screwed-up as the rest of us? I had no idea Tom would drag your ass to something like this. You used to be all sweet and goody-goody.”
“I stole a car.”
I watched with amusement as Jason’s face brightened. “No shit? The Daltons all have sweet rides, so if you ever get the hankering to steal another one,” he whispered into my ear as I checked out all of the faces, many of them turned toward us, curious, “I bet we could make a run for Mexico.”
“So what the hell is this shit?” I jerked my head back toward the group of kids.
“Just what it looks like. The dumbass doctor and the therapist have put together this little group to make the parents of Damascus and the surrounding area feel like their kids won’t always be screw-ups. First, it’s all about the individual counseling with Robin, then we have group, and then we have to pair off with one of our ‘peers.’”
“Oh! I’ll be your peer!”
He gave me a look and said, “I already got one,” as he jabbed a finger to the corner where the angry girl sat messing with her phone. “I got stuck with Olivia. Bitch is whiney as shit.” He pointed to a boy who looked like her. He was laughing at another boy. “That’s her brother Jamie.”
“So this is what I have to look forward to on Friday nights now?”
“We don’t usually have one-on-ones because we’re a big group and it’s just her and one other guy who comes every other week. But since you’re new, you’ll probably have to do them every week for a while. Plus, stealing cars is a pretty big thing, you know. Very sexy,” he finished, flashing me a smirk.
I heard footsteps on the stairs and Jason glanced up. My eyes followed his as we both watched Tom making his descent. Jason quickly went to mingle with the other Damascus Screw-Ups. I folded my arms around my torso and scowled as Tom approached me.
“Robin’s waiting for you. Make the best of it, Sophie. I’ll be back to pick you up.”
He was trying to be encouraging, but just my being here made me want to hit him. I brushed past him and moved up the stairs. I had no idea where to go, so I just walked down the hallway until I found an open door.
“Sophie.” I turned, entering the room. Dr. Dalton smiled at me and motioned to an overstuffed leather chair. “This is Robin Wallace. You may know her daughter Rebecca from school.” I shrugged. “Well, I need to get back downstairs, but make yourself comfortable. There’s water or soda in the refrigerator.” He pointed to the small dorm fridge underneath the elaborate bookcase, but then looked like he remembered something. “Well on second thought, with your diabetes, you should probably just have water.”
Nice. Like I needed reminding that I wasn’t supposed to have soda. His saying that only made me crave a Pepsi even more. Great job, Dr. Dalton. Tempt the diabetic car thief. Next, why don’t you dangle the keys to your BMW in my face? Idiot.
He left and my eyes had nowhere else to settle but on this Wallace woman.
“Hi, Sophie.”
I took a deep breath. “Hello.”
“Your father told me it was quite a shock for you to learn that you’d be spending time with me this evening. I’m sorry you had to find out like that.” I said nothing as I rubbed my hands over my forehead. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a counselor, so we’re just going to talk. There’s no real diagnosis of disorders, just--”
“I don’t have a disorder.” I glared at her. Two seconds with me and she already thought she knew everything. Idiot Counselor Bitch.
Her voice was friendly enough, but I still didn’t like her.
“This is our first session, so I’ll explain some things to you. I’ll be taking a few notes. Don’t let that intimidate you. After we talk, we’ll spend some time in a group setting. I’m sure you noticed everyone downstairs. After that, we usually end the night in peer-to-peer sessions. That is a time when you’re not supervised; you’re simply being a kid with another kid. It will help the two of you create a bond so that if you ever need anything and don’t feel comfortable speaking with me or another adult, you will always have a friend who can help you.”
“So who am I going to be with?”
“Elliott Dalton.”
“Are you serious?” Robin’s face tightened as she wrote something down in her notepad. “Dude can barely speak and I’m supposed to have some kind of meaningful, therapeutic relationship with him?”
She took a deep breath, licking her lips before locking her eyes on me. “Don’t count Elliott out, Sophie. He’s a very complicated person, and his speech impediment—”
“I don’t care about his stuttering. We’re in a class together and we work just fine, but I don’t understand the point of—”
“Perhaps if you just let down your guard and allow the process to work, you may begin to understand the point of all of this.” I sat fuming in silence, willing myself to just get through it. It was still better than a group home or jail. “Tell me about the car you stole.”
I looked up at her, shocked by her boldness. “It was blue.” I sneered and the bitch just smiled.
“Why did you steal it?”
I sighed and shook my head. This chick wouldn’t understand the real reason, and if she did, all she’d do was ask more and more pointless questions. “Because it was shiny and fast and I liked it.”
Bitch Wallace flipped open a folder, her eyes scanning the pages within.
“What’s all that?”
Again, she smiled at me. “This is basically your life on paper. Medical records, school counselor notes, transcripts, court summaries.” My eyes narrowed as she picked up a paper and studied it. Stupid bitch. “You’re a smart girl, Sophie. You’ve always received good grades.” She paused. “Except in sixth grade. What happened to make you go from all A’s to nearly flunking every subject?” My teeth clenched together and I closed my eyes. I felt sick, just like I did every time I thought about it. “You were able to pull your grades back up though.”
