Break(32)

“Jonah.”

“He’s stopped eating completely now. He hasn’t eaten in almost a week.”

“Jonah. What about your other brother?”

“He’s eight months old. Eight and a half.”

“What’s his name?”

“Will.”

I bite my lips. Everything’s silent, save the white-noise whoosh.

“He cries a lot,” I volunteer. “We don’t know why. Jesse thinks it’s food allergies. I think it’s ear infections.”

She keeps watching, like we’re playing $10,000 Pyramid and she’s waiting for the code word.

“Do you worry about him, too?” she eventually asks.

“Yes.”

“You worry a lot, don’t you?”

I know where this is going; it’s going into nightmares and stress management and depression, and I shake my head very hard. “I should worry about them,” I say.

“I understand.”

“They need to be worried about. See.” I swallow. “See, that’s why it’s so ironic that I’m here. I’m actually the only one in my family that’s not, like, really, really messed up. But none of them—see, Jess is screwed and the baby’s screwed, but it’s not their fault. And there’s nobody out there who can stop my damn parents. So they haul me in here instead and try to fix me because they can’t fix my family.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Hmm?”

“Who’s dragging you in here?”

I shrug. “The principal. My parents. Charlotte. Everyone but Naomi and Jesse.”

She folds her hands. “I noticed your mother didn’t come with you today.”

“Yeah, she had to stay home and watch Jesse.”

“And the baby?”

“Right.”

She straightens her glasses. “Jonah. Do you realize how much you talk about him?”

“Talk about who?”

“Jesse.”

Now I just want her to stop saying his name.

All I can think to say is, “He’s important.”

“I know, Jonah.” She leans forward on her knees. “The heart of the matter, kid, is that you’re here because you’re hurting yourself. Drastically. And if I can’t figure out why you’re doing this, and how I can help you, we’re going to have to consider checking into a facility so you can get some help.”

My throat hurts. “You know about how broken bones grow back stronger?”

“Jonah.”

“I won’t do it again. It was stupid and selfish, I know.”

“Jonah, listen.” She gathers her red hair into a clip. “If there’s anything I’ve figured out about you, it’s that you’re not selfish. And I have a really hard time believing that you’d do something so intense for any sort of selfish reason.”

“I did. It is selfish.” I start crying again. I’m always like this. Once I’ve broken down once, it doesn’t take anything for me to get all weepy again.

She sighs, picks up her pad and pen, and starts to write.

“No, what are you writing?” I choke. “Please don’t send me away.”

She stops writing and watches me.

“Look.” I scrub off the tears. “I didn’t break my bones. My parents did it. I’m covering for them.”

She shakes her head. “Jonah.”

“Don’t take me away from Jesse. I need to . . . I’ve got to take care of him. I’ve got to.”

She says, “You just told me you didn’t know how to take care of him.”

I wail and sink my head onto my knees. I wonder if my dad can hear me out in the waiting room.

“Jonah. Do you feel guilty?”

I nod very hard.

“For being healthy?”

Now I stop.

She fixes her glasses. “Are you trying to be even with Jesse?”

I shake my head so much I think my neck will break. “I could never be as bad off as Jesse.”

“Do you wish you could be?”

“No. No no no no. That would be awful. Please, please don’t pass me off as one of those attention-seeking kids. It’s not that. Really. I would never, ever want to be Jesse.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to get better.” Mucus drips all the way down to my upper lip, and I’m too broken to do anything about it. “That’s the point.”

“You really want to get better?”

I nod, then I realize with horror that we’re talking about different things.

“No,” I say. “Wait.”

She’s already writing. “This is nothing permanent, Jonah. You’re not crazy. You’re obviously a very bright boy.”

“Stop it. Stop writing.”

“Your parents have already expressed . . . interest in putting you under observation. It wouldn’t be for long. A week at most.”

I can fail chemistry in a week. I could lose Charlotte completely. Jesse could die of starvation, easily.

“I can’t go away right now.”

She looks at me for a long, long time. I do my best to look sane.