A Danger to Herself and Others(75)

Jonah will tell me he never believed I hurt Agnes, and he always wanted me more than he wanted her. He’ll tell me Dr. Charan lied—of course she lied!—about his classes and his dorm room, and he’s so sorry he disappeared when I needed him most. He had no idea what I was going through over the past few months. He’ll smile like a fox, and his hazel eyes will narrow, and he’ll wrap me in a warm, reassuring hug.

And Lucy…Lucy will say To hell with the San Francisco Dance Academy! She’s decided to apply to school in New York. Julliard or the Joffrey, somewhere close so she can be near me.

They’ll both be there when April and I start playing the same old games—Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, Never Have I Ever, Truth or Dare. In fact, maybe I won’t take all those advanced classes after all. Maybe I’ll let Lucy and Jonah stick around to keep me company, just in case my friendship with April doesn’t progress as planned. But it will, of course it will. I’ve never had problems making friends before.

I lean back into my seat and exhale calmly. My eyes are dry and a smile spreads across my lips.

The flight attendant asks me if I’d like anything to drink. Before I can answer, Mom twists in her seat again.

“No, she already has water.”

I feel my smile start to fade. There’s something in Mom’s voice that I don’t like.

“I didn’t see you take your pill, Hannah,” she says slowly, evenly.

“You weren’t looking.”

“I can tell you didn’t open that bottle of water.” She gestures to the bottle wedged between my thigh and the seat, its plastic cap still sealed shut.

“I was just about to—”

“So, let’s see it.”

“But I—”

“Hannah.”

Mom’s never used that tone with me before. It’s the tone other parents use on their naughty toddlers. It’s not the tone of someone who believes her daughter was born mature.

It’s not the tone of someone who thinks her daughter might not be sick.

She was hoping for a more promising diagnosis, not no diagnosis at all.

I open my right hand and look at the blue pill. I squeezed it so hard that it cracked in two. Crumbs of it stick to my skin.

I put the pieces of the pill in my mouth. I even lick the powdery crumbs off my palm. I lift the water bottle to my lips and swallow. The pill’s jagged edges scratch the back of my throat.

I look around the plane. The door to the cockpit is locked shut and behind us, a curtain divides business class from economy.

I estimate that it would take me ten steps to walk from the cockpit to the curtain, three steps to walk from one side of the plane to the other. The walls are smooth and cream-colored and curved, not green and bumpy, and there is a long row of oval windows on either side of the plane, instead of a square-shaped one up in the corner. These windows don’t open either.

“Good girl,” Mom says as I take another swig of water to speed the pill on its way. Mom resettles in her seat, facing forward.

The plane is just another room.

I’m still a girl in a room.

They’ll never let me see Jonah or Lucy again.

I’ll never make best friends with April Lu. She’s hated me since eighth grade. Even at my best, I couldn’t overcome that kind of dislike.

I close my eyes and sigh. It was easy with Agnes. She liked me from the start. It was later, apparently—according to her parents, their lawyer, and the months-old messages he played at the hearing—that she started to think I was strange.

Agnes was in a coma for two weeks.

Will they think I’m strange when I go back to school?

The doctors didn’t know if she would ever wake up.

Maybe one of my teachers has already let the truth slip.

A neurosurgeon had to drill burr holes in her skull to relieve the pressure on her brain.

Soon, everyone will know.

She appeared to have lost all verbal function.

They’ll stop talking when I walk into a room.

Eventually, she was able to communicate through blinks and grunts.

They’ll look at me differently. They’ll treat me differently.

She needs assistance to leave the bed to perform her bodily functions.

No one will want to be my friend.

She will have years of physical therapy, speech therapy, and occupational therapy ahead of her.

I’ll be all alone.

It’s not yet clear how much care Agnes will need going forward.

I said I was sorry.

She may still be different in ways the doctors can’t predict.

I meant it, at the time.

After vigorous therapy, Agnes finally said the first word she’s managed since the accident.

I take another swig of water. The last traces of the pill slide down my throat.

Mama.

I open my eyes and look through the gap between the seats in front of me. My mother rests her head on my father’s shoulder, and he kisses her hair.

I’m not a magical girl whose brain needed more stimulation.

I’ll never play Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board again.

Agnes Smith’s life will never be the same.

Neither will mine.





AUTHOR’S NOTE


Authors are often asked which is their favorite character—I’ve always found that question nearly impossible to answer, but I have to admit, Hannah Gold has a special place in my heart. She’s imperfect and even unkind, but I loved writing her. I loved writing her intelligence and wit, her confidence, and her belief (at the beginning of the novel, at least) that she’s the smartest person in the room. She starts this story certain she’s the heroine in a thrilling mystery about being wrongly accused, only to discover that she’s the subject not of a thriller, but of a story about coming to terms with a mental illness diagnosis.