She paused and read something else. “How does a girl who’s clearly not interested in athletics acquire so many injuries?”
My heart began to race and my breathing sped up as my eyes fixed on a spot on the wall next to her. “When I look at these disciplinary records from your old schools, do you know what I see?” I didn’t answer. “I see someone who almost intentionally got in trouble. Detentions, Saturday school; all those are punishments that would take you away from home, but you never received a suspension. Whatever behavior got you into trouble mysteriously disappeared before the offense was elevated to that level. What a good way to escape spending time at home.”
“Shut up,” I said quietly, though clenched teeth.
Despite my harsh words, her voice was even gentler when she said, “Why did you steal the car?”
Slowly, I answered. “Because I liked it.”
Again she smiled almost condescendingly, letting me know she saw through me, and leaned in. “I’m much more perceptive than a high school guidance counselor. Please don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. If you’re honest with me, I can be honest with you when I say that I can help.” I didn’t need help. She glanced at her watch. “We can be done for this week.
It’s nearly time for group.”
“Goody.” I stood up and crossed the room.
“Sophie?” I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “Thanks for coming today.”
I descended the stairs after finishing with Bitch Wallace and ignored the way everyone looked at me as I entered the large living room. There was a little bit of room next to Andrea on the long sofa and a wide-open spot in-between Rusty Dalton and one of the little freshmen guys. I moved over to the sofa and flopped down. “This blows,” I said under my breath.
“Just breathe.” I looked at Andrea, but her eyes were fixed ahead. “Let your mind go somewhere else and before you know it, it’ll be time to go home.” I wanted to ask her why she had to be here. She seemed perfectly normal to me, but before I could, Wallace came in and sat down. This was the most ridiculous thing I could imagine doing on my first Friday in Damascus.
I did what Andrea suggested and let my mind wander after Robin introduced me to the Damascus Screw-Up Club. I thought about getting high a lot. I thought about the shiny, fast, blue car. I thought about having sex with Jason in the morning. Luckily, I didn’t have to talk. Only about half of the kids did, but I didn’t listen because I didn’t care about their ridiculous stories.
Half an hour into it, I felt my eyelids droop. I wondered if I could get away with sleeping through it all. I was just about to test it when Andrea said something. Apparently she hadn’t been paying attention either, so she had Wallace repeat the question. “Oh, um, I’m doing fine. I ate lunch today and had a taco for dinner.”
Okay, I obviously missed something important. Was this group about our eating habits? It wasn’t until Wallace asked her about throwing up that I realized Andrea was here because she had a couple of high-profile eating disorders. It seemed anorexia was her disorder of choice, but she’d been opting toward bulimia since everyone kept track of what she ate now. When asked about the emotions she had after admitting to tossing her taco only moments after eating it, Andrea took a deep breath and answered, “I was relieved.”
“What made you feel relieved?”
“The taco was easily ninety to a hundred calories by itself, and as soon as I get home tonight, my mother’s going force me to eat some fatty baked good with her and she won’t let me leave until it’s been down for an hour. So at least I know that the hundred-calorie taco isn’t going to combine with the five-hundred-plus calories she’s going to push on me.”
Andrea was clearly nuts. She was like a size two or four or something, and nowhere near fat. Most of all the girls in Tampa had eating disorders too, and not one of them was fat before acquiring the starving or puking habit. She was decently pretty, although being in the same room as Rebecca Wallace would make every girl want to toss their lunch. That girl was like a life-sized Barbie doll.
I let my mind wander again until the whole group-sharing experience was over. Everyone got up and instantly found their designated peer and moved off to various locations throughout the downstairs. I just sat still on the couch. Obviously I was supposed to be paired with Elliott, but I had no intention of running over and being all buddy-buddy with him.
This afternoon in the greenhouse, I’d been stoned. I was always friendly and chatty when I was stoned, but this was an entirely different situation. I was being forced to interact with him now and the rebel in me, well, she rebelled against it. It wasn’t anything personal against him.
From my peripheral vision, I could see him sitting over there, his hands fisted in his lap. It wasn’t until Bitch Wallace stood up and called his name that he moved. He tensed as he lifted his head to look at her. “Elliott, why don’t you show Sophie your house? I’m sure she’d like to see the game room.” He nodded and looked at me nervously, standing up.
Sighing deeply, I stood and went over to Elliott. He looked absolutely gorgeous. Pitiful, but pitiful in a gorgeous way. Who would have thought such a hottie like him would have such a hard time talking?
That couldn’t be the only reason he was in the Damascus Screw-Up Club with the rest of us. When he didn’t speak, I felt horrible for him, so I made the decision not to give him a hard time. It wasn’t his fault we were stuck together like this. “So you have a room of games, or what?”
His mouth kept opening and closing. At one point I could see his tongue pressing against his lower teeth, trying to form a word, but then his mouth snapped closed again. In the end, he simply decided to nod and then walked out of the large room and down the hall. Having no other choice but to follow, I walked behind him, taking in the expensive décor, wondering what it would be like to live in a house like this.
