Blood on the Beach

by Sarah N. Harvey

  Chad leaned over and said something to Jason, who frowned and turned away.

  Alice rolled her eyes at me, and I grinned back. No doubt Chad had just said something about how he’d like to expose himself to Claire.

  Warren turned to Chad, forehead creased and eyebrows lowered in a deep frown. “It’s in your best interests to take this seriously, son,” and Chad muttered, “I’m not your son, dude.”

  “Right now, I’m all that’s standing between you and a stint in juvie, bud,” Warren replied. “So show some respect. Maybe if your own dad had given you more guidance as you were growing up, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

  Chad stood up, took a couple of steps toward Warren and glowered down at him. “Leave my dad out of it. If he was here, he would kick your ass.”

  Maybe our pothead roomie wasn’t so laid-back after all.

  “Is that so?” Warren said. “Like this?” He calmly reached out one massive arm and immobilized Chad in a headlock.

  Chad’s eyes widened. Guess he hadn’t seen that coming.

  “Sit down and shut up,” Warren said, depositing Chad back into his chair. He turned to the rest of us. “I don’t like resorting to the use of physical force,” he said, “but I will if I have to. Are we clear?”

  No one said a word, since it sounded like a rhetorical question.

  Claire clapped her hands, and I groaned. That was getting old really fast.

  “Put your dirty dishes in the gray bins. Make cleanup as easy as possible for your chefs. You’ll appreciate it when it’s your turn.”

  She slid her own plate into one of the bins, and everyone followed suit. When Alice and I finished the cleanup, Rahim hit the gong three times, and people began filing back into the dining room for our first group session. The expressions on their faces ranged from sad (Tara) to sullen (Mandy) to apprehensive (Nick). I was happy to see that Warren was absent. Probably out devising some diabolical obstacle course or something.

  SIX

  Caleb

  Once everyone was seated (in a circle, of course), Rahim led things off by saying, “Today is a good day to bury bad habits, attitudes and relationships so you can give birth to a new you.” He smiled at us, his face open and so hopeful that I actually felt bad for the guy—I had a feeling we were about to disappoint him. Some people nodded, some looked at their shoes, some glowered at him. I picked at a blob of dried ketchup on my jeans.

  “What if I like the old me?” Nick asked. He didn’t sound pissed off or anything, just curious.

  “Well, Nick,” Rahim said, “I think you have to consider what it was about the old you that led you to this place.”

  “I’m here because my parents don’t like the old me,” Nick said. “They made up some total lie about finding drugs in my bedroom, which apparently INTRO believed, but the truth is, they think being here will toughen me up. Make a man of me, which is bullshit. I’m a man already. I’m just not the kind of man they want me to be.”

  “And what kind would that be, Nick?” Rahim asked.

  “Straight,” Nick replied.

  There was a short silence, which Chad broke. “Ah, man,” he said. “You mean I’m sharing a cabin with a fag?”

  Practically everyone turned at the same time and glared at Chad, though I noticed Jason folded his arms across his chest and looked down at the ground like he wasn’t too sure whose side he was on.

  “Hey, it was a joke,” Chad mumbled. “Shit. Lighten up.”

  We ignored him, which was already becoming a theme. There was silence for a moment, and then Tara said, “So basically your parents are homophobic and this is, like, one of those gay-conversion camps for you.”

  Nick nodded. “Sounds about right.”

  “And how does that make you feel?” Rahim asked.

  Nick started to laugh. “You’re about the sixteenth therapist who’s asked me that. And I always say the same thing. It makes me feel shitty, but I can’t change them any more than they can change me. So I just go with the flow. For now.”

  “Thank you for being so honest,” Rahim said. “Before we go any further, Claire would like to talk about how we’re going to structure these sessions.”

  Claire smiled at each of us in turn as she looked around the room. She must have learned the technique in therapy school—make each individual feel included, set the tone for the group—but it came off as fake.

