A World Without You(58)

“I’ve been speaking with your mother on the phone, and she wanted us to have a moment to sit down and talk,” the Doctor continues.

She puts her phone in her pocket. “I don’t really know what to talk about.”

“Let’s go to my office,” Dr. Franklin says. He turns a little, just enough to make eye contact with me, to let me know that he knows I’m there. “Where it’s more private.”

He touches her elbow and leads her up the stairs, beyond my reach.





CHAPTER 38


Phoebe



Dr. Franklin sits behind his desk, his dark face slightly illuminated by the glow of the computer screen in front of him.

“So, Phoebe, your mom wanted me to talk to you for a bit.” He leans forward, holding his palms together and pressing his lips against his index fingers.

“About Bo?” Even I’m surprised by the antagonism in my voice. Of course he wants to talk about Bo.

“About whatever you feel like talking about.”

I try not to roll my eyes. I don’t know how Bo can stand it here. I hate the mere concept of therapy. What’s with people who think you can talk your way out of any problem? Some problems are bigger than words. And some problems don’t need to be discussed at all.

“Why don’t you tell me about school?” Dr. Franklin suggests.

I shrug. “It’s school.”

“What are your best subjects? You’re a junior, right? Do you have your eye on any colleges?”

I force a smile on my face. I hate that everyone asks me this. “I don’t care where I go, as long as they have a good study-abroad program.”

“So you want to travel?”

“I want to escape.” I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth.

Thankfully, Dr. Franklin doesn’t say anything more about it. Instead, he moves on to a new subject. “How is school different for you now than when Bo was at James Jefferson High?”

I shrug again. “It’s not, really. We had different classes. We were in different grades. Most people didn’t even know we were related.” The most time we spent together was when he’d drive me to school when I was a freshman—a condition of his having his own car. After he wrecked the car and I got my own driver’s license, we didn’t even have that connection.

“You two are very different,” Dr. Franklin concedes. “But I think, in some ways, you’re pretty similar. You’re both very guarded, for example.”

I keep my face from scowling. I hate that Mom set me up for this awkward conversation, and I wish Dr. Franklin would just get to the point, whatever that may be.

“How about at home?” Dr. Franklin presses. “Are things good there?”

“They’re quieter,” I concede. Except when they’re not. Like when Dad takes away Bo’s door.

“Quieter?”

“Since Bo’s been gone.”

Dr. Franklin, sensing potential, leans in. “In what ways?”

I let my eyes drift from Dr. Franklin. It’s easier to talk when I look above him, at the burgundy-and-cream valances draped over the windows that overlook the ocean.

“Bo was a lot angrier before he came here,” I say. “I don’t know if even he realized it. He always seems like two people to me; most of the time he’s really chill, but if one little thing goes wrong, it’s like he loses control.”

“Control is something we talk a lot about here at Berkshire,” Dr. Franklin adds gently, trying not to break the flow of my words.

“Yeah, well, he definitely didn’t have it before. When we were kids, he broke my arm.” I don’t know why I’ve been thinking about that moment so much. Probably because of Bo’s texts.

When we were little, we used to pretend that we were on the Titanic. It was a silly game, born of my obsession with the movie after I dug it out of Mom’s collection, but Bo never minded playing with me because he liked the inevitable fate of the ship. We used the tire swing out in the front yard. I’d climb on top of it, and Bo would push me around, pretending the swing was the ship. When I fell off, the ship “sank.” It was fun, until the time I broke my arm after landing funny. I laid there on the ground, crying and screaming for help, but Bo just stood over me with a dead look in his eyes as the tire swing rocked back and forth, empty. He didn’t show any emotion at all. It was like he wasn’t even there.

That was the first time I knew something was wrong with him.

Dr. Franklin sits up straighter, and the movement forces my gaze from the window back to him. “I wasn’t aware he hurt you,” he says.

“It was an accident. We were playing on the tire swing, and he spun me too hard, and I fell funny.”

“I don’t think Bo ever means to hurt anyone.”

I don’t answer.

Dr. Franklin notices. “Phoebe?” he says. “Do you think Bo would intentionally hurt someone?”

I don’t meet his eyes. “I don’t think so, not now.”

“But before he came to the academy?”

I twist my fingers together. “Maybe.” When Dr. Franklin doesn’t speak, I find my words filling the silence, almost unwillingly. “Like, okay, I don’t think he’d be, like, a serial killer or anything. Nothing like that. But . . . I remember when he was a freshman, and he had so much trouble fitting in. There were these jerks in school, right, because there are always jerks in school, the kind who pick on you if you’re even a tiny bit different. And Bo was more than a tiny bit different, you know?”