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“So you want to hide her away? You really think that’s best for her? Trying to convince her to stay in some asylum?”
The word rang in the air.
“Oh, David, please.” My mother’s voice lowered to a whisper. “You know they’re not like that anymore. They’re not even called asylums. It’s a mental hospital.”
I hurried to the living room and curled up on the couch, drawing my blanket tightly around me. So much for feeling good. My mother had removed my intestines and used them to tie a noose around my neck. She just hadn’t kicked the stool out from under me yet.
She couldn’t send me to one of those places. She was my mother. She was supposed to do what was best for me, not what would get me out of her hair the fastest. How could she even think of that?
It took a while for me to notice the big blue eyes watching me from the doorway.
“C’m’ere, Charlie.” I spread my arms. Charlie hesitated, then ran across the room and climbed into my lap. I wrapped my arms and the blanket around her.
She saved me from trying to figure out how much I should tell her. “I don’t like it when your head breaks.”
I knew she was old enough and smart enough to know that my head didn’t actually break, but she’d been calling it that for so long it didn’t matter anymore. I think it made her feel better to think of it like something broken that could be fixed.
“I don’t like it, either,” I said. “You do know why it happens, right? Why my head breaks?”
Charlie removed the black castle from her mouth and nodded. “The brain chemicals make hallucinations. . . .”
“And do you know what a hallucination is?”
She nodded again. “I looked it up.”
Word of the Week, maybe? I hugged her tighter. “You know how you didn’t want me to leave for that party a while back?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And how you didn’t want me to go to the hospital three weeks ago?”
“Yeah.”
I took a breath, pulling myself together. Better to prepare her for the worst than let it blindside her. My parents would never tell her this. Not until it was too late.
Maybe, if I told her now—if I prepared myself, too—I could still avoid it.
“Well, I might have to go away again. And it won’t just be for a few hours or days or weeks.” I absentmindedly pulled a bit of her hair back and began braiding it. “Okay? I might not come back. I wanted you to know.”
“Do Mom and Dad know?” Charlie whispered.
“Yeah, they know.”
It was better if she didn’t know that it was our mother’s idea. She’d figure it out one day, but for now she could go on believing that some higher power sent me where it thought I needed to be. She could keep trusting Mom and Dad, and keep being my whining, chess-playing, crusading Charlemagne.
Chapter Nineteen
Mono was my cover story.
Everyone believed me. Everyone except Miles, Tucker, and Art. Art, because he’d carried me during my episode. Tucker, because his parents were doctors and he could tell when someone didn’t actually know the symptoms of mono.
Miles, for the obvious reasons.
I did my perimeter check three times while I hid Erwin behind his bushes on the front walk, and my eyes were drawn again to the roof, where the men in suits monitored the parking lot. It took me a few minutes to realize that public high schools didn’t have men in suits watching their parking lots. I took a picture of them. I wasn’t sure if the pictures would help anymore, but doing it made me feel better. Like I was doing something to help myself. Like that was still possible.
I still had so much make-up work—and no clue how to do most of it. When I slouched into the cafeteria after fourth period, I spent the hour doing homework instead of eating. I didn’t have to check my food because I didn’t eat my food.
I saw that damn snake hanging from the damn opening in the ceiling again on my way to seventh period. I arrived late, but Miles had already finished the lab by himself and, by some miracle, agreed to let me copy his results. I flipped open my notebook, glanced warily at Ms. Dalton, and began copying.
Miles watched me. When I got suspicious and looked up, he just quirked his eyebrow and kept staring. Like a bored house cat. I snorted and kept writing.
He followed me after class, hovering silently on my right side. The cat waiting for attention. Anyone else would have sparked a cascade of paranoia, but he didn’t.
“Sorry you had to do that lab alone,” I said, knowing full well that it had been no trouble for him. “Those results look like—”
“So where were you, really?” he cut me off. “I know it wasn’t mono.”
I stopped, looked around, waited for some kids to pass us. “It was mono.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and my IQ is twenty-five. Really, what were you doing?”
“Having mono.” I gave him the you-really-shouldn’t-push-this-any-further look, but apparently Miles Richter didn’t understand everything, because he scoffed and moved in front of me, blocking my path.
“Yes, the symptoms of mono include reacting to things that aren’t there, screaming for no reason at all, and flailing on the ground like you’re about to be ax murdered.”
My face flushed with heat. “It was mono,” I whispered.
“You’re schizophrenic.”
I stood there, blinking stupidly.
Say something, idiot!
If I didn’t, he’d have no doubt.
Say something! Say something!
I turned and walked away.
I wanted to shoot Miles in the kneecaps more than ever. Accusations about my mental state were the cherry on top of the I-framed-you-for-setting-someone-on-fire sundae. The dickiest of dickery. I could go to jail for the fire thing— not only was Celia’s dad a lawyer, but her family was loaded. We were so poor my mother took three quarters of my paycheck every week to supplement the family income.
Theo assured me that, if Miles really was the one running the job to set Celia’s hair on fire, he wouldn’t have let me take the fall for it. Not something that serious.
I didn’t know if I believed her. Some of the things Miles did for money were pretty out there. He’d actually abducted someone’s ex-boyfriend’s beloved golden retriever.
After that I avoided him. I tried to avoid Celia, too. She walked around the school complaining about “attempts on her life.” She glared at me constantly and flipped her hair whenever I was near, highlighting how short she’d been forced to cut it. Even Stacey and Britney seemed a little wary of Celia now, as if she’d set the fire herself.