  “Now that Nick has led the way,” she said, “I’m hoping we can continue in the spirit of openness and honesty as we share our stories. Today I’m going to ask you simply to listen to your fellow travelers”—someone snorted, and I figured it was Jason—“and refrain from comment. There will be plenty of time for that later.” She held up a brown-paper grocery bag. “I’m going to pull three names out of this bag, and we’ll provide a safe and nurturing space for those people to tell us their stories this morning. Then we’ll have a break for lunch, followed by the final four. We have a zero-tolerance policy regarding any type of abuse—verbal, physical, emotional or sexual. We are here to support each other and promote change. And finally, I want to remind you that you have each signed a confidentiality agreement as part of your registration. It’s important for everyone that you respect that policy.”

  “What goes on at INTRO stays at INTRO,” Rahim added with a nervous smile. I wondered if Claire had told him to say that. He wasn’t exactly a Vegas kinda guy.

  “Bring on the strippers and coke!” Chad yelled. Everybody laughed, even Claire and Rahim.

  Claire reached into the bag and pulled out three slips of paper. “Mandy, Imogen and Caleb. You’re up. Anyone want to volunteer to go first?”

  Silence.

  Imogen fiddled with the piercing in her eyebrow, and Mandy crossed and uncrossed her long bare legs. We’d be here forever if I didn’t get things rolling.

  “My name’s Caleb. I beat up my stepdad, and I got sent here because it was a first offense and I’m a juvenile. It’s called diversion—keeps you out of the courts.”

  “Why did you beat up your stepdad?” Tara asked, earning a frown from Claire.

  “Please refrain from commenting in this session, Tara,” Claire said.

  “I’m not commenting. I’m asking a question. There’s a difference.”

  “Caleb, you don’t have to answer,” Claire said.

  I shrugged. “I don’t mind answering. I beat him up because I was tired of seeing him beat up my mom. She’d never have him charged. He’d always say he was sorry, and he’d promise to change. She always believed him. But one day he broke her jaw, and when we got back from the hospital, he told her to make his dinner and I lost it. He ended up in the hospital, and I ended up here. You can guess whose side my mom took.” I stopped speaking. The memory of my mom dragging me off him and screaming, Leave him alone, Caleb, made me feel like puking.

  “Thank you, Caleb,” Rahim said. “Now, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to go into any more detail right now than you’re comfortable with. This is a get-to-know-you session, not a therapy session. There will be lots of opportunity in our private sessions to explore things more deeply.”

  Claire nodded. “Who’s next?”

  Mandy recrossed her legs, stared down at her bright-pink toenails and sighed theatrically. “I’m here because I’m an adrenaline junkie. I like doing crazy shit. Not stuff like mountain biking and skydiving—I’m so not a jock, and I don’t want to, you know, hurt myself—but I’ll do pretty much anything if you dare me to. Like stealing shit, or having sex in a public place. That’s pretty cool.”

  I guarantee that every guy in the room—well, maybe not Nick—had a vivid image of Mandy up against the wall of a club bathroom, her long legs wrapped around some guy’s waist, her back arched. I know I did, and Chad was almost drooling.

  “Anyway,” she continued, playing with a lock of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, “when I was little I took, like, a candy bar at the grocery store when no one was looking, and it was such a
rush. It made me feel, I dunno, powerful or something. I had a secret—and candy. I graduated to lipstick and nail polish when I was about twelve, but when that started to get old, I ramped it up. Earrings, necklaces, rings—anything small enough to fit in my purse. Then I took something really valuable—a Rolex for my boyfriend—and got caught. The store owner let me off with a warning when I sobbed on his shoulder and told him I was a klepto—that stealing from him was a cry for help. He called my parents, and they sent me here.”

  “And was it?” Alice asked.

  “Was it what?” Mandy said.

  “A cry for help.”

  Mandy grinned. “Nope. I like the way it makes me feel. I just don’t want to go to jail for it.”

  “Thank you for being so honest, Mandy,” Claire said. “Imogen?”

  Imogen sighed and said one word. “Drugs.”

  “Would you care to elaborate?” Claire asked.

  “Lots of drugs.”

  Alice snickered, and Chad said, “Let me guess. A little weed, maybe some E on the weekends?”

