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“Meeting your grandmother is something I look forward to doing someday,” Dr. Knutz said. “She’s obviously very important to you, and I’d be interested in seeing the dynamic between you. But, again…nowhere on this assessment did you indicate that you are feeling suicidal. In fact, when asked if you ever felt like killing yourself, you replied None of the time.”
“Well,” I said uncomfortably. “Only because to kill myself, I’d have to get out of bed. And I really don’t feel like doing that.”
Dr. Knutz smiled and said, “I don’t think drugs are the answer in your particular case.”
“Well, I need something,” I said. “Because otherwise, I don’t know how I’m going to get through the day. I’m serious. No offense, but you don’t know what it’s like in high school anymore. I’m not kidding, it’s scary.”
“You know, Eleanor Roosevelt, a lady few would argue didn’t have a good head on her shoulders,” Dr. Knutz remarked, “once said, ‘Do one thing every day that scares you.’”
I shook my head. “That makes no sense whatsoever. Why would anybody willingly do things that scare them?”
“Because it’s the only way,” Dr. Knutz said, “they’ll grow as an individual. Sure, a lot of things can be scary—learning to ride a bike; flying on an airplane for the first time; going back to school after you’ve broken up with your longtime boyfriend and a picture of you with your best friend’s boyfriend appeared in a widely distributed newspaper. But if you don’t take risks, you’ll just stay the same. And is that really how you think you’re going to get out of that hole you’ve fallen into? Don’t you think the only way you’re going to get out of there is to make a change?”
I took a deep breath. He was right. I knew he was right. It’s just…it was going to be so hard.
Well. Michael did say we both had some growing up to do.
Dr. Knutz went on, “And besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? You have a bodyguard. And it’s not like you don’t have other friends besides Lilly, right? What about this Tina person your mother mentioned?”
I had forgotten about Tina. It’s funny how this can happen when you’re in a hole. You forget about the people who would do anything—anything in the world, probably—to help you out of it.
“Yes,” I said, feeling, for the first time in a long time, a tiny flicker of hope. “There’s Tina.”
“Well, then,” Dr. Knutz said. “There you go. And who knows?” he added with a grin. “You might even have fun!”
Okay. Now I know his name really is appropriate. He’s nuttier than I am.
And considering I’m the one who hasn’t changed out of her Hello Kitty pajamas in almost a week, that is saying a lot.
Thursday, September 16, 6 p.m., the loft
After we left Dr. Knutz’s office, Dad asked what I thought of him. He said, “If you don’t like him, Mia, we can find someone else. Everyone, including your principal, agrees he’s the most highly recommended therapist for adolescents in the city, but—”
“YOU TOLD PRINCIPAL GUPTA?” I practicall
y screamed.
Dad didn’t look like he appreciated my screaming very much.
“Mia,” he said, “you haven’t been in school for the past four days. Did you think no one was going to notice?”
“Well, you could have told them I had bronchitis!” I yelled. “Not that I was depressed!”
“We didn’t tell anyone that you’re depressed,” Dad said. “Your principal called to check on why you’d been absent for so long—”
“Great,” I cried, flopping back against the leather seats. “Now the whole school is going to know!”
“Not unless you tell them,” Dad said. “Dr. Gupta certainly isn’t going to say anything to anyone. She’s too professional for that. You know that, Mia.”
Much as it pains me to admit it, my dad is right. Principal Gupta may be many things—a despotic control freak among them—but she would never betray student-principal confidentiality.
Besides, it’s not as if at least half the student population of Albert Einstein High School isn’t in therapy as well. Still. The last thing I need is Michael finding out that I’m so crushed from his rejection that I’m seeing a shrink. How humiliating!
“Who else does know?” I asked.
“No one knows, Mia,” Dad said. “You, your mother, your stepfather, and Lars, here.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Lars said, not looking up from the rousing game of Halo he was playing on his Treo.
