Break(33)

“We have to figure out why you’re doing this, Jonah. I’ve got a place in mind for you. It’s all teenagers, all short-term care. It’ll be a lot like staying in a hospital.” She nods toward my cast. “Which you’ve obviously experienced.”

I try to smile, because this isn’t her fault.

“It’ll be okay,” she says.

I croak, “All right.”

At least I’ll get out of that house.

“I’ll call today, and see if they have a space,” she says. “They’ll probably be able to admit you tomorrow or the next day. Until then, will you take care of yourself? Can I trust you to do that?”

I nod. “So for now I get to go home?”

“Uh-huh. You go home and see your brothers, okay?”

I look at her sympathetic eyes behind those glasses and my whole throat hurts.

“It’ll be all right,” she says. “You’ll even be out for Halloween.”

The worst part is the car ride home. I try to sleep in the back, but Dad keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror. Eventually he calls home and spends about five minutes trying to shake Jesse off the phone. I hear Jesse freaking out, hear him asking questions—asking my father what’s going to happen to me. Am I going to be okay. All the questions I always asked about him.

Dad gets rid of him and hooks Mom on the phone. They have a whispered, angry conversation—Dad says “I know I know I know,” over and over again.





twenty-six


I GET HOME AND CRASH UNTIL TWO AND AFTERWARD I want to get out, but Mom and Dad don’t want me to leave the house. They want to be there for me! They want to talk! Dad even stayed home from work, just for lucky old me.

They tell me to sit down on the couch next to them, to curl up with some game shows. To let my brain mush in sync with theirs.

But they don’t meet my eyes when they ask me.

“I’ve got to talk to Charlotte.” I’m wearing this old gray T-shirt that’s too small, and it pulls my shoulders when I try to shrug. “I’ve got to try to fix things somewhat before I go away.”

Dad’s dressed down for the first time in weeks, and it just makes him look more uncomfortable. “Jonah, why don’t you stay here? It’s your last day home. Don’t you want to be here when Jess gets back from school?”

God, they really don’t get it at all.

I feel like saying, Are you kidding? Why would I want to see Jesse? When have I ever shown any interest in Jesse? Just to see how they’d react.

Instead, I beg. “Come on. Charlotte’s a good influence. She’s the one who told Mockler in the first place, remember?”

Mom pulls his sleeve. “Let him go.”

He whirls to her. “Damn it, Cara, do we have to do this now?”

They start yelling and I slip out the front door. No problem. All kids should have neglectful parents.

Kidding.

It’s a bit of a walk from home to school, but it’s not like I have any choice. I don’t have Jesse to drive me. I’m not sure I’d let him, anyway.

I’m cold in my T-shirt and my sling, but it doesn’t resonate. I look at all the houses, imagining the normal families who live inside. Imagine them making sandwiches, or calling relatives, or . . . I don’t know what normal people do.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I never thought I was crazy before. But ever since Dr. Schneider I can’t stop spiraling. . . . I mean, I always knew what I was doing was a little out-there, but I never actually thought I was crazy.

I really didn’t think it.

Fuck, I just wanted to be strong. And now everyone thinks I’m a lunatic. Even Charlotte, and Naomi, and Jesse—people who are not supposed to think that I’m a lunatic.

The walking thing is horribly painful. I get dizzier and dizzier with each step. My toes throb—the left foot is starting to break the tape. I give up and stop at the nearest bus stop, and I feel like I’m trying to hide in the glass booth. Trying and failing.

There’s fake white-rap music emanating from a nearby house, like a soundtrack.

My cell phone rings in stark realistic contrast. Pier-cing the bubble of my whatever.

It’s Naomi. She’s in my phone book as “IMOAN.”

I say, “Hey.”

Her voice is excited and close to the speaker. “Are they locking you up? Run away. Seriously. I had a cousin who got locked up.”

“They’re not locking me up.” I wonder when the next bus is coming. “I’m just going in for evaluation. For a few days. They’ll realize I’m not crazy after, like, a day and I’ll get to come home.”

“Oh, yeah? And how are they going to realize that?”

“I’ll tell them I’m not breaking anymore.”

“Yeah. Okay. And they’ll realize you’re lying when you come into the infirmary in little pieces.”

“Naomi. I’m not breaking anymore.”

“What?”

“Stop it!” I kick my heels against the ground. My toes shake around like puzzle pieces. “This isn’t working. I’ve ruined everything.”

“Jonah.”

“This was supposed to get him better.”

These words freeze in the back of my throat.