  Imogen couldn’t resist the urge to put Chad in his place. “Started smoking weed when I was eleven. My stepbrother gave it to me. He’s getting his MBA now. Totally boring dude. Back then he got high all the time, mostly to piss off our dad. Weed was all he did though. Unlike me. You name it, I’ve done it. Crack, E, blow, acid, mushrooms, even meth, but I don’t do that shit anymore. Messed me up pretty bad for a while, although I did lose a lot of weight.” She laughed. “Total upside, am I right?”

  No one said anything, although we were probably all wondering how she got off meth—she wasn’t skinny, and she actually looked pretty healthy. Her skin was pale but unmarked by even a single zit. Her eyes, ringed with black makeup, were clear, and her teeth were white and even. Maybe those stories she told Alice were bullshit. Maybe she was still lying. But then, why was she here?

  “I got busted with a quarter gram and sent to rehab. A really expensive rehab in the desert in California. It was pretty cool. More like a spa, really. My mom’s a total bitch, but she wasn’t about to send me to some crappy local rehab. What if her friends found out? With me in California, she could tell them anything she wanted. I think she usually said I was at an ashram or something, getting my chakras aligned and doing yoga 24-7. Which is hilarious. Do I look like I do yoga?” No one said anything. “Anyway,” she continued, “I stopped doing meth, which was the whole point of rehab. Gold star for Imogen. As soon as I got out, I started smoking heroin. Chasing the dragon. I didn’t do needles, ever, just smoked it.” She thrust out her arms and pulled up the sleeves of her black sweater. Her arms were smooth and plump and unmarked. “No track marks, see?”

  Right, I thought. No proof she was telling the truth either.

  “Everything was cool until my best friend—well, I thought she was my best friend—told my mom what I was doing. And my mom called my dad, even though she hates him, and they decided to send me here. Like I was a junkie or something. Which I’m totally not. I never get hooked on anything. I just like getting high.”

  She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Thank you, Imogen,” Claire said. “And thank you, Caleb, Nick and Mandy for sharing your stories. We’re going to take a break now, get out into nature and reconvene after lunch. Take some time to process what you’ve heard. Let kindness and compassion guide your thoughts. Rahim and I will be in the staff cabin if anyone needs to debrief. Otherwise, enjoy the sunshine and listen for the lunch bell.”

  She pulled the hair band off her ponytail and shook her head so that her brown hair tumbled around her shoulders. “I’m going to get some fresh air myself,” she said, flashing her white teeth at us in a wide smile.

  Maybe I was being overly harsh, but something about Claire rubbed me the wrong way. She sounded like she was reading from a script. Rahim was obviously inexperienced and insecure, which didn’t inspire confidence, but he did at least seem sincere.

  I headed back to the cabin to take a leak and grab my notebook, which was about the size of one of those big iPhones. Small enough to hide, which was a habit I’d gotten into after Barry ripped up most of my sketches during one of his rages.

  I walked down to the beach where the kayaks were stored, took out my notebook and a fine-tip black pen, and started drawing. Mandy’s legs, Alice’s almost-albino eyebrows, Imogen’s smooth arms. I worked fast, in case someone else appeared on the beach. Drawing was something I needed to do—an outlet, I guess. A way of making sense of the world.

  And it was also my secret. Warren, Claire and Rahim might spend the week prying and making us talk about our personal business, but some things were private. No one here knew the big dumb jock could capture someone with a few rapid pen strokes. I intended to keep it that way.

  SEVEN

  Alice

  The morning was the longest one of my life. Group-session hell. I felt like a snail surrounded by birds, all pecking at me and trying to pry me out of my shell with their hooked beaks.

  If you don’t talk constantly—especially if you don’t want to share your innermost thoughts and feelings with every random person—people figure you just need encouragement. That of course you must—deep down—be dying to spill. But I’ve never been like that. I don’t want to be like that. I’m not shy. Just private.

  We took a short break before lunch, and I went for a walk in the woods—by myself, thank God. Both Imogen and Mandy hinted that they wouldn’t mind going with me, but I managed to shake them off. Mandy was a total ditz, and Imogen…well, I didn’t quite know what to make of Imogen. There was a certain energy between us that made me feel flustered and self-conscious.

