A Danger to Herself and Others(20)

fourteen


“I was measuring the room,” I volunteer after breakfast the next morning.

Lucy looks up from her bedpan. “What?”

“Yesterday, when we got back from lunch, I paced the room. You asked me what I was doing, remember?”

Lucy shrugs. “Sure.”

“I was counting my steps to see if the room was the same size it’d been before we left.”

Lucy cocks her head to the side like it makes perfect sense that I think the room could have changed size while we were gone. “And was it?”

I nod. “But it felt smaller.”

“Optical illusion. You’d gotten used to it in here before they took you downstairs.”

I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t want to get used to anything about this place.

I get up and begin pacing. At first, I don’t notice that Lucy is walking alongside me, but when I look down, I see her feet next to mine.

“Nine feet by eight feet,” she pronounces. “Every time.”

I shake my head. “Eight feet by seven feet.”

“Nine feet by eight feet,” Lucy counters.

“Eight by seven.”

“Nine by eight.” Lucy folds her arms across her chest.

For the first time, I notice that she’s shorter than I am. Her legs aren’t as long, so her strides are shorter.

Lucky Lucy. The room is a tiny bit bigger for her than it is for me.

By the time Dr. Lightfoot arrives for my next session (morning? afternoon? who can keep track?), Lucy and I are each standing on one leg, holding the other leg out in front of us, trying to see how much bigger my feet are than hers.

Lucy makes it look like a dance. I look like someone who’s trying yoga for the first time.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Dr. Lightfoot asks as she steps inside. Today, her smile looks like genuine, not like one of those fake, medical-school smiles.

Still, I don’t answer her. I don’t want her to know that I care how big this room is.

So I sit on the edge of my bed and wait quietly.

Stephen steps aside so he’s not completely blocking the door, and Lightfoot goes back into the hall. For a second I think this means Dr. Lightfoot is going to lead the way to her office for therapy, another privilege I’ve earned like lunch in the cafeteria. It occurs to me that I don’t know if Stephen he spells his name with a V or a PH, but all this time I’ve been picturing it with a PH because I don’t like that spelling and I don’t like him.

I’m halfway off the bed when I realize that Stephen isn’t stepping aside for me but for the doctor. She returns with her flimsy plastic chair.

I guess that’s supposed to be some kind of peace offering. Her way of telling me she trusts me around furniture that’s not bolted down, even if she doesn’t yet trust me enough to do sessions in her office or without a guard blocking the door like she’s the president and he’s her secret service detail.

I sit back down, trying to keep my back straight the way Lucy does.

Dr. Lightfoot blinks as she sits. Her contacts must be bothering her again.

“It’s nice to see you in such a good mood.” She smiles again, another real smile.

“It helps being able to talk to someone else.”

She nods, glancing at the file on her lap. My file. “I hear you sat next to Annie at lunch yesterday.”

I nod. That’s Beside-Me’s real name. “We had a nice talk.”

“Did you?”

“It wasn’t all that different from lunch at the cafeteria back home.” I gesture vaguely out the window, which I’m pretty sure faces east.

Dr. Lightfoot looks pleased with my answer. Maybe after a few more friendly lunches, she’ll finally come to the conclusion that I want her to: This was all an enormous misunderstanding.

Hannah Gold doesn’t belong in a place like this.

Hannah Gold wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Behind the doctor, Lucy shifts on her bed. I smile at Lucy to show the doctor I don’t mind sharing my space.

Instead of smiling back, Lucy playfully sticks her tongue out at me.

Dr. Lightfoot asks a question that I don’t answer because I’m scared if I open my mouth, I’ll burst out laughing. I don’t want the doctor to think I’m not taking our session seriously.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dr. Lightfoot asks.

“Not exactly,” I manage finally.

“I asked if you’d like to eat lunch in the cafeteria for the rest of the week.”

“Yes,” I answer, even though I have no idea what day of the week it is, so I don’t know how many days the rest of the week constitutes.

“It must be nice to have a chance to change up your routine a bit.” She says it as if she’s not the one keeping me on a tight schedule.

“Actually,” I begin, “I was thinking as long as I’m in here, I might as well be productive. Maybe my teachers could send over a summer reading list or something.”

“You are doing something productive,” the doctor answers. “You’re talking with me.”

Lucy lies back and holds her book above her face. Some romance novel. Not the kind of book my teachers would assign.

“I meant something that would be productive in the outside world. You know, to keep me on track for when I go home.”