The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(47)

“Like at Christmas,” Jack supplied. “White elephant.”

“White elephant,” she repeated. “But not us. You already know what I’m getting you for Christmas. Another lame portrait.”

My gaze jumped to the wall at the foot of her bed. A collection of things was taped there: a green felt-tip marker, a packet of sugar, a rubber duck, and six paintings of faces. One was an alien man who matched the alien woman in Jack’s room.

“Shut up. I love your portraits,” he said.

Jillian ducked her head and beamed. “You shut up,” she said affectionately, squinting at him from the crook of her arm. Not crazy eyes, no. But there was something different about them, a weird, glassy look, as if she were drunk or high. The trembling hands and chain-smoking didn’t help.

“I remember seeing the”—crap. What if it wasn’t an alien?—“uh, the green one hanging on your brother’s wall.”

“You’ve been to his room?” She said this like it was an accusation.

I looked at Jack. Help me out here.

“That’s right, she has,” he said smoothly. “Not my old room. The guesthouse.”

“I remember,” she said irritably, flicking her cigarette butt out the cracked window and lighting up another. The girl was a machine.

“Rupert said you need to go to sleep soon. Maybe you should make that one the last of the night.”

She ignored him and spoke to me. “I see why Jack likes you.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a lake.”

“A lake,” I repeated.

“What do you mean?” Jack said.

She tugged the curl at her neck. “Calm like a lake. Still water.”

If only she knew how crazy my life actually was under the surface, what with my sneaking around behind my mom’s back to draw dead bodies, being questioned by the police for romantic crimes committed by my felonious boyfriend, and having my cheating, gift-giving father trying to woo his way back into my heart.

“He’s got enough craziness in his life, so you’re the opposite,” she said, fanning smoke away. “And by craziness, yeah, I mean me. Did he tell you why I’m here?”

“Jillie,” he cautioned.

“It’s better to talk about it openly—that’s what Dr. Kapoor says. And it’s not like I’m here because I’m on vacation. I’m schizoid. I hear voices in my head. Sometimes I see things that make me feel like I’m dreaming while I’m awake. And I’m not dreaming. I’m just screwed up, and they can’t fix me.”

“They can, and they are,” Jack said.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little better.”

“A lot,” Jack said.

“Yeah, a lot,” she said dreamily. “Sometimes I’m a lot better. I really thought I was going to come home this summer until they nearly killed me with meds.”

“But they straightened it out.”

She laughed loudly and then spoke in a low, singsong voice. “‘Doctor, she hasn’t tried to kill herself lately. Better fill her full of poison to stay on track.’” She made a gurgling sound effect and pantomimed swallowing a bottleful of pills.

“Not funny,” Jack said, pulling down her arm.

“I didn’t say it was.” She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “But it’s all good now, because these old meds are the best. They make me feel pro … um, pro-duc-tive, and the doctors had to up my dose, so now I get a little buzz off them.”

“Jillie—”

“You want to know what it’s like,” she said to me in a flat voice. She was looking in my direction, but I wasn’t sure if she really saw me. “Everyone wants to know. It’s better to talk about it when I can, because sometimes I can’t, so I’ll tell you. It’s like when someone offers you candy, and you think, ‘I want that,’ but then another part of you says, ‘Sugar is bad for you.’ And for a moment you’re torn, because you’re not sure if you should eat the candy, and a little war goes on inside your brain. That’s what happens to me all day long. A little war in my head. And it stresses me out. And the more I get stressed out, the more soldiers join the war, and sometimes a few of those soldiers will start talking to me. Then it’s like a running commentary playing in the background, judging every move I make.”

“That sounds frustrating,” I said.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” She made a grunting noise and closed her eyes. “What was I saying? God. The rambling. It’s enough to drive me crazy.” She gave me a quick smile before turning to Jack and smacking herself on the forehead. “Oh, yeah! Hey, I have a new puzzle for you. Can I show it? I know it’s our secret, but she’s been inside your room, so she can see it, right?”

“Yes,” Jack said, smiling at me from the bed. “She’s a good secret keeper.”

Jillian mumbled something to herself and furtively glanced over both her shoulders before tossing the second cigarette out the window. Then she ducked her head below the bed and whipped out a manila folder overflowing with wrinkled papers. “I lost the new one.… Oh, wait. Here it is.”

Jack bent over it with her, studying whatever was written on the paper. And I did some studying of my own, using the opportunity to really look at Jillian. She was pretty. Heartbreakingly so. And though she didn’t have Jack’s dark double lashes, she shared his terrific bones and height.