  Besides, I really needed the time alone.

  I had told Caleb I wasn’t much of a nature girl, and it was true, but it wasn’t like I hated being outdoors. My mom and I camped most summers, and I loved the lakes in the interior, and the Rocky Mountains, and the wild west-coast beaches with crashing waves. But this island? There was nothing beautiful about it. It was sparse and scrubby, the trees a bit bare and stunted-looking until you got a little ways into the woods—and then it was dark and clammy and full of mosquitoes. The place felt creepy. Too silent, so every little noise made me jump. We were so cut off from everything here.

  I couldn’t believe how much I missed my phone.

  When the gong sounded, I was tempted to ignore it and skip lunch, but I decided not to take the risk. Not because I’m a rule follower, like Caleb said, but because I couldn’t face the extra analysis that would probably result. Besides, much as I had wanted to be alone, I was too spooked to enjoy it.

  So I headed in for lunch, ate my salad and veggie wrap, then trooped back into the circle of hell known as group therapy.

  Half a day down. Six and a half to go.

  “Alice,” Claire said, “would you like to go next?”

  I pulled my feet up in front of me on the hard wooden chair. My butt bones already hurt from sitting in it. Claire’s teeth glinted at me, Crest-strip white. She was smiling like she thought we had a bond now. She was wrong. “Not particularly,” I said, and I saw her eyes narrow slightly although her smile never wavered.

  “I will,” Jason said.

  I glanced across the circle at him, and he gave me a lazy grin. He was cute, but he knew it. Full of himself, I thought again, deliberately meeting his eyes and not smiling or winking back. I hoped he could tell I wasn’t impressed.

  Jason leaned forward in his chair. “Might as well get it over with, right?”

  Rahim beamed at him. “Always a good idea to step forward. To confront your fears head on, bravely, knowing that you have the strength to—”

  “Yeah yeah.” Jason stretched his legs out in front of him. He was one of those guys who liked to take up a lot of space, as if he was trying to make up for being short. “Sure, it’s no big thing. I broke into some places. Stole some stuff. Electronics mostly.” He cleared his throat. “Got caught. End of stor
y.”

  “Thank you, Jason,” Rahim said. “But of course, it’s not the end of the story, is it? Because here you are. And you have your whole life ahead of you. And you didn’t just decide to start breaking into houses on a whim. Everything we do, everything we are, is, well, it’s…” He trailed off as if he’d lost his train of thought.

  Claire bailed him out. “And there’ll be time this week to explore all of that in more depth.”

  “Right, right.” Rahim nodded so fast you could have shaken a James Bond martini in his skull. “I mean, we do things because…”

  “Because reasons,” Caleb said solemnly.

  “Because money,” Jason said.

  “You sell the stuff?” Mandy asked.

  “My older brother does. It’s a family business. Steal from the rich, give to the poor. The poor, in this case, being my family.”

  Claire stepped in swiftly. “Thank you, Jason. Thank you for sharing your story. Who’s next? Alice? Chad? Tara?”

  She sure liked to be in charge. If you asked me, that warm-and-perky manner covered up some serious control issues.

  Tara and I exchanged glances. I knew she didn’t want to share any more than I did.

  “Uh, I’ll go, I guess.” Chad sat up a bit and brushed his stringy hair off his face. It looked like he hadn’t washed it in a year, and I didn’t even want to imagine how gross it must feel. Or smell. Ugh. “Court condition,” he said. “I was selling some weed, that’s all. Primo BC bud too—wicked-quality stuff. Arctic Sun. It should be legal already—”

  “But it isn’t,” Claire cut in.

  “Yeah, no shit. That’s what the judge said too. So…” He shrugged. “It was INTRO or juvie. Pretty much a no-brainer.”

  “Just as well,” Imogen said, trying to catch my eye.

  I wanted to laugh, but I was too distracted by the thought that either Tara or I had to go next. “I’ll go,” I blurted.