How It Feels to Fly(19)

“Every day that you’re here, you’ll be picking up new tactics to battle your anxiety. To become a stronger you.”

A stronger you. Ha! Every day that you’re here, you’re getting weaker. Softer. Fatter—

“What are we learning today?” I ask, talking over the voice in my head.

“We’re going to do another activity that might help you express what you’re feeling, in the event that talking about it is too hard. Have you ever heard the expression ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’?”

“Obviously,” Zoe grumbles. “We’re not idiots.”

Dr. Lancaster ignores her. “You’ll have the next hour to create a collage that represents a situation that makes you anxious. Yasmin has turned the dining room into an art room for you, complete with scissors, glue, magazines, and more.”

Now Zoe bursts out laughing. “It’s arts-and-crafts time at Crazy Camp!” Then she stops laughing, turning her face into a mask of concern. “Are you sure we’re allowed to have scissors? Isn’t that . . . dangerous?”

“Zoe,” Dr. Lancaster says sharply. “What did we discuss yesterday?”

“I know, I know: don’t make fun of the process,” Zoe singsongs.

In the dining room, we spread out, grabbing magazines and other supplies. Katie sits down next to me, and we both start flipping glossy pages.

Jenna pulls out a chair across from us. “Sam?”

I tense up but keep my expression calm and pleasant. “Yes, Jenna?”

“I’d be interested in doing a ballet barre with you later. If you don’t mind.”

“Even though you’re not here to make friends?” I say, surprising myself—and Katie, who lets out a little squeak.

Jenna gives me an appraising look. “Yes.”

I have to exercise anyway. But I can play it just as cool as she is. “Find me after your session with Dr. Lancaster.”

“Okay. I will.”

I turn back to Katie. “What are you going to make?”

She’s already cutting out a long strip of brown construction paper. “A balance beam, of course. How about you?”

“I don’t know yet.” I flip page after page, looking for inspiration. And then I reach a perfume ad where the model seems to be staring right at me. Through me. Into me. I stare back, an idea forming. I cut out her eyes and put them off to the side.

The hour of cutting and pasting passes in a flash. When Andrew touches me on the shoulder to give me a five-minute warning, I startle, as if I’m waking up.

“That’s really interesting.” He’s staring down at my collage.

I study what I’ve made. There’s a single small figure, in silhouette, floating in a sea of eyes. Blue eyes and green eyes and brown eyes. All shapes and sizes. It’s . . . weird. Uncomfortable to look at for too long.

“Is interesting good?” I ask, smiling like I don’t care one bit. Like his opinion doesn’t matter. Like his presence behind me isn’t enough to throw me for a loop, after what he said to me this morning about thinking I’m pretty great.

“Yeah. I can’t wait to hear more about it.”

“Andrew? A little help?” Yasmin calls from the other side of the room, where she’s trying to peel off several pages that have been glued to the dining table.

Zoe looks pleased with herself. “You didn’t say I had to make my collage on paper,” she drawls. “I was just expressing my feelings.”

“If this damages the wood,” Yasmin says, “Dr. Lancaster may have to call your parents.”

“Do it,” Zoe growls, eyes flashing. “Call ’em.”

Dr. Lancaster walks in, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Time to— Oh, Zoe.” Her face drops in disappointment. “Everyone, please take your collages to the Dogwood Room.”

“My collage can’t be moved,” Zoe says grandly. “Does that mean I get to skip the next session?”

“No.” Dr. Lancaster leans in close to the table, picking at one of the glued-on pages. “Yasmin, Andrew, can you take care of this?”

They nod.

“Zoe?” Dr. Lancaster steps to the side, extending her arm. Zoe stares her down. Dr. Lancaster doesn’t budge. And finally, with an exaggerated sigh, Zoe trudges out of the room. The rest of us follow.

“Do you think she’ll get sent home?” Katie whispers to me, once we’re back seated in our folding-chair circle.

“On the second day? She’ll probably get a warning or something.”

I look over at Zoe. Dr. Lancaster is speaking to her in a low voice. Zoe rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says.

Dr. Lancaster addresses all of us. “Zoe would like to say something.”

“Would I?”

“Yes, Zoe, you would.”

“Oh, fine. I’m sorry for disrupting arts and crafts. I won’t do it again.”

She doesn’t sound sorry. She sounds like she’s plotting her next attack.

But Dr. Lancaster says mildly, “Thank you, Zoe. I know it can be difficult to adapt to being here, even if you came by choice—”

“Oh, I’m not here by choice.”

Dr. Lancaster gives her a considering look. “You filled out the paperwork, along with your parents. Are you telling me you didn’t consent—”