He stopped in front of a door and nodded toward it. I moved around him and peered into the room. Just about everyone from the living room was in there, excluding the Daltons, Pinny’s boyfriend, and Barbie Wallace. I looked back to Rusty Dalton and asked, “Are you going in?”
He shook his head quickly. “T-t-t-too maaaany p-peeeeople.”
It was a little packed. Jason was in there and I wanted to go hang out with him, but I was supposed to be hanging out with Elliott. I shrugged, taking a deep breath. “So show me the rest of your house.”
He gave me a small smile and a nod. When he started walking, I walked with him. He didn’t really point out anything, or say anything, but only a complete moron would need the kitchen or the bathroom pointed out to them.
He took me upstairs and I huffed as we passed the study where Bitch Wallace and I had our first little “chat.” Most of the doors in the hallway were closed, and he opened them for me, letting me look into each room. It was the strangest home tour I’d ever been on, but this was definitely the strangest Friday night I’d had in a long time. The last one had been six months ago and it involved copious amounts of acid and freaky talking tree people.
Finally he stopped at a door he seemed hesitant to open, so I just waited, feigning disinterest. When he finally opened it, a concentrated look upon his face, I realized this must be his room. I peered in and asked for confirmation. “This your room?”
He nodded, but made no sound or gesture to invite me inside, so I decided to be obtuse and just walk in. As I did, I heard a shaky little breath come from him. The room was very nice. It was large and very clean and organized; the opposite of my tiny little space in Tom’s small house. One entire wall was taken up by a built-in bookshelf that he’d filled with books, CDs, and even old vinyl albums.
Along another wall, the one I was closest to, there was a door to what I assumed was his closet, and there were musical instruments hanging up: three guitars, two violins, and a banjo too. Below them was the most expensive keyboard I had ever seen sitting on a simple black base next to a desk with a very expensive-looking laptop. On the opposite wall there was a soft, comfy-looking couch and nothing else. To my left was his bed. I found myself idly wondering if that was where the great Megan Simons/Rusty Dalton Bang had occurred.
His stuttering drew my thoughts back and I turned around and smiled. He looked like he needed an invitation into his own room. I had no idea what it was that he was trying to say, so I pointed at the guitars. “Obviously, you’re into music.”
He stepped inside, turning to take a cursory glance at his instruments. “Y-y-yes.”
I moved farther into the room, sparing a sideway glimpse at him to ensure he was cool with it. “So do you take any of the music classes at school?”
“N-n-no.”
I was sure he was good enough to make the band or whatever they had at Damascus High. It seemed strange that someone who seemed to love music wouldn’t get involved in the school’s music program. “Why?”
After a deep breath, his brows creased, and his eyes dropped to examine the tan carpet. “T-t-too m-many p-p-peeeeople.” He halted for a moment before continuing. “Y-you have t-to d-do r-r-rec…h-have t-to p-play in front of p-peeople.”
Yes, that would obvio
usly be a problem for Rusty Dalton. “Can I look at your books?” He nodded before perching himself on the edge of the bed, looking up at me.
I perused his selection, utterly fascinated. “D-d-do you liiike…” I turned and watched as his face grew red trying to get a word out, his cheeks ballooning out. It made me uncomfortable for him. It must suck having to struggle so hard just to say a simple word.
“Books?” He nodded, blowing out a breath and giving me a crooked smile. He should smile more. “Yes. I like books.”
“D-do you h-have m-m-m…a lot?”
“Um, no. Usually I just get them from the library.” Helen hated spending money on me and most of mine needed to go for necessary things. I had yet to see what the high school or the Montgomery County Public Library held. I hoped it was stocked full of good ones, but if not, I saw now that I could just borrow one from Rusty Dalton. “A fan of Seuss?”
He looked to where my finger pointed and his face turned red again. “N-n-no. It-it-it’s fffor m-my…”
He was obviously anxious again. “Seuss is cool.” I ran my hand over the binding of some of the more academic-looking spines. The dude had Russian literature. “Have you read this?” I asked, pulling out Tolstoy’s War and Peace. He nodded emphatically, like he really enjoyed it. I couldn’t help but give him a genuine smile. Most people at school probably figured he was stupid or retarded in some way, but Jesus, the guy read some of the most complex literature out there. I was certain that Chris Anderson and that blonde bitch Cierra hadn’t even heard of Tolstoy. My hand stopped again and I pulled out another familiar book, Crime and Punishment. “I like Dostoyevsky better.”
I went and sat down on the couch, idly flipping through the pages of the book. He nodded, his hazel eyes bright, as if to say he enjoyed Dostoyevsky better too. “He’s much more existential, isn’t he?”
He smiled. “D-dark and t-tortured.”
I looked at him then, really looked at him, while my fingers ran lightly over a page. No one I’d ever met knew anything about Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky. His eyes immediately dropped to his lap, watching as his hands clutched each other and released continually. He didn’t like being around a lot of people. He was clearly musical and liked to read, particularly authors who were dark and tortured. I wondered if he was dark and tortured. Just seeing how he was treated in school would be enough to validate that.