Change Places with Me(31)

Clara thought about it—and found she had absolutely no thoughts about it whatsoever. “Okay.”

“Yay!” Kim actually clapped. “Can you come over today, after school?”

“Tomorrow,” Clara said quickly. “Today I have . . . plans.”

Hydro-buses were always way too crowded in Belle Heights, and it also took an extra-long time for passengers to get on and off. The ladder in the center slowed everything down, so most people bunched up toward the ramp at the front. That way you boarded the bus faster, but usually there were no seats to be had. Clara and Evil Lynn ended up standing up the whole way, people jostling them on either side, and there was a vague smell of something sour. The bus kept stalling, which upped the annoyance factor, all the way to Spruce Hills, which, contrary to its name, didn’t have a single hill (or any spruce trees, for that matter).

Inside the mall, Evil Lynn took her to Neuro Plus, which was between a tattoo parlor and a Bracelesses store. Selena probably came here for adjustments. Clara was grateful to see no sign of her.

Once inside, Clara sat in a waiting area that was really a long hall. She had Evil Lynn on one side and two women deep in conversation on the other. At one point the first one said, “Is that your new coat?”

“It’s one of my new coats,” said the other.

After a time a man stood before them. He had a thick mustache the color and texture of straw. “I am Dr. Stone,” he said.

Clara got up.

Dr. Stone looked somewhat alarmed. Sometimes her height threw people off.

“She’s fifteen,” Evil Lynn remarked.

“Of course. We see many children. Won’t you follow me?” Dr. Stone signaled for Evil Lynn to stay where she was, something she was accustomed to doing when it came to waiting areas. She had come prepared; a thick book was in her lap.

Dr. Stone led Clara to a tiny room; it barely held his desk and chair, and a chair for her. But he spoke expansively: “We at Neuro Plus begin with biofeedback, a form of therapy that enables you to monitor your brain-wave activity.” He leaned back in his chair, hitting the wall. “I do that every time!” he said with a laugh.

Clara appreciated that he’d admitted it, didn’t try to cover it up. A few photos sat on his desk. Good-looking African American wife, really good-looking kids. In one of the pictures he had them in his arms like he couldn’t get enough of them.

“Think of what happens to the body that is about to have an anxiety attack. The breathing becomes rapid. The blood pressure rises. The heart rate increases. The palms sweat. There is muscle tension in the head, neck, and back. Finally the body experiences a full-blown anxiety attack. Not a pretty picture, is it? But with the help of biofeedback, the body will be able to recognize and even anticipate these symptoms. The body will learn to relax and prevent the attack before it has a chance to happen.” He opened his arms. “It’s quite a wonderful thing.”

“But not for me,” Clara said. “I don’t have anxiety attacks.”

“Your stepmother believes you have something like an ‘adjustment disorder,’” Dr. Stone said, softening his voice, “which can be short-lived. In your case, not. It’s a kind of anxiety attack with its own set of brain signals. You could learn which signals are sending you the wrong messages and make the appropriate modifications.”

Adjustment disorder. So, it had a name.

“Your case requires more than biofeedback, however. Talk therapy, at the very least—conversations. It’s not something that happens overnight; it does take time: months, sometimes even years. But there’s steady progress along the way.” He was speaking even more quietly now, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. But no one else was in the room. “You see, Clara, you are grieving as a child.”

“I’m not a child,” Clara said sharply.

“In life you are fifteen, but in your grief you are eight.”

This made no sense. She was fifteen, not eight, and she didn’t want to listen to brain messages and she certainly didn’t want to talk. If she wanted to do anything at all, it was to change places with the girl in the jean jacket. How could biofeedback help her with that?

“Are you all right?” Dr. Stone asked her. “You look a little shaky.”

“I’m fine,” Clara said.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” Dr. Stone said. “It’s remarkably easy—I hook you up to a machine, and your bodily reactions can be observed in real time on a screen. Seeing your physiological responses can begin the process of controlling them, which leads to reactive mastery, as we call it.”

Clara shook her head.

“It’s perfectly safe, a clinically proven method that’s been around for decades—unlike one of these fly-by-night, quick-fix neurological outfits with their memory additions and subtractions. It’s why Neuro Plus appealed to your stepmother so much.”

“Then let her do it.”

“This can help you,” Dr. Stone said—and sounded genuinely concerned, Clara noticed. “It’s already helped many others. But you must be invested. Positive results only come when a patient is invested.”

Dr. Stone told Evil Lynn he was sorry he couldn’t refund her money, but he could arrange for credit should Clara ever change her mind.

Clara was relieved to leave, and even more so that Selena wasn’t anywhere to